Category: Nostalgia

The Tree of My Life

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

img_0670I set up my Christmas tree today and it is literally dripping with ornaments. I have to be honest that I had to purchase a second tree just to hold all of the lovely trinkets that I have collected over the years. My main tree is well over ten feet tall and the other one is smaller. Every single ornament has a story. In fact, I might fill a book if I were to write a paragraph detailing how and why I have each of them.

Many of my ornaments were gifts from friends, family members and students. One is especially beloved. It is a pink crocheted bell that a youngster gave me when I was completing my student teaching. She was a troubled child and I had been warned to watch her. Somehow I never thought to be wary of her. Instead the two of us bonded almost immediately. I found her to be enchanting and when she brought me that bell that she had crafted with her own hands I was touched to the very center of my heart. I often wonder where she is now. She would be in her forties. I hope things turned out well for her. I suspect that she would be surprised to know how much I treasure her thoughtful present.

My tree wouldn’t be complete without two decorations made from old Christmas cards and photographs. One was made by my friend, Linda, and it holds a picture of her two boys when they were tiny tots. The other came from my daughter, Catherine, when she was a little girl. It has an image of our first dog, Red, a beautiful and sweet golden retriever. They sit proudly amidst far more elegant ornaments but somehow they seem more important than even the annual Swarovski crystal snowflakes that I have been collecting since I visited the factory in Austria with friends, Monica and Franz, more than a decade ago.

I have a plastic angel with faded silver paint that came from my grandmother’s tree. Most people would think it quite ugly but it always reminds me of the fun times we had every Christmas Eve at her house with all of my cousins. I also have the glass globes that were on the first tree that Mike and I ever had. They too are a bit the worse for wear but I haven’t had the heart to part with them.

I have a large number of Hallmark ornaments. I tend to go back for more Mickey Mouse and Snoopy creations than any other. I also love the ones that replicate the toys that my girls had when they were small. My favorite among those collectables is Steamboat Willie. He whistles away as he steers his little ship. It always takes me back to the old black and white cartoons that sometimes played on television when I was a child.

When the Harry Potter books came out I became an instant fan and I have purchased themed decorations depicting many of the characters in the stories. My mother noted my enthusiasm and found a number of them for me. Harry is great but I am madly in love with the one that resembles Hagrid.

My friend, Pat, was a true lover of Christmas and gave me dozens of the decorations that don the branches of my fake fir. Over the years she gave me Snow Babies, Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, silver bells, gingerbread men, redbirds, snowmen, and some of my most adorable and beloved adornments. Other friends like Cappy and Marita filled the my tree with trimmings from all over the world. There are straw bells and baskets from Mexico, blue and white globes from Denmark, ships in bottles from Italy and Santa figures from here and there.

I tend to purchase a new ornament any time that I take a trip. When I place those trinkets on the tree each year I instantly recall the fun that I had. I bought tin toys from the FAO Schwartz store that used to be in Chicago, a replica of Cafe du Monde in New Orleans, a double decker bus from Canada. There is a brown bear from Yellowstone and workers sitting on a steel beam from New York City. I have Revolutionary War soldiers and ballerinas. Nutcrackers and humming birds. I particularly enjoy an Elvis from Memphis and a duck from the same city.

My Christmas tree is really a tree of my life. Christmas after Christmas it records my travels, my friendships and the people and things that I most love. It tells as much about who I am as anything. I doubt I would be able to describe myself better than that tree does. It has bells and whistles and lots of sounds and is actually quite fun. I love nothing more than sitting in its light with the rest of the house in darkness and just enjoying each of the many decorations and the memories that go with them. They speak of the blessings that have followed me and the people who have always meant so much to me.

My tree has no coherent color scheme or theme. It appears to be a hodgepodge but I think of it as one of the loveliest things on earth. I used to prefer live trees but when I realized that my children were sick every year because of they were allergic to the sap I learned to love my artificial ones. I’ve had to replace those a few times but I carefully pack away the same ornaments year after year. I’ve had to make repairs and once in a great while I’ve had an accident and broken one which is momentarily heartbreaking but the memory that is associated with it never goes away.

My grandchildren especially love my tree. They press the buttons that make the decorations whir and spin and light up. They search for new ones each year and attempt to find the pickle that I purchased in Indiana way back when my eldest grandson was born. They like to hear to stories associated with each of them as much as I enjoy telling them. Somehow they never tire of laughing at their silly grandmother and like me and their mothers they would never change a thing about my crazy way of decking the boughs of my holiday fir.

It takes me hours to fit all of the ornaments on my tree. I worry that I will one day be too frail and weary to enjoy it as much as I do now. Both my mother and mother-in-law eventually eschewed their big trees in favor of small tabletop bushes. I truly hope that I never have to do that. I’d like to think that my children and grandchildren will help to bring my tree to life because they delight in it as much as I do. It is truly a tree of my life, a special view into who I am.

Until We Meet Again

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

3792202I come from a great big crazy immigrant family. My cousins and I may as well have been brothers and sisters. We literally grew up together. Every Friday night we were at my grandmother’s house without fail. We played all night long while our parents visited and competed with one another in card games and dominoes. In between we went to movies together, watched westerns on television and invented games. Our lives were almost idyllic, or so it appeared.

My first memories are of my cousins. They seemed to always have been in my life. One of my earliest recollections is playing on the seesaw with my cousin Jack at St. Peter’s Catholic Church while my brother was being baptized. I was about five and Jack was just barely five as well. He suddenly grew weary of going up and down and jumped off without warning. Without his weight to balance me I went flying into the air. I was angry with him because the fall took the breath out of my lungs. He was kind and came to my rescue. Even back then he was so very good.

My cousins became my lifeline when my father died. I was devastated and they rallied around to help our family through our tragedy. It seemed as though we spent ever more time with them after that. I particularly loved visiting Jack and his brother Andy. Their house was custom made for adventure. Their backyard overlooked a drainage ditch that became the site of untold hours of make believe. We were only allowed back there when it was bone dry but since that was most of the time it was our private playground.

Jack and Andy’s home had a floored in attic with stairs leading to a playroom unlike any other that I have ever seen. We played hide and seek up there and once Jack created an altar and we pretended to attend Mass with him as the priest of course. We frolicked for hours and I rarely wanted to leave when it became late. The best times were those when my mother agreed to spend the night. It meant that we had a few more precious hours to spend together.

My Aunt Polly worked for the Trail Drive In and she often invited us to come to work with her. That meant that we got to watch all of the entertainment with our cousins while she was busy at the box office. I remember one occasion when we were in the snack bar and one of the patrons spilled boiling hot coffee on Jack’s legs. He was in so much pain that I was in tears. The employees did their best to comfort him but he was badly burned.

When hurricane Carla came to Houston we spent several days at Jack and Andy’s house. My mother was afraid to stay alone and so we turned the event into a kind of hurricane party. My cousin Ingrid and her mother joined us as well. I suppose that we drove the adults insane playing chopsticks on the piano over and over. They finally warned us that we were not to touch those keys again. We went upstairs and found plenty to do. When the winds began to pick up Jack went outside and climbed a tree in the backyard. He squealed with delight as the branches rocked him back and forth. I was just about to try the ride when we all got in trouble for being outside in the middle of the storm.

The years went by and we continued doing so many things together. Once several of us took ballroom dance lessons together. I had a crush on a particular boy in the class and when it came time to partner up I hoped that he would choose me. When I was left standing alone cousin Jack gallantly came to my rescue and asked me to dance with him. I wasn’t as polite as he had been and noted that being with him was better than nothing. He teased me about that for the rest of our lives.

Many of us ended up attending the University of Houston at the same time. We began meeting together on weekends to play cards and just converse. We celebrated New Year’s Eve with each other and took turns hosting that event. We gave each other wedding and baby showers as we one by one married and had children. Our lives were intertwined for so long but as we became busy with our children and our jobs we saw less and less of each other. We usually met up on special occasions or at funerals. Still the love that we had for one another was always there never to be broken.

When my mother lay dying in the hospital my brothers and I tried desperately to contact her sisters and get them to come say their goodbyes to her. We called and called and finally contacted them late in the afternoon. They indicated that they would have to come the next day because they were unable to drive at night. I knew that my mom would not hold on that long and I was greatly saddened. Out of the blue they arrived. My cousin Jack had driven from Westbury to FM 1960 to the Medical Center, a considerable distance in heavy Houston traffic. My aunts and my mother were able to be together one final time. Mama died later that night. I often wondered if Jack knew how much she had appreciated his efforts to get his mother and her twin sister to the hospital.

Jack suffered from heart disease for sixteen years. This past June his doctors told him that there was nothing more that they might do for him. His heart was worn out. He had congestive heart failure. Through it all he kept his faith in God and his trademark sense of humor. He had a way of making people laugh. It was difficult not to feel good around him even when he knew that his time on this earth was becoming more and more limited. It was as though he was determined to help us through the grief that we were feeling.

Jack belonged to the Knights of Columbus, a group of Catholic men who do charitable works of mercy. It was so fitting for him to want to do such things. That is the way he lived his life. He worked for the United Postal Service and even became a Postmaster. He was brilliant and beautiful with his blonde hair and blue eyes. He was the father of three gorgeous and sweet daughters who seemed to be made in his image. He had grandchildren who were as precious as he had always been. He faithfully attended family events and made all of us smile with his presence.

Jack’s ninety five year old mother is still alive. She is needless to say devastated. Losing a child is the ultimate blow regardless of age. His wife and children are left to remember his almost childlike spirit and the love that he showered on them. Their grief cannot be measured. Those of us who are his cousins feel as though we have lost a part of our very souls. He was our brother, someone who knew us just as we are and still loved every inch of us. We will miss him terribly.

We imagine Jack having a large welcoming committee in heaven. His father was there for sure. All of my uncles were not far behind. My grandmother must surely have been holding a cup of coffee for him. He finally gets to meet our grandfather who died before we were born. Of course my mother, his godmother is there. She loved him so. Surely they are planning a big card party for this weekend. They’ve welcomed him to their corps of angels. Now he will watch over us until we meet again. 

A Reason, A Season, A Lifetime

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

people-come-into-your-life-for-a-reason-a-season-or-a-lifetimeToday is a day for counting blessings. I have many reasons to be thankful and all of them involve the people that I have known. From the moment of my first memories I have been surrounded by good loving souls who cared for me and made me feel safe and secure. I have to admit that I have only rarely felt the pain of abuse from another human and in each of those cases I enjoyed the freedom to walk away. I have observed hate in this world but have not been the victim of it. Instead my life has witnessed kindness, loyalty, understanding and genuinely unconditional love over and over again.

When my baby brain awoke my parents were there doting on me, along with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors and friends. I recall riding in my grandfather’s Plymouth coupe with the earthy aromas of pipe tobacco and leather engulfing my senses as I watched him steer the car so confidently with his big laborer’s hands. I remember watching my grandmother rolling dough and allowing me to cut little round circles that would become big fluffy biscuits that melted in my mouth along with the homemade butter and jam that she slathered on them. I can still see my other grandma padding across the room in her bare feet carrying enamel cups of sugary coffee for her guests.

When I think of my aunts and uncles they are still young and beautiful in my mind. They sit around a big table playing poker and squabbling like loving siblings from a large family are wont to do. Then I think of my cousins, the ones who are more like brothers and sisters, who always seem to have been stalwarts in my world. We are filled with wonder and imagination, inventing games and entertaining ourselves for hours without any adult supervision. How we loved each other as children and how we still do as adults!

I enjoyed the times that we spent with my parents’ friends, especially Mr. and Mrs. Krebs. Sitting in a circle listening to Texas Aggie football games on the radio was a regular fall weekend event. We munched on cinnamon toast and popcorn while a lone voice narrated the action. I wouldn’t give up those times for anything. They were wonderful.

Eventually Daddy was gone. I would miss listening to his voice as he read fairytales to me or chuckled at the Sunday funny papers. Me and my brothers and mother would have to move on without him. Mama became our everything all rolled up into one beautiful package. She kept the faith with Texas A&M and there was never a Thanksgiving Day that we missed tuning in to the gridiron clash between the Aggies and the Longhorns. She would time our dinner so that we would be able to pay careful attention to the game. It was a tradition that we cherished and followed until the game was scheduled for another day and then the two teams played no more.

We found so many genuine friends in our neighborhood after our father died, people who literally watched over us and made sure that we always had whatever we needed. They made me feel quite special with their frequent displays of kindness. As a young child they provided me with multiple examples of how to be a good and upright adult. Mrs. Janot shared her afternoon programs with me in air conditioned splendor. Mrs. Bush demonstrated a rare courage that I greatly admired. Mrs. Frey took me and my brothers under her wing along with her own five children. The Limbs were models of hard work and moderation in all things. The Cervenkas were fun. The Sessums quietly did small favors that were actually huge in my mind.

School was like heaven for me. With one exception my teachers were always angels. I loved them so. Many of the friends that I made have followed me into adulthood and of late I have become reacquainted with others whom I had lost along the way. I find that we are very much alike for having shared the same experiences when we were growing into adults. We have good values. We were taught by our parents and teachers to always be ethical and fair minded. As far as I can tell most of us ended up being model citizens, employees, spouses, parents. We learned from the best.

Eventually I met my husband and we fell madly in love. Ours has been a grand romance from the beginning mostly because we cherish each other as unique individuals. We are both independent and do not always think exactly alike. The differences that we have  make our lives more interesting. My Mike has always treated me with unquestioning respect. He encourages me to be the person that I want to be. He is loyal and undoubtedly my very best friend. I have loved him every single day for almost fifty years. In turn, I received a second set of parents on the day that we wed. My in-laws have helped me in some of the most difficult times of my life.

At work I met the most amazing and giving people who were dedicated to helping the youth of our nation to become educated. They worked hard to bring excellence into the classroom. I admired them as much as the teachers that I had as a child. I saw them devoting themselves totally to their vocations. They might have become wealthy in other careers but they chose to serve the countless children and families that came to them year after exhausting year. Some only speak of being champions for our youth but my teacher friends have actually done the heavy lifting, often with little gratitude or compensation. They are my heroes, the people that I most admire. If life were totally fair they would all meet with the President of the United States and be given Medals of Freedom for their good deeds.

The pleasant memories of my friendships are ongoing. I think of all the fun that I have had shopping at thrift stores with Cappy, exchanging Christmas cheer with Linda and Bill, sitting at a table discussing the world with Pat and Bill, camping with Monica and Franz, playing bridge with Susan, watching our children play with the Turners and the Halls, being myself with Nancy, enjoying dinners with the KIPP gang, being with my adult former students and seeing how remarkable they have become, continuing to admire Judy as my icon, finding my first grade pal Virginia. I might go on for hours with beautiful stories of individuals who gave me their hearts.

I have been blessed with two daughters who are brilliant and beautiful and best of all, loving. They in turn married good men and together they built families that gave me the gift of seven grandchildren. All of them are the joy and the center of my universe. I revel in being with them and watching them grow. Their laughter warms my heart. I pray each day that they will know the same level of affection that I have so enjoyed.

I have been surrounded by the most incredible people at every turn of my existence. I have been blessed beyond measure in knowing them. I sometimes wonder why I have been chosen to be so fortunate. There have been times when my family was financially challenged. I have dealt with extremely difficult situations. I have not been sheltered from sadness and tragedy. Still I have only known love and kindness. At each turn someone has stepped forward to fill me with joy sometimes for a reason, sometimes for a season, sometimes for a lifetime. For that I am profoundly thankful on this day. 

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

The Rainbow Connection

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

400px-double-alaskan-rainbowIt’s my birthday today which is no doubt why I have been rather nostalgic this week. I’ve found my thoughts returning to my mother and father who taught me so many worthy lessons, sometimes just through their actions rather than their words. Truth be told I owe so much to them starting with my very existence. After all my story would never even have commenced were it not for their love and willingness to share it with one another and then with me and my brothers.

They were so very young when they decided to take on the world together. They were still kids who had only a vague idea of what they wanted their lives to be. When I was born couple of years after they married my mother was twenty two and my father twenty five. We lived in rented apartments while my father finished his education at Texas A&M. Both of them doted on me. I don’t exactly remember their attention but old black and white photographs confirm my belief that I was loved.

My mother kept track of my milestones in a baby book that bears her carefully crafted notations on my progress. She kept every card and photo from my early days in an album that I still have. I sense her joy on those pages and see that the love that surrounded me came not just from my parents but from a great big extended family and a host of friends. That love became the foundation on which my character was built brick by brick.

My father wasn’t around for very long. By the time I was eight years old he had died. I never forgot how much he enjoyed reading and those wonderful moments when he would sit on the couch sharing his favorite stories and poems with me while we snuggled. I suppose that my own love of books was born in those moments and it has been a way for me to keep his essence alive in my mind.

He was a man who did many things very well. He loved to fish like his mother and never came home from an expedition without a stringer full of catches that Mama would fry up for countless dinners. He was an artist with handwriting and printing that rivaled the monks of old who copied manuscripts. He built models of houses and buildings, miniature versions with tiny details. He was a student of history with a memory for facts and dates that was uncanny. He had many friends whom he entertained with an endless round of jokes. Most of all he loved his Texas Aggies with unquestioned loyalty. Weekends in the fall were devoted to following their football games on the radio with his best buddy, Lloyd.

He was a conscientious man who arose early each morning to go to work so that his family might enjoy a good life. In the evenings he loved to share stories while we ate. He was so in love with my mother and very proud of me and my brothers. Still he had a kind of adventurous itch that came from constantly moving when he was a boy as his father searched for construction work. Somehow he was never quite content with the idea of settling down. He always seemed to be dreaming of travel and the next move. I suppose that it was only fitting that he would be out and about on a summer evening driving aimlessly in his car when he went into a ditch and died instantly.

My mother had a childlike innocence about her. She was the youngest of eight children and had been adored by her entire family. She was a bit spoiled but in a good way. She was always self assured and certain of herself. She was a romantic who was madly in love with my father. She enjoyed her life as a homemaker and mother, never having any desire to venture from the home in search of work. She was fulfilled in the role that she had dreamed of living. She had already been an administrative assistant to a judge and a dean of engineering. She was proud of her work but did not need it to feel good about herself. She thought that she would always be a stay at home wife and mother and she did that job as well as she had done virtually everything that she had ever attempted. When my father died she was only thirty years old with three very young children. She was heartbroken in a way that would never completely heal. She dug deep inside her soul and found the strength that she needed to carry on. I know that from that point forward me and my brothers were the focus of her life. There was nothing else that mattered more to her.

She struggled financially and eventually realized that she would have to find a job. She earned a college degree and became a teacher all while somehow managing to run a household and insuring me and my brothers that we would still have a normal life. Her energy seemed boundless and her optimism was infectious. She was an angel in every possible way who was beloved by all who knew her. Our home was always brimming with friends and family who enjoyed her warmth and effervescence. Even though she worried incessantly about finances she never let on to us. She used to tell us that she had a money tree in the backyard and that Jesus loved widows and fatherless children so much that He would always make sure that we had what we needed.

Eventually the stress of being so many things to so many people caught up with her. She developed severe systems of mental illness and my role and hers switched places from time to time. I had to learn how to care for her whenever the depression and mania of that disease took hold. Somehow she never allowed her illness to change her always loving and hopeful spirit nor to steal her innocence. One of her favorite songs was Rainbow Connection from The Muppet Movie. Whenever she heard it tears would form in her eyes and she would smile. The song spoke to who she was as a person.

So as I celebrate on this anniversary of my entrance into this life I think of my parents and the gifts that they gave me that began the evolution of who I am as a person. I am a unique amalgam of each of them along with other traits that I picked up along the way. I am thankful that God chose those two people to create me. They both taught me how to love unconditionally, find strengths within and how to open my heart and my mind to the world. They gave me curiosity and optimism, joy and resilience. They showed me how to look forward and to trust in the goodness of the people who surround me. I’m so very glad that they gave me an opportunity to live and to celebrate the beauty of existence. They were lovers and dreamers who showed me how to find the rainbow connection.

The Front Porch

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

240cf7ec5246ce7b0d7688ceecbc3c92I recently drove past my grandparent’s home on Arlington Street in the Heights. My grandfather built the house and as far as I know it is the only stucco edifice in the area. Grandpa did all of the plastering himself. The feature that he most liked was a porch that ran all the way across the front. Back when he and my grandmother lived there it was screened in so that they might spend time relaxing and enjoying their neighbors. They had a glider the size of a couch out there and always kept a big box fan going, especially on hot summer days. Whenever we visited we were more than likely to be on that porch that was always much cooler than the inside because they had no air conditioning back then. 

