Once upon a time, there was a college student who was fascinated by family history. On weekends, she would leave her campus in Boston and take the streetcar to visit her grandmother at her nearby apartment. Along with enjoying plenty of chatting and snacking, this student would ask her grandmother to pull out the old family photo albums and then would write down all the names, places and events her grandmother told her about those pictures.

It was a great idea -- except the student didn't know until about fifteen years later that there was another album her grandmother had never told her about. An album with pictures going back to around 1910 or earlier.

Pictures like the one above. Photos glued tightly in a construction-paper album. Photos not labeled at all.

It's moments like this that make family historians tear their hair out.

By the time I happened upon this gem, my grandmother was deep in her 90s, in a retirement home and nearly blind. Her sister was dead.

Who were these people in the photos? By comparing them to family portraits that were labeled, I can hazard a couple of fair guesses -- for instance, I believe the man at the wheel was my great-grandfather Burnett Lewis (1865-1917) and the woman with the white head covering (without the big bow) was my great-grandmother Ellyn (Cranitch) Lewis (1867-1949). I could also see tantalizing family resemblances that make me suspect that others in the pictures are siblings and other relatives of my great-grandfather, but oh, how wonderful it would be to KNOW.

Perhaps my great-grandfather thought he would get around to labeling the pictures in his old age, but then he died the day after he turned 52.

I look at the photo below, which I believe shows Ellyn and Burnett with their children, Edith (my great-aunt, 1903-1995) and her older sister -- my grandmother, Marion (1899-1999). Then I look at the two pictures below that, and while I can make a possible case for my grandmother being in the back seat of both of them, I am not at all sure the girl in the front is Aunt Edith.







The lesson here is clear and doesn't need to be spelled out, but I'll do it anyway in the interest of posterity:

* If you have older relatives, connect with them TODAY and make sure all their pictures get labeled (full names, dates, places, events), even if you have to sit with them and do the writing yourself!

* Label your own pictures!

Let's not let our family history die with us.

Seventeen years ago today, I had a baby.

For several years, my husband and I had wanted to have a child, but month after month that hope had been coming up empty. I'd see moms holding babies or pushing them in strollers, and I'd feel the pang: Will we ever have that?

Finally, it was the summer of 1991, I was 'late' enough to hope, and -- at last -- I had a positive pregnancy test. I jumped into my car and drove over to hubby's office to give him the good news in person. We were going to have a baby!

We were also a day away from leaving for a two-week trip to Maine. I tossed my copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" into my suitcase and we set off for a journey up the coast for a few nights each at bed and breakfasts in Kennebunkport, Camden, Georgetown and Bar Harbor, with a friend's wedding on our return trip.

I think it was the first day in Camden when I woke up and discovered the joys of morning sickness. "Honey," I mumbled in a queasy haze, "could you go see if our hostess has any Saltines?"

Then came the moment that made me spend the rest of the trip -- and, frankly, the pregnancy -- on pins and needles. One morning, rolling out of bed and heading to the bathroom, I discovered some bleeding. It wasn't a lot, but it terrified me. Was I losing my baby?

In these early-morning hours before the days of cell phones, I grabbed my copy of "What to Expect" and did what I've since learned you absolutely should not do: I read every word of every thing that could go wrong.

And scared myself even further to death.

While we had a wonderful trip, I began making that shift that new moms make when they become fierce mama tigers, ready to defend their cubs against the world. I evaluated all potential risks to my baby -- rowing in the Maine waters, dancing at the wedding reception -- and tried to make sensible choices for the tiny one entrusted to my care.

And when we got home, I got an immediate ultrasound to make sure our baby was all right. Thankfully, the answer was yes. As for the morning sickness, it continued at least into the second trimester, but I never actually lost my breakfast (or lunch or dinner).

That Christmas, in Massachusetts with my family, was special; all the carols about Mary and her baby spoke to me as never before, and with me in full bulge mode (six months along!) and getting baby gifts, it all began to seem real and possible and fun!

I remember singing songs to my baby as I drove places.

As spring grew nearer, some friends threw me a fantastic baby shower, and they only grumbled a little about our decision to not find out the baby's sex in advance, since they knew it from a later ultrasound. I decided I would breastfeed my baby and connected with local nursing mothers' groups (this is invaluable so you will know in advance who to call with new-baby nursing questions at 2 a.m.!). And of course, hubby and I also took the requisite labor classes with the "hee-hee" breathing; however, if you want to know how it works in practice, you'll have to ask someone else because I never needed any of it, as you'll see below.

My due date was in mid-March, and I was about two weeks overdue so they decided to induce me. They suggested a birth date of April 1st, and I said, "Given the choice, I'm not having my child born on April Fool's Day!" I suggested April 2nd, which had been my grandfather's birthday, and I liked that connection.

