"My Favorite Childhood Stars"

 

         When I lived in New Jersey and Delaware as a child, every afternoon found me stretched out on the floor, my favorite blanket cuddling me in a cocoon as I watched Sally Star introduce episodes of Popeye and The Three Stooges. Sally Star’s blonde ponytail nestled under her white cowgirl hat. Her broad smile and musical voice lured me to the television while her fringed outfit made me long for my own cowgirl duds.

         Lorenzo and Friends entertained me during my early childhood, too. The program always started the same way, with the lead actor sitting before his mirror, talking to the audience as he applied his makeup. I sat transfixed in amazement as I watched this man transform into the ever silent Lorenzo. Of course Shari Lewis drew me into her wonderful world, too. I loved the quick patter between her and Lamb Chop. My sister explained the art of ventriloquism to me, but I never saw Shari Lewis’s lips move, so I vehemently argued that Lamb Chop and Charlie Horse spoke on their own.

         Once my family moved to San Antonio, Captain Gus became my guide through cartoons. Captain Gus’s bold red mustache and cheery, “Ahoy, Mateys!” or “Ba Ding Bing!” always made me smile. Everyone looked forward to a chance to sit on his boat to watch Popeye, or Bugs Bunny, or Looney Toon. I loved my afternoon escape each day. The warm hearted Captain and the wonderful humor of the cartoons provided entertainment while I ate my after school snack.

         These “stars” from my childhood either started my mornings with their perky happiness or helped me unwind after a day at school. Their goal wasn’t to educate me as much as to entertain me, and I’m thankful for the role they played in my youth.  

          

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Open House"

                                      

           

Dad's "stay-cation" in League City-1990s

           My parents didn’t earn much money when I was young. Not long before Dad died, he found his final military paycheck stub sandwiched between old tax forms. Imagine his amazement when he viewed a monthly income of just over $500. Somehow, my parents never missed a mortgage payment, car payment, or utility bill. They managed to keep three children well fed and well dressed. Of course, my parents invented the stay at home vacation. We never travelled too far from home in order to avoid hotel or motel bills. All of us looked forward to Dad’s vacation time because we got to eat out three meals a day. We visited the missions, toured the zoo, explored Natural Bridge Caverns, and discovered nearby towns like Wimberley or Fredericksburg. My parents showed their creativity in other ways. One of my favorites? Open House Sundays! New home builders often showed homes and offered cookies and Kool-Aid. Sometimes, free hotdogs with all the trimmings lured us into new neighborhoods. I loved touring the model homes. In a way, I felt like I entered giant doll houses. We’d make up stories about the families that “lived” in these homes as we visited imaginary couples and their children. Through all of the “in town” vacations and Sunday Open Houses, I never realized these enabled my parents to give us nearly free outings. Instead, I saw these activities as fun and amusing. To this day, I still love taking day trips to small Texas towns. I don’t do Open Houses on Sunday afternoons, but I enjoy watching home improvement and decorating marathon shows. They are my pot roasts and mashed potatoes!

 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Garages"

 

         My parents parked their car in the garage. A rare phenomenon in today’s world, but fairly common in my youth. Most of our neighbors kept their single car sheltered in the garage each evening. Fathers headed to work in the morning, and the empty space became an extension of our play area. Mom swept the smooth surface daily while Dad swished water over the cement every Saturday as part of his weekly yard work routine. We actually had a neighbor across the street who waxed her garage floors monthly (but that’s a totally different story).

         Our unfinished garage became a daytime fort when the sun bubbled the blacktop of our street into an oozy barrier to outdoor play. We’d haul a huge fan into the enclosure, zigzag clotheslines from corner to corner, and create tent heaven. This large space meant each of us had his or her section. I remember sitting cross legged on the cool cement as I devoured my latest Nancy Drew mystery. Beside me rested my little white transistor radio where Bruce Hathaway from KTSA introduced the latest summer hits. Charles enclosed himself into another corner where he feathered a water laden paintbrush over his watercolor books. Some days he played with his trucks, imitating the low grumble of a backhoe. Our tented town disappeared before Dad returned home from work.

         Some days, Mom gave us finger paints and let us decorate the entire surface with wild designs. She added sidewalk chalk to our art supplies, so we could spill art down our long, sharply sloped driveway. Other days, we hauled out our skates and converted the garage into a rink. I remember circling round and around to pick up enough speed that I’d catapult out the front, pick up momentum on the inclined driveway, and careen recklessly (and miraculously) into a 90˚ turn onto the sidewalk. Our garage became home to our own Tonka Truck Mayhem where our trucks performed incredible feats of death defying leaps and crashes, complete with sound effects.