My grandparents knew all of their neighbors. It wasn’t unusual at all for one or more of them to walk up to chat for a bit. It was great fun to watch the activity up and down the block. I especially enjoyed the smell of leaves burning in the ditches during the fall. Kids rode by on their bicycles and never failed to wave. Women walked with their babies in strollers and my grandparents would hop down the steps and across the yard to see how the little ones were doing. I felt as close to the people who lived there as I did to my friends on my own block. I suppose that I would never have met them had it not been for that front porch that Grandpa insisted on placing at the entrance to his home.

The screens that once kept insects from invading the sitting area are now gone. The porch still stands but I have never seen anyone out there. In fact the whole street is quiet and empty of human activity. The only signs of life come from the lights in the windows and the cars parked on the driveway. In the age of air conditioning it’s probably just too hot for people to sit outside visiting with their neighbors. It’s a lost art that I seldom see anymore.

Most of the older homes in Houston feature front porches. Sitting out front was at one time a way of life. Somewhere in time it became more popular to build patios out back to allow people more privacy. While I indeed enjoy my own little getaway in my backyard I have to admit to missing the joys of a big front porch. Once in a great while my neighbors will congregate on the sidewalk or in someone’s yard to exchange pleasantries but mostly the small town feel that was part of my grandparent’s world is gone. Most of the time I don’t even see children playing in their yards or riding their bicycles along the streets.

I suppose that we now operate from a certain level of fear. Parents worry that their children will be hurt or abducted if they are not safely protected. They prefer having the little ones inside or confined to the safety of the backyard with a fence to keep out trouble. My own house only has a small brick stoop not even large enough for a single chair. I might sit in my yard but I dare say that I would not see anybody for hours on end.

Back in my old neighborhood there were ladies who frequently congregated on lawn chairs in one of the front yards. I’d watch for them to get together and quickly grab my own seat so that I might join in with their daily block party. Our children frolicked within our sight as we shared news, recipes, and parenting tips. I so loved those times when I got to know the people who lived near me as well as if they were relatives. Over the years our acquaintance literally turned to love. As so often happens everything eventually changes and so did our lovely gatherings. People moved. The kids grew up. We met less and less. Eventually even I thought that it was time to leave for new pastures.

I sometimes believe that part of the divisiveness that we seem to be experiencing today comes from the isolation that so many of us feel in our air conditioned castles. Instead of friendly and inviting porches we seem to have built figurative moats designed to keep people at bay. I hear my neighbors talking and laughing in their backyards but I can’t see them. There is no way that I might walk over to ask them how they are doing because our fences block the view. I enjoy knowing that they are there and that they appear to be very nice people but I do miss the easy going feelings that were so much a part of the days of front porches.

There was an openness and innocence in the past that probably wouldn’t work anymore. As a child I slept with my bedroom windows wide open. Only the screens separated me from the outside. Our front door was rarely locked until night had fallen. We had little reason to believe that we were somehow unsafe. It was a different world and I suppose that today in our quest for security it is only natural that we hide behind walls and fences rather than being so open to the world. We put cameras at our front doors and peep through tiny holes when someone rings our doorbells. We worry and fret and close ourselves off.

I sometimes long for the days when we seemed to be a much friendlier society. We didn’t rush around so much and we entertained ourselves with conversations and games. We were trusting and open because there was little danger in being so. Experience has taught us to be wary and in the process we have lost the hometown spirit that once united us. I’m not sure that we will ever have that again but I think that having more front porches might be a step in the right direction, especially if we actually use them to get to know the people who live near us.

I have a nephew who moved his family to a neighborhood filled with young people who have taken the time to get to know each other. I love driving over to visit him because the whole place is literally bursting with activity just as all streets were back when I was a child. There are kids running up and down the sidewalks and adults sharing tools and helping one another with repairs and other tasks. It is like taking a step back in time to a world that hardly exists anymore. Each Christmas they light up entire blocks with arches that seem to shout a welcome to everyone. They take care of one another and celebrate together as though they are one great big happy family. That is how I think it should be all across the land. Perhaps we will learn how to be that way again if only we decide to try. It’s a nice possibility to imagine and something that I think many of us would truly enjoy.