So on April 2nd, we jumped into the car (okay, hubby jumped -- I lumbered!), and we headed off to Bryn Mawr Hospital, where they pumped me full of Pitocin for an entire day to induce labor.

Nothing happened.

Hubby said it was because the baby was cozy and didn't want to leave -- he had free food, drink, shelter, and cable! :-)

After a whole day of this, they gave up and sent us home. We went to Friendly's and had hot-fudge sundaes.

The next morning, Friday, April 3rd, we went back to the hospital and started it all again. As before, I was ready with my labor "focal point" (a stuffed kitten), and some reading material for those long hours with Pitocin. As it happened, I had been reading a book that I think was called "Maternity Ward," which included, among other things, a detailed description of a C-section.

Meanwhile, the Pitocin was pumping. On the paper the machine was spitting out, I was having great contractions. But there I was, sitting up with my earphones on, be-bopping to music, clearly without a care (or a pain) in the world.

The doctors began giving me weird looks.

This went on all day.

Evening came. At about 5:25, I was watching the news when the medical staffed swooped into my room and informed me I was going to have a Caesarean. They wheeled me off to the operating room, rolled me onto a table, gave me an epidural (and probably a few other things I thankfully forget), and set to work doing things I couldn't see because they set up a little curtain between my top and the Baby Area. Meanwhile, hubby was installed in a chair in the corner where he could provide moral support.

The anesthesiologist asked me what we were going to name the baby, so I gave him the boy's and girl's name options.

I could hear the doctors asking for instruments, and I was snickering because I remembered them all from the maternity-ward book! I remember at one point saying excitedly to hubby, "Oooh, the belly blade! They're getting close!"

The doctors, at this point, thought I was REALLY weird.

And at 6:21 p.m., a miraculously healthy and beautiful 8 lb., 3 ounce, 21-inch baby boy emerged from my body. The anesthesiologist announced, "It's a [the boy's name I'd told him]!"

Seventeen years ago today, I had a baby.

Today, the 'baby' is a junior in high school -- caring, honest, hardworking, brilliant, fiercely individual, and taller than me -- and tonight my hubby and I gave him a big hug and took him out to dinner.

Happy 17th Birthday, Fudgeteen!

Less than a week after paying tribute to one grandmother, I remember the loss of the other, who died March 10, 1978.

She had a wonderful flower garden and she created dried flower arrangements in whatever she had handy, including seashells or cosmetic jars, as befits the practical New England housewife she was. Grandma's death came when I was in high school, so I missed out on spending time with her in my adult years, but there was something in me even then that loved seeing she had a spark of the artist in her. I got permission to keep a shoebox full of her dried flower art, along with a couple of arrangements that had been framed. As the years go by, some of the flowers crumble and fall, but fortunately many more of them still endure.

Here are some pictures of these in Grandma's memory:

Pretend I wrote this yesterday. That's the real anniversary.

It was March 4, 1999 that my grandmother died. It doesn't seem possible it has been ten years. All day yesterday I was thinking there was some engagement I was forgetting, some commitment. My calendar didn't give me a hint; it just listed a workshop in Philly I considered attending. It wasn't till late in the day, as I ran errands in my car, that I realized.

She was 99 years old, almost 99 and a half, and had been living in a Boston retirement home for a few years after needing to move out of her apartment. Gramma had always loved reading and conversation, but now could barely see or hear. Her only escape, she told my mother once, was in her dreams.

Finally, Gramma -- who was in reasonable health for someone her age -- began refusing food and drink. My feeling is that she had finally had enough of the prison her life had become. She couldn't interact with the world. She had lost her husband many years before, and more recently had lost her sister and a daughter. All she could do was sit or lie around. At some level, she must have thought, "What's the point?"

Weeks went by.

One night I had a dream in which Gramma was carrying a suitcase. My grandfather came to meet her, took the suitcase from her hand, and they walked on together.

I was still in Pennsylvania, about 350 miles away with my six-year-old son; I decided I was going to drive up to see Gramma in Massachusetts. My husband was up there already on a business trip. My mother-in-law tried to talk me out of it, probably making dire predictions of my car in a ditch in a blizzard, but I didn't listen. I was going.

As I prepared for the trip, I did something I have never done before. I reached out in my mind to contact Gramma, heart to heart, and say, "Please wait for me, I'm coming."

My son and I spent a whole day driving north, connecting with my husband, and going to my parents' house. When we got there, I didn't even take off my coat. I said, "Let's go see Gramma."

We all went to the retirement home. She had a small room, so we did not all go in at once. My father sat in a chair by the bureau, and I think my mother sat by the window while I pulled up a chair to Gramma's bed and took her hand and spoke to her for some time. She seemed to be asleep, but I talked to her anyway. I don't remember all I said, but I know I said I loved her and she could move on if she wished.

Then my husband brought our son in. I had no idea what to suggest he do, and I'm sure he was apprehensive, so I finally just said, "Blow Great-Grandma a kiss." He did, and the most amazing thing happened; I could feel this wonderful flow of beautiful energy between the two of them -- I can't explain it at all, but I loved it.

And at some point, my father told me something I found fascinating: He (looking for something to do) was reading the staff notes that were left on Gramma's bureau, and found a notation indicating that, for once, she had taken in a little food and drink that day.

"Please wait for me, I'm coming."

The next night, at our hotel, the phone call came.

Today is my birthday. I'm 20.

(I'm waiting for the raucous laughter to die down...)

No, really, it is my birthday. And in this recession -- or as the media coyly calls it, "economic downturn" -- I couldn't hit the town for a sumptuous steak dinner or an orchestra seat at a show. (I did, however, splurge this morning on quite a tasty Egg McMuffin on the way home from dropping off Fudgeteen and Ray at school.)

The point is, I was wonderfully surprised this week at all the unexpected birthday fun I received! It brightened my outlook enormously -- I might even call it a stimulus! :-)

It all began Sunday night, when I went to visit friends I've known for more than a decade; we were throwing a farewell party for one of our number, who is moving down South this week. We caught up on her doings, chatted, and munched on takeout Chinese food -- and then I was startled when they paraded out with a candlelit cake for me!



They also had me pegged politically -- as will anyone who read this blog for more than two minutes last year! Here is the card they gave me. (The greeting on the inside was "Wishing you an 'O' so happy birthday!") P.S.: Gotta say that Barack carries off those earrings quite well... ;-)



Here is "the gang." (Don't ask about Batman -- that's a whole 'nother story!)



Flash forward to today: I had been really good (for once!) about keeping all my birthday cards unopened until the big day. But I was curious about why my friend Patricia had sent me TWO cards! Finally, I opened the first one, and found that, again, my political reputation had preceded me. :-)





Hmm -- I wonder how many cards of himself the Prez gets on his birthday! Anyway, inside was tucked a page of quotation stickers from the future POTUS:



The other card, I figured, would be another pose of Obama -- but no, it was another one of my favorite people. Think "Walden"...







[The cards and stickers she got are from the Unemployed Philosophers Guild.]

Patricia also sent a package that I waited till mid-afternoon to open (i.e., drove myself crazy). And there inside, in a fitting tribute to my lifelong chocoholism, was the Christmas ornament called the "Angel of Chocolate." Her motto: "Because chocolate is heaven on earth." Amen! (By the way, I have to note that this angel looks about a size one. Has she ever actually EATEN any chocolate?!!)



Hubby also gave me one of his special hand-drawn cards that he does for every occasion; it is always based on a recent happening in the family, and this one, of course, included "baby Ray." I just love these! He also made us chocolate-chip pancakes for dinner (yum!), and the evening ended with chocolate cake.



Thanks to all my birthday "angels," who made my special day rich indeed!

[First of a series]

Just call me Grandma. Fudgeteen is now the father of a five-pound bundle of joy.

OK, it's actually a five-pound bundle of flour. His AP Psychology class is embarking on the notorious weeklong "baby unit," in which everyone has to lug their bakery-aisle offspring from class to class (with "day care" available in the psych teacher's room during gym). The goal is to learn a bit about parenthood, but with a baby who can't eat, cry, pee, poop or barf, I'm thinking the learning opportunities here are limited.

All the same, I'm getting strangely excited about the whole thing, and nostalgic about my own new-mom days that now seem impossibly long ago.

The adventure started this morning, when Fudgeteen, Fudgegrandpa and I set off for the grocery store to...well, buy the baby. (No, I'm not sure why the district couldn't have invested in a few dolls.) We found ourselves staring at a wide variety of possible grandchildren.



Fudgeteen selected one, holding it and studying it (with a shade too much amusement), and finally placing it gently in the cart. He then began to exhibit the signs of anxious first-time parenthood, urging us, "Don't put the orange juice on the baby!"

Once we had paid for the infant ($2.69), we headed for the car; it was raining. Fudgegrandpa threw open the trunk to put our purchases inside, and I said the first thing that came to mind: "You can't put the baby in the trunk!"

Fudgeteen countered, "It's not a baby till 7:20 Monday morning!"

I briefly considered starting a discussion of when life begins, but it was raining harder, so we beat a hasty retreat to the warm, dry car. Fudgegrandpa, knowing what was good for him, brought the bag with the baby into the front seat with him. I peeked inside the bag and was intrigued that the bagger had included a bottle of chocolate syrup. It was then that Fudgeteen decided his child needed feeding...



Sounds like a good diet to me! (No, I didn't do this to my own baby. Really.)

At school last week, the ever-vigilant Fudgeteen had spoken with his psych teacher about how best to protect his sweet baby in the cruel school:

Duct tape.

So this afternoon, armed with a big-ass roll of duct tape, he began Operation Protect the Baby:



Here is the Fully Armored Baby, cuddled in Daddy's arms:



The next step was to put our grandchild into the onesie that Fudgegrandpa and I had indulged in (yes, it was on sale). Like I said, the whole concept of buying for a new baby in the family was irresistible, and we can give it to charity after the class moves on to some other unit like schizophrenia. Here, again, is our son holding his new little one:



The baby's first day was quite a busy one! So it was time for a nap, swaddled in a fuzzy blue Winnie the Pooh blanket in a cozy basket.



Tomorrow -- Baby goes to school! The adventure continues; stay tuned!

[I got this meme from Facebook; it seems like I'm walking down memory lane more than I'm walking anywhere else this week!]

"The Bucket List." Place an X by all the things you've done and remove the X from the ones you have not.

[Fudgelady's note: I have removed the instructions for tagging people, because I hate tagging and figure people will try this if they want to. Also, I've written notes next to the entries when I wanted to say a little something more... :-) ]

Things you have done during your lifetime:
( ) Gone on a blind date
( ) Skipped school
(x) Watched someone die [It was my best friend's cat.]
(x) Been to Canada [Seven hours in Montreal, but hey, it counts!]
(x) Been to Mexico [An afternoon in Tijuana, but see above!]
(x) Been to Florida [Last summer for the first time, for about a week -- great time!]
( ) Been to Hawaii [No, but after seeing pix of Obama's vacation, I wanna go!!]
(x) Been on a plane [A number of times, but not for the last decade or so.]
( ) Been on a helicopter [Hubby and I went on a tiny plane once when we were dating, though. It was wonderful scenery but I was a little queasy after.]
(x) Been lost [On a regular basis!]
(x) Gone to Washington, DC [Frequently]
(x) Swam in the ocean [Frequently]
(x) Cried yourself to sleep-
( ) Played cops and robbers
( ) Recently colored with crayons
(x) Sang Karaoke [With friends down the shore the weekend after 9/11 -- planned way ahead and, it turned out, remarkably healing]
( ) Paid for a meal with coins only [Not a meal, but other stuff, including a dog statuette for my grandmother when I was a kid.]
( ) Been to the top of the St. Louis Arch
(x) Done something you told yourself you wouldn't. [Usually this has to do with food!]
( ) Made prank phone calls
( ) Been down Bourbon Street in New Orleans
( ) Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose & elsewhere
(x) Caught a snowflake on your tongue [Tried, anyway!]
( ) Danced in the rain-naked [Does an outdoor shower down the shore count?]
(x) Written a letter to Santa Claus
(x Been kissed under the mistletoe
(x) Watched the sunrise with someone [With friends]
(x) Blown bubbles
(x) Gone ice-skating [Not since I was a kid, though.]
(x) Gone to the movies
( ) Been deep sea fishing
( ) Driven across the United States [I would love to do this someday; our family did drive from PA to Fla. and back last summer, though -- fascinating to see the different landscapes.]
(x) Been in a hot air balloon [A great experience!]
( ) Been sky diving
( ) Gone snowmobiling
( ) Lived in more than one country
( ) Lay down outside at night and admired the stars while listening to the crickets
( ) Seen a falling star and made a wish
( ) Enjoyed the beauty of Old Faithful Geyser
(x) Seen the Statue of Liberty
( ) Gone to the top of Seattle Space Needle
(x) Been on a cruise [Short day cruises on Lake Champlain, Hudson River, the three rivers in Pittsburgh, etc.]
(x) Traveled by train
( ) Traveled by motorcycle
( ) Been horse back riding
( ) Ridden on a San Francisco CABLE CAR
(x) Been to Disneyland [With my parents when I was in fourth grade, and with hubby 20 years ago.]
( ) Been in a rain forest
( ) Seen whales in the ocean
( ) Been to Niagara Falls
( ) Ridden on an elephant
( ) Swam with dolphins
( ) Been to the Olympics (watched it, not in it)
( ) Walked on the Great Wall of China
( ) Saw and heard a glacier calf
( ) Been spinnaker flying [I don't even know what spinnaker flying IS!]
( ) Been water-skiing [Nope. Can you say "disaster waiting to happen," boys and girls?!]
( ) Been snow-skiing
( ) Been to Westminster Abbey
( ) Been to the Louvre [Only in the sense of seeing way too many reruns of "The Da Vinci Code"!]
( ) Swam in the Mediterranean
(x) Been to a Major League Baseball game [Phillies-Red Sox at the Vet and Citizens Bank Park, and Mets at Shea Stadium. Strangely, after four years in college just down the street from Fenway Park, I've never been there for a game!]
( ) Been to a National Football League game

Here's a shot of yours truly with my cousin David, when we were about five years old --

He has less hair now but I, of course, look exactly the same! :-)

It's probably because it's a cold winter night, perfect for curling up with a good book, that my mind is going back to books I read growing up.

My town's public library was three large, wonderful floors of imagination. The bottom floor was the children's library, where I devoured Enid Blyton's "Famous Five" series, the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace, the Anne of Green Gables series by Lucy Maud Montgomery, and many more.

There are other beloved books I recall, but am not sure now whether I 'met' them at the library, at the bookstore, or on the shelves in my own house. Among those are Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House" books, Elizabeth Enright's series about the Melendy children (my favorite was "The Four-Story Mistake"), the "All-of-a-Kind Family" books by Sydney Taylor, nurse series including Cherry Ames (by Helen Wells and Julie Tatham) and Sue Barton (by Helen Dore Boylston), and of course girls' mystery series -- not only Nancy Drew, but also the Judy Bolton books by Margaret Sutton and Trixie Belden series by Julie Tatham ("Kathryn Kenny").

I loved nothing more than to spend time in my room, reading these books and others again and again and again. Some I ended up buying after taking them out of the library numerous times.

Certain books came to mind immediately as being reread especially often. Among these were "The Secret Garden," by Frances Hodgson Burnett, the story of Mary Lennox; "A Little Princess," by Frances Hodgson Burnett, about Sara Crewe; Margaret Mitchell's "Gone With the Wind," Johanna Spyri's "Heidi" books, Louisa May Alcott's "Little Women" (so it was an amazing experience to finally tour Alcott's house in Concord, MA); and one less well-known but wonderful book -- "All This, and Heaven Too," by Rachel Field, a novel based on the real life of her great-aunt, Henriette Desportes. Also, from the library of books my mother inherited from her mother, I discovered and loved Nell Speed's "Molly Brown" college-girl series, as well as Annie Fellows Johnston's "Little Colonel" books. And as I reached college age, my often-reread list included Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead" and "Atlas Shrugged."

I can't imagine not being a reader. Even after all these years, I am still friends with Meg, Jo, Beth, Amy, Scarlett, Henriette, Molly, Nance, Judy, Anne, Diana, Gilbert, Laura, Mary, Mona, Rush, Randy, Oliver, Judy, Horace, Peter, Honey, Irene, Lloyd, Sara, Nancy, Trixie, and all the others. Recently I ended up with some of my parents' books, and have had great reunions with some of my favorite characters and their adventures.

What books do you remember most fondly?

Meme time!

Wits and Wiggles snuck up behind me and memed me. She asked me to write "six random things" about myself, so I did, and I'm afraid I got on quite a roll!

Being a contrarian, I'm not tagging anyone for this one, but I do encourage you all to give it a try; I enjoyed my trip down memory lane.

Now, the six random things....

GOOFY:



My first car was a white four-door 1966 Plymouth Belvedere. My grandparents bought it new for around $3,000 -- trading in their ‘57 Buick Roadmaster -- and I remember the childhood excitement of coming home after school and seeing the car parked in front of our house because a good visit was in store. After Grampa died when I was 9 and Gramma moved to an apartment on a streetcar line, my parents got the car. Then, when I graduated from college and needed wheels in the mid-1980s, my parents turned the car over to me. Because the last three letters of the license plate were “GFD,” I named the car “Goofy.”

It was huge and loud, and my first repair bill was about $900 because it was clogged with carbon and stalled at an intersection in midwinter near our first apartment, but I loved that car. It took me everywhere I wanted to go, and it saved my hubby’s life when someone plowed into the driver’s-side door while he was driving. He still teases me because when he called to tell me about the accident (about 20 years ago), before I asked about him I immediately said, “Is the car okay?” He says the only reason he lived was that car was built like a tank.

We kept Goofy into our son’s early childhood -- thanks to Grampa investing in extra undercoating to postpone the car’s rusting -- and the only reason we finally sold it was it was the repairs were getting too expensive. We got one last story out of that car; when we drove it to the guy who was taking it off our hands for $50, I tripped on his gravel driveway, banged my head on the car, broke my glasses, and had to get stitches on my forehead.

Hubby and I call it “Goofy’s Revenge.”

MY FIRST "WALDEN":



My favorite vacation spot growing up was in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire -- a cottage by Pemigewasset Lake in New Hampton, at “Pemi Shores Motel & Cottages.” My grandparents told my parents about the place ca. the mid-1960s, and from then on through my childhood, we went up for a week or two every summer. Each cottage had a name, and we usually stayed in “Anna,” a shaded cottage right by the lake, or “Bob,” which was behind Anna. My grandparents sometimes stayed there at the same time.

This is where I first grew to love nature in general and lakes in particular; Pemi was a crystal-clear lake with a large sandy beach, and I was always swimming to “the rock” (a huge barely-submerged rock that kids could jump off) or the raft. I also did a lot of rowing to the island, a fun place to explore, and once a group of us swam to the island -- something my parents weren’t too happy about because I neglected to tell them first!

As I got older, I found myself taking notes about and pictures of the lake, trying to capture it in its different moods throughout the day.

There were always kids there to swim, float on inflatable rafts, and play “Marco Polo” with, or hang out with at the beachside picnic tables for card games like “I Doubt It.” A number of the kids were the same from year to year because their fathers attended an annual local conference. We would also stroll up to the restaurant for ice-cream cones.

About once each vacation week, my parents would take me into the White Mountains, to ride the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway and hike around at the summit. We would drive along the scenic Kancamagus Highway and stop to climb on the rocks at Rocky Gorge on Swift River. And we would always visit the Old Man of the Mountain -- sadly gone now.

We’d spend evenings out at dinner at Hart’s Turkey Farm Restaurant or Tamarack Restaurant Drive-In (my favorites: their tuna roll and chocolate frappe), have a round of mini-golf at Funspot (where the holes were miniature scale models of New Hampshire landmarks like the Lake Winnipesaukee cruise ship the M/S Mount Washington, the Mt. Washington Cog Railway, and the Jackson covered bridge -- and even a hole called “Waldo the Whale”!), and make our own sundaes at Kellerhaus and sit at old-fashioned ice cream parlor tables and listen to a player piano. Perched at the top of each Kellerhaus sundae was a tiny American flag on a toothpick.

From time to time we still get back to New Hampshire. Although Pemi is now privately owned, we revisit as many as possible of my beloved old haunts, and it is wonderful to share them with a new family and a new generation!


A BABE IN THE POLITICAL WOODS:



My first foray into politics was during the 1980 presidential election, when I volunteered for Ted Kennedy. I was a Massachusetts native in college in Boston at the time, and I did some typing at his Boston campaign office. The first day I was there (Jan. 28), television cameras showed up, and later people came up to me and said, “Hey, I saw you on the news at 6!” Somewhere, I have some snapshots I took that week at the office when he and his wife Joan came to a reception, where I got to shake hands with him. One of the pictures was taken of a man I ran into in the elevator -- Michael Dukakis! And Joe Kennedy came to my college and gave a humor-filled speech in a student lounge on behalf of Teddy.

I went canvassing for Kennedy in Manchester, NH, where I met RFK’s daughter Courtney Kennedy and the staff sent me out with a woman who had an interesting feature -- she looked just like Jackie O! (Seriously! She wore a T-shirt with a dot-matrix design of her own face, and people asked her why she had a shirt of Mrs. Onassis...) My funniest memory of canvassing with her was this one apartment building we went to. We knocked on a door, and immediately heard some very loud, aggressively ferocious barking. Then the lady behind the door said, “Down, Benji!” My canvass partner and I looked at each other: Benji?!!!!

Last spring, Ted Kennedy came down here to PA to speak at my county's Democratic Committee dinner, and I wanted so much to go but didn't because it was my son's 16th birthday. That campaign in '80 sparked my lifelong interest in politics, and it came full circle when the senator endorsed Barack Obama and I worked on that campaign. Hard to believe it all started almost 30 years ago...

BECAUSE OF JANE FONDA



It’s because of Jane Fonda that I met my husband!

In 1979, around the time Jane Fonda was starring in the movie “Nine to Five,” she and her then-husband Tom Hayden came to Simmons College, where I was a freshman, and made a speech on the “Quad,” the grassy area next to the dorms. I went to hear them, and I ended up sharing blanket space and conversation with a fellow student, and through her met her roommate and roommate’s friend. Five years later, from those connections, I was introduced to my future hubby.

As a result, I’ve always perked up whenever Jane is mentioned; seems strange that I wouldn’t have my better half or my son without her!

HOMES



I grew up in only one home -- in Needham, MA, the house where my parents have lived for 50 years -- and since then have lived in only four more: Boston, MA (in college, 1979-83), Woburn, MA (part of 1985; our first apartment after marriage), King of Prussia, PA (our apartment from 1986-89 when we moved for hubby’s job), and Royersford, PA -- our house since 1989. It’ll be 20 years here in March!

BY ANY OTHER NAME...



When I was pregnant, I wouldn’t let my doctor tell me if I was going to have a boy or a girl; I wanted the big moment to be a surprise. As a result, hubby and I planned boy and girl names. If our child had been a girl, she would have been named “Sara Beth.”

For a boy’s name, we followed the very scientific method of each poring through the baby-name book and separately writing down our top three choices, then comparing notes and reaching a final decision.

We did this -- but after all that, we ended up naming our son after my father!

What six random things can we learn about YOU?

Fudgelady's Laws of Winter:

* Severe winter weather (say, three to six inches of snow) will develop on the exact day of an important family event (say, Fudgeteen's martial-arts demo in Philly). [Note to Lisa: Yes, it's the equivalent of three tiny snowflakes in your neck of the woods. But you'd be assuming that everyone around here knows how to drive in the stuff. Don't I wish!]

* Severe winter weather will be predicted two Saturdays in a row, rather than on any school days when students (say, Fudgeteen) could hope for a snow day.

* The mere possibility of severe winter weather will inevitably cause grocery-store shelves of milk to vanish.

Do you have any laws to add to these?

The plan was perfect. Hubby and I would set off on Sunday afternoon to hike in another part of my newly discovered state park. Romance, nature, good exercise -- what more could a couple ask for?

Only thing is, he's not into nature.

Apparently, all those years of Boy Scouting didn't turn him into Thoreau. Give me lakes, woods and mountains, and I'm good to go. But he much prefers the stimulation of competing in a game -- boardgame, card game, computer game. I could easily go the rest of my days without playing another game; he could easily go without seeing so much as a shrub.

Still, he got dressed up warm and kept me company on my nature hike because he knew I'd like that. I was like a pig in mud, admiring the marvelous waves of ice designs in the creek, and the seemingly perfect circles in the ice, surrounded by powdered-sugar snow.





Meanwhile, down near the fishing dock, a number of brightly colored bobbers dangled from branches like Christmas-tree ornaments.



There was so much to see: icy waterfalls that had seeped down through rocks; the three trees by the creek that looked like witches, hubby said; rocks wedged in ice chunks resting above the cellophane-clear water surface; and parts of the creekside fields which had collapsed into mud.





Much of the time, I do my nature walking on my own. But I'm glad he joined me this time.

Does your significant other share your hobbies?

Sorting through some family-history papers this week, I came across a short poem my grandfather wrote -- perfect to share with you tonight.

"From Bethlehem, Long Ago

Gleaming in candle-lit windows,
Singing of Love to end tears,
Lo, how the starshine and angels' song
Reach across two thousand years!"

J. B. Knox
Dec. 24, 1946."

Warmest Christmas wishes to you and yours!

Thanksgiving weekend gave another reason to be thankful: I found Clara.

Clara, my grandfather's half-sister, was a missing branch on my family tree. She was the product of my great-grandfather's second marriage (my grandfather and I descend from his third). Born in 1890, she was listed in the 1900 U.S. Census for Massachusetts as living with my great-grandparents, her older brother, and my 1-year-old future grandpa.

Then she disappeared.

I could not find her anywhere in the 1910 census, and my only clue was a Massachusetts city directory I found later from that time; it said she had moved to Philadelphia. By then, she would have been about 20 years old, and could moved anywhere, married -- or died. I looked in Philadelphia marriage indexes, but did not see her.

Without more information, I was not able to track her down in the 1920 or 1930 censuses. This is what family-history buffs call a "brick wall." The brick wall stayed firmly in place for years.

Within the last couple of years, I eked out one more clue -- her name, approximate age, and correct birthplace cropped up in a 1916 passenger list for a ship coming from Bermuda. The ship list gave her current address, in a suburb of Philadelphia. She seemed to be traveling with a friend, but a second check of the censuses for her and for the friend yielded nothing.

Flash forward to Thanksgiving weekend. I was noodling around online late at night, and I found an intriguing historical-newspaper database. I put it through its paces by entering in various family names, including hers.

Bingo!

The story I pieced together from the newspaper articles was this: Clara had come to the Philly suburbs, gone to nursing school, and become a registered nurse. At some point, she had met a man who was a local undertaker, and she married him in 1920.

Sadly, in 1930, she became ill and died at age 40. Her husband remarried several years later. With that information, I found Clara and her husband in the 1930 census, but they were not listed with any children.

I decided to pay my respects at Clara's grave site, and went there the day after Thanksgiving. After leaving some flowers at her tombstone, on my grandfather's behalf and my own, I made one more stop.

I went to Clara's late husband's funeral home, which I had found out was still being run by his descendants, although at a different location in the same municipality. I explained who I was and why I was there -- and I was promptly introduced to the 70-year-old son of Clara's widower!

He couldn't have been nicer, and he filled me in on a missing piece of the story; the 'illness' Clara died of was actually childbirth, and she was buried with the baby -- something not mentioned in the burial records I had obtained from the cemetery. The man also mentioned that some of Clara's family members visited his father many years later.

We had an amazing chat for about half an hour. I arranged to send him some of the clippings I've found about his family, and he said he will rummage around in his attic this winter and see what he can find about Clara.

After all these years, it is amazing to be able to reconstruct Clara's past -- and thereby, a portion of my grandfather's -- and bring more of my family's story to life.

Rest in peace, Clara. You, and your baby, are remembered.

Once in a while, if you're lucky, your workplace becomes a home away from home.

I'm lucky.

Friday night, I was at a surprise birthday party for the field organizer at my local Obama office. The party, like everything else at the office, was a team effort. One woman emailed me the photo of the guest of honor shaking Obama's hand so we could order a photo cake; another showed up with hummus. A sizable group of our volunteers turned out, despite the short notice and the Friday night, to sing "Happy Birthday" and give their best wishes. Some even brought special guests; one brought her tiny baby bird, and another brought her whole family, including a baby decked out in an outfit featuring a pacifier with Barack's logo!