         The house my parents moved into in League City boasted a large, two-car garage. With this added space, they decided to use part of the area for a ping pong table. Whenever they needed to place more than one car into the garage, they’d simply fold the table up on its hinges and slide it into the center. Eventually, my brother housed his car into the second side, but often his side provided space for setting up a train set.

         The first house David and I rented sported a two car garage, but we never got both cars parked inside because of David’s ultra-light. The wings folded up and slipped into a covering and neatly took up one side of our garage. When we bought our home, the ultra-light trumped the car in getting covered space in our single car slot. Eventually, the craft found another home, but by that time we’d become accustomed to having our cars sheltered under the canopy of our neighbor’s huge Arizona ash. The decision to convert part of the garage into David’s office seemed simple enough. We sectioned the garage into two parts. The back part became an enclosed laundry room and David’s first office. We kept the garage door on the front part, moved our old kitchen cabinets into this area, and set up a work and storage area.

         When we began the process of combining households this summer, the little garage became a dumping ground. Odds-n-ends stacked precariously on top of each other. If we didn’t know what to do with an item, box, or bin, we stashed it out of the way. “Out of sight, out of mind” didn’t hold true for me over the last few weeks. I longed to carve out a few hours of time to attack this area of the house. When my sister and her husband arrived on late Thursday afternoon, I knew I’d finally get the block of time I needed. Friday morning, before the temperature could climb, I headed into the garage. I cleaned out all of the lower cabinets, dumped out and reorganized all of the drawers. With a little effort, I rearranged things enough to open up additional storage space for a few more bins.

         Once I shifted enough around, Paul decided that he could move a few pieces of his equipment around and free up enough space in the old office to set up his DW kit! I love the idea of having our garage being a “play” area again. This time no one’s skating in circles or building tents. Instead of the sound of Tonka trucks smashing, it’ll be the sound of cymbals escaping from the garage.

2023 Christmas gift--New bins for the garage!

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

          

"Koi"

 

            For years my son, Paul, searched for a white Pomeranian because he wanted the contrast of a white haired dog with his own dark hair. I’m not certain what drew us into our local pet shop, but about eighteen months ago, we entered the store. I headed over to the puppies and kittens while Paul lingered around the snakes. When I saw two white puppies, labeled as Pomeranian, playing in their pen, I knew Paul’s quest had ended. One of the puppies had more cream within his coat, but the other was almost entirely white. Paul cradled that puppy in his arms, trying to decide if he should bring the puppy home. Not wanting to make an impulse buy, Paul reluctantly returned the pup to the store clerk. It didn’t take him long, though, to return to the store and nestle the dog within his arms again. We bought all the new puppy items we needed: brush, bed, ceramic bowls (with skull decorations), food, shampoo, and toys. The white fluff became a member of our family.

            After a few dips in the pond out back, someone suggested the name Koi for the puppy. Suddenly, we would all go Koi fishing as we dangled toys and ropes before the puppy to tempt him. Within days, Koi attached himself to Bridget. The older dog tolerated Koi’s too hard snips on her legs and ears. She allowed him to follow her through her daily routine and made room for him at the foot of our bed.

            All of our pets have distinctive personalities. Rambunctious describes Koi perfectly. Our laid-back cat, Sassy, still keeps her distance from Koi’s tumble and tackle play. Padme, our other cat, has a commanding aura. I’ve seen her bat Koi aside even though he outweighs her by quite a few pounds. Bridget, at first, indulged the high energy of the puppy. Like any momma dog, she let him nip and swipe at her tail. Some evenings, she’d recline on her pillows on the couch and give me this bewildered look, and I suspected she wondered when the puppy would go home. Eventually, she pulled him into the unusual pack that we call family.

            Koi communicates through “talking” in sharp yips. An intelligent puppy, he noted easily where we kept the Milk Bones we used for training. When first going through training, he’d run to the tin and jump against the cabinet demanding his reward for performing the desired behavior: sit, come, leave it. During the day, he’ll yip a few times if he wants a treat, jump against the counter, and yip again. Both dogs love chewing on rawhide sticks, which I decided to store in the bottom drawer of the kitchen desk. Paul showed Koi the stash one day, and the puppy learned to open the drawer within minutes. Fortunately, he’s never made off with the stash. He’ll bark at the open drawer until one of us comes and hands him the stick.

            Kio mastered the art of flirtation early in his puppyhood. He’ll tilt his head left, then right and give his fluffy tail a little twirl in order to get his way. If you ask him, “Are you my friend?” he’ll give you a head bump and lick your cheek, looking very dashing and coy. When my mother moved in with us last fall, Paul rented a house in our neighborhood. The house had a “No Pets” clause, so Koi still lives here with us. We’re glad that we get to continue enjoying his charming energy.

Koi--2024!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman