Everyone loves Jello

As Eric was placing the decorated jello on the Easter table today, he said "Aunt Thelma would be proud of this jello." Yes, she would be. It was a multi flavored jello with whipped cream and sprinkles.

Aunt Thelma wasn't a good cook, but she played a great support role with her jello. She had more jello recipes the anyone I know or will ever know. Most turned out pretty well and always had something uniquely stylish about them whether it be the jello itself or the dish it was contained within. Every once in a while the jello would be, well, different.

Once an olive showed up in the jello. There was another time all the fruit in the jello sank to the bottom. That was more like plain jello with a fruit bottom crust. The piece de resistance however was the time she confused sour cream with whipped cream. That was a memorable jello. For a while after that everyone took a quick finger touch of the topping to test it before eating that great big spoonful. After Uncle Marion died and she attempted to make pickled pigs feet, it turned out more like a jello with a glob of meat in it. It was the effort and love put in it that mattered most.

Every jello mold was made with love. Every jello made evoked a comment from the peanut gallery. Every holiday table contained a special fruity treat. Since she passed, jello still remains on the table even though the kids are no longer small. It isn't the same if Aunt Thelma isn't there with us. There's always room for jello.

Shouldn't you get wet in the shower?

As I dug through the 12 inches deep layer of shoes in my closet, I realized several things. One - I had a lot of shoes. Two - I had a lot of old shoes that are now with Goodwill, some never worn. And three, I never even came close to having this kind of stuff when I was a kid.

I wore the same set of clothes as much as possible when I was a kid. I had my favorite outfits and as soon as they went through the wash they were on again. There was this soft green sweater and bell bottom green pants and this patchwork multi-color sweater with a pair of jeans that had been sewn up more than Frankenstein. I had like two pairs of shoes - sneakers and sneakers. I had very limited attire, except for the hand-me-downs from my aunt. I had quite a bit of old person clothes. Those Frankenstein jeans are actually the pants I wore to play softball. Yep, didn't wear shorts. I know I must have looked crazy, but I LOVED those jeans. Many a time I got the "I am throwing these away if I have to sew them one more time" speech.

The other thing I am reminded of is how much Febreze would have helped me out. There were times when I was in a hurry and would turn on the shower and never get in or times when I would get in but miraculously run around and never be touched by the water. I don't even think I used deodorant, I bet I smelled. Good thing I figured out not too long after that, that I should indeed take a shower quite often and use deodorant. I think though it wasn't entirely my idea. I am pretty sure when Mr. Karstens (who had a pinkie that bent straight sideways) told me that if I came to class smelling bad and not washing my gym outfit that he would say it in front of the whole class, it had a positive impact. Embarrassment is not fun at all. I thank him for setting a young smelly kid straight.

I am happy to have several sets of clothes and shoes. I am glad my kids don't smell and that they have always come out of the shower wet (well one of them may have gone awry for a bit). And I am glad that I will be spending Easter with my crazy family. No matter what I think or say about my past, every day is an opportunity to make things right and better.

I like Green Eggs and Ham

Coloring Easter Eggs, a yearly activity. This year will probably be year 40 or close to that I have been involved. When I was a kid there was nothing better than getting ready for Easter egg hunts. Each year devising a better strategy to yield you more eggs. One year running to the end and then picking up all the booty while all the other kids were at the front. Sneaking into the hunt area and spotting where the really good stuff was hidden. Have you ever wondered if all that dye that soaked through the shell of the egg would kill you? Well it hasn't yet. And I always wondered why the eggs would be in the frig to be kept fresh but after coloring them they would sit for at least a week on the table in a basket before everyone ate them. Maybe that's why we don't get sick now...so much salmonella as a kid we are immune now.

Remember when you learned you could write with a crayon on the egg before coloring it and the writing would stay? That was so cool until "shit" showed up on an egg. Then the crayons mysteriously disappeared. Remember that first time you realized the eggs were hard boiled, you know, when you tried to color a raw one and smashed it all over...and licked your finger before your mom screamed at you that could kill you. Okay that line made me a little sick to think about.

Eggs tasted best at Easter. I have no idea why. With salt, without, it didn't matter. And then, there would be egg salad for sandwiches. I think that is the only time of year I didn't eat beefaroni.

I used to enjoy eating the green eggs. The egg would be colored inside and then I would remember Dr. Seuss' great story. This year our kids are all in theirs 20s and we will again have an egg hunt. I think I will put a letter on each egg and make the girls find enough to spell their names. Yep, I think that sounds like fun.

How Achluophobia saved my life

I think it is way easier to say scared of the dark. I have been afraid of the dark for as long as I can remember. When I was 9, my parents went out and left me home alone. I turned on every light in the house and had the TV up as loud as it would go to fend of the evil spirits or whatever else was there that could attack me. Our neighbor Gene came over to check on me and I didn't even hear him banging on the door. He called my parents at the restaurant and told them they should come home.

You all know about my grandparent's basement. If I wasn't scared of the dark, I may have well gone and stayed in that room with the hat boxes and would clearly have been killed by the zombie body parts of husbands past.

What about the horror movie test, you know the one where you see how long you would survive in a horror flick? I would survive BECAUSE I AM SMART ENOUGH NOT TO GO INTO THE DARK HOUSE AFTER NOTICING THE LOCK WAS TAMPERED WITH. "Hello, hello, is anyone in here?" Not me.

How about the nights where I almost broke my leg, neck or other body part when I thought I heard something behind me in the kitchen and then moved at a pace known as breakneck to get up the stairs and into my room. Wait a minute, I just said I was smart enough not to...damnit. I clearly would have been horribly killed in a spook movie.

I certainly hope our hearts don't have a certain amount of beats in them before they stop. I seriously used a lot of beats up in my childhood running and hiding from things that didn't exist.

One thing I do find funny is my inner monologue as these events unfold. I am not going to be scared. Nothing is there. I just need to remain calm. I am going to die. Can't I run faster. God help me. Don't breathe heavy they will hear you. Don't move. Someone will come and find you soon.

I do however have a sobering part of this tale of fun...when I was in college there was a boyfriend I broke up with. He couldn't take no for an answer and one dark night he followed me to my apartment. I got that feeling I would always get when I was scared in the dark. So I ran, fast, toward my building. This time someone was there in the dark. I got in the building and up the stairs. As I put the key in my lock he was on me. I struggled to open the door but finally got it. My puppy ran out and he grabbed him. He turned around and hit me square. I remember what happened next although it was a seriously out of body experience. I experienced a rage I have only felt twice since. I picked myself up as he reached the stairs. I don't know what I said but he started to turn. In that moment I grabbed my dog and pushed the guy down the stairs. I grabbed my keys and left. I went to a friends house, vomited wildly once I settled down a bit and then we called the police. I moved the next day. I am certain that my fear of the dark saved my life. If I wouldn't have run when I did, I wouldn't have made it to the building, I maybe would have not made it out of the situation with only a blackened eye. I am grateful I am scared of the dark.

Only 3 people knew is story, now there are more. This blog is therapeutic. I have been carrying that around half my life.

The Devil's Den and my brother the stripper

Michigan City was the home of Elston Sr. High School. We were the Red Devils and our gym was affectionately know as the Devil's Den. No one wanted to come there. We had the best cheer block anywhere. We were wicked to visitors. We had great basketball teams and the biggest rivalry against Michigan City Rogers. Everyone knew the name Delray Brooks and Eric Frageman....excuse me? Yep. Delray was an amazing basketball player and Eric was the high school stripper.

Yes, when I was in high school, we had a stripper. Eric clearly was the best stripper ever. In 1981-82, Elston had the best swim team in the state. They were also the sexiest 15-18 year old boys I had ever seen, not to mention they wore speedos. They had state wins and records across the board. The name Doug Elenz still makes me smile. So when Eric was elected stripper, you can just imagine how scandalous it would become. A group of high school boys who were extremely social, very sexy, and who every girl in the school had a crush on. Needless to say there were times in my house when there was a girl upstairs and downstairs and I was running interference.