It was then that it struck me: I'm going to miss this place and these people.

I've been volunteering there for two months, and I only have a week more before the election is history, the office is emptied of computers and cell phones and yard signs, and the people all return to their own lives.

I cannot say enough in praise of these smart, funny, committed and caring folks who, with a variety of challenges in their lives, nevertheless have rolled up their sleeves and gone to work for Barack Obama, powered by their vision of a better America and a more peaceful world.

The office is America as it should be, as it always should have been, with people of different skin colors and different ethnic backgrounds coming together and working in common cause.

It is a place where people who are passionate about their country and their future share their minds and their hearts with local voters over the phone and door to door, and with one another during breaks. I have enjoyed some wonderful conversations here about a wide variety of issues.

It is a place where members of the public stop by to chat, to vent, to share, to laugh and to almost cry sometimes. From my seat at the front desk, I have heard some profound insights from people who sat down on the love seat near the door and just wanted to be heard.

We have the very young (the 'Obama baby,' who quietly sits in her mom's lap as she makes phone calls), the students (a high-school girl who is a frequent phone-banker, and a dedicated group from the local college who go out canvassing door to door), and adults from recent college grads to working parents (and some couples who volunteer together) to retirees. For some, this is their first campaign. One energetic phone-caller insists, "I'm not political" -- but you wouldn't know it!

Whether it's putting together yard signs or putting out the trash, people are willing to pitch in. The goal is in sight, but everyone knows it's only going to happen if we keep working for it.

Election Night, I just know, is going to bring me to tears -- hopefully happy tears -- and some of them will be from saying farewell to my home away from home.

[Yes, this story involves getting to home base, but not THAT way!]

When I get home from my meeting, I find one disgruntled hubby; the Boston Red Sox are behind the Tampa Bay Rays in the seventh inning, 5-0. If Tampa wins this game, they go to the World Series and the Red Sox don't.

I suggest hubby go to bed so he doesn't see the kill.

He lingers briefly, but then trudges upstairs.

Our 16-year-old son brings down hubby's mood a bit more by announcing that the score is now 7-0. On that somber thought, hubby drifts off to sleep.

I work on email with one eye on the TV. The score becomes 7-1. I allow myself a small grin.

Then the Sox's David "Papi" Ortiz gets a three-run homer, making the score 7-4.

I thunder upstairs to wake hubby and tell him the score, just in case he wants to come downstairs. He smiles but stays in bed. I go back to my email.

Then J. D. Drew gets a two-run homer. It's now 7-6.

I race upstairs again and wake hubby again. He mumbles, "Wake me if it's 7-7."

Okay, fine, back to the computer. Until Coco Crisp ties up the game.

Back upstairs to hubby. This time he shakes off the sleep and makes his way down to the living room.

And is on hand and (semi) awake after midnight, when the Sox make the score 8-7 and secure the win. That makes the ALCS 3-2, and the rivals meet again Saturday night at Tropicana Field. The series winner goes head-to-head with the Phillies on Wednesday.

The good news is that hubby got to see a piece of the amazing Sox turnaround -- although he said it "took a year off my life."

The bad news is that he'll be pretty bleary-eyed at work in the morning.

But hey, it was in a good cause.

Go Sox!

Greetings from the Blogging Hall of Shame! I see I haven't posted for (gulp) three weeks.

I've been -- again -- on the road. I spent the last two weeks of August in Massachusetts with my parents, and I came home on Labor Day. The next morning, I was off to Philadelphia for a five-day genealogy conference!

I came home from that last night, and today I did some basic catching up on emails, phone calls, and sleeping. (The sleeping part was especially satisfying...)

Seems like a lot has happened since I've been gone! In Massachusetts, I watched parts of the Democratic National Convention, and in Philadelphia I watched part of the Republican convention.

When I headed north three weeks ago, no one was talking about Sarah Palin or Wasilla, Alaska. Now it's all anyone talks about!

And my son started eleventh grade.

It's going to be an exciting year! Can't wait to blog about it. Hopefully a few of you are still on hand to read about it and to join in!

Since I'm still snowed under with post-vacation chores, here's a "CliffsNotes" version of our Southern road trip to give you a taste of our experiences.

Warren Square, Savannah, GA


Daytona Beach, FL


Palm Beach, FL


Launch pad, Kennedy Space Center, FL


Betty Steflik Memorial Preserve (wildlife refuge), Flagler Beach, FL


Flagler Beach pier, FL


Castillo de San Marcos, St. Augustine, FL


Heritage Hall, Madison, GA

Pools and palm trees -- it's a rough job, but someone's got to do it!

We're back (as of an hour and a half ago) from a trip to Florida, with side jaunts to North Carolina and Georgia, and I can't wait to blog about our adventures.

When I'm awake! :-)