Eric stripped before every home basketball game. There were 2 extremely memorable games. I usually knew what was coming because the planning took place at our house. One time they planned it as a funeral. The Funeral March began to play and a coffin with pallbearers came into the gym. A "minister" started a solemn ceremony when the stripper music started...the coffin lid flew open, there was Eric lying in a suit.  Suddenly a shoe flew out, the place went wild. Our games were always, always, packed. The girls were screaming. It was insanity. More clothes started to fly out of the coffin, then Eric jumped up. Madness. I am certain some girls fainted. The game was an afterthought.

The second most memorable stripping event was very well crafted.  The stripper music started and everyone was looking around. They couldn't find him anywhere. Then an old woman on the visitor's side stood up. She began to take off her clothes, yep, it was him. THEN, the rest of the swim team got up and they started stripping. All down to their speedos. It was heart-stopping. I was hoarse after that. I aged 10 years with all that excitement. It was one of the most memorable events and I know I am not giving it justice. It was just fantastic, game after game. He would on occasion embarrass me by "shaking his junk" right in front of me, but it got me attention so I can't complain. I got many more "friends" during basketball season.

I haven't come across anyone else in my travels who had a high school stripper, let alone have it be her brother. Just lucky I guess...

Now that was some snow!

1978. I was a paperboy with my brother. We had a neighborhood route. Eric was good at it, me not so much. I was never good with telling direction or remembering who on our route got the paper. Then came the collection work. I knew I wasn't cut out for sales early in life because I hated asking people for money. And I never knew what to say when they didn't pay me.

One winter the snow started. And it snowed, and it snowed, and it snowed some more. At the end of it we had at least 2 feet, probably more. Well our hometown was good at plowing so quickly the papers came. We had to trudge out into the snow and deliver the news. It became fun once we started digging in it to get to people's porches. Some of our customers had dug a little spot by their door and left silver dollars or other change for us. Payment for a job well done.

It was a big job to do with all that snow, but at the end we had enough money to go to the bakery and get donuts and milk. We dug our way to Franklin Road, easily crossed what was usually a very busy road and ate well. That place had the best cream horns I have ever eaten to this day.

Funny how every time it snows a lot, I think of that paper route. That big bag of papers strung across my chest as we rode our bikes on the route. I didn't do it long after Eric stopped. It just wasn't the same.

Popping the Clutch

Finally getting my driver's license just before I turned 17 presented a fantastic opportunity. I didn't realize it when I was learning to drive, but some of my more savvy friends informed me that I could start the car, our yellow VW bug, by popping the clutch. I called it my batmobile. it could do some great tricks. Using the clutch would save me in the event that I had a tough time getting the engine to turn over, etc. etc. I have often heard that you haven't lived unless you have had to pop the clutch. Well, I quickly learned that I could use this fantastic tip for something way more dastardly. That's right, sneaking out of the house.

My room was on the second floor at the very back of the house totally at the opposite end to my parent's room. We had crank open windows. They were crap for letting air in, but they were great for opening, removing the screen and climbing out onto the about 3 foot wide section of roof. I would then quietly walk down to my parent's balcony and climb down the post to the patio. I would continue to walk around to the front of the house and down the driveway to the small piece of blacktop where the VW bug sat just awaiting adventure. From there I would unlock it, put it in neutral, back it out of the driveway, and then start pushing it forward until I got it going pretty fast. Yep all that gymnastics training really paid off in the strength department. I would then jump in and pop the clutch. I would be far from the house so no one was the wiser.

From there it was to the beach or a friend's house to get the evening started. This went on for a long time. As with all good things, it did eventually come to an end. Someone gave me up and one night my mom was waiting for me. When I arrived home and shimmied up the post to the balcony, she was waiting for me. She was quietly lying on the floor of her room. As I started to climb over the railing, she spoke up. In that first moment, I thought either ghosts had achieved a new level of scary or it was God. As the initial fear wore off, I realized I had been caught. Grounded forever and no car. It was all worth it though. I had some great times in the middle of the night. We didn't do drugs, but we did drink on occasion. We would be smelting on the beach or just hang out. Sometimes I would even meet my cousin Kathy and her friends. They were the kind of kids I wasn't supposed to hang around. They smoked like chimneys, but I always thought Kathy was so cool. She was a lot older than me and was a rebel. But this is a story for another day...