Never Too Old to Learn

This is my guest post on 08/10/11 from www.simplemarriage.net. Check them out for more great ideas.

School is for everyone!

Kids are starting to gear up for a new school year. Stores have special sales on school supplies, book bags, clothing, shoes, and everything else students need.

This is also the time of year to start planning your own education. Regardless of your age, learning something new keeps your mind active, which goes a long way to keep you from growing old. Never subscribe to that old adage – you CAN teach an old dog new tricks.

Easier to Learn
In fact, getting older makes it easier in some ways to discover new activities. For example, retirees have several advantages over younger students. They have more time available, more interest in learning for the sake of learning, and have less pressure to get good grades. They can actually learn just for the fun of it. Have you always had an interest in geology or astronomy? Then this may be your chance to finally study it.

Financial Breaks
Another benefit older students may find is financial. Senior citizens can often audit classes for free, or qualify for reduced fees and tuition, at some four-year universities and community colleges. More than twenty states offer senior discounts, so check out the opportunities in your state at www.fastweb.com.

Government Assistance
Students of any age may be able to claim one of these three benefits: 1) the Lifetime Learning tax credit for up to $2,000 a year, 2) the American Opportunity credit for up to $2,500 a year, or 3) deductions for up to $4,000 a year. Make sure you check out the requirements first. You can learn more at www.TaxBenefitsForEducation.info, which is the IRS’s Tax Benefits for Education Information Center.

Scholarships
For anyone needing more assistance with tuition, there are scholarships aimed at returning adults and non-traditional students. In addition to the Fastweb site above, check your local institutions, as well as www.scholarships.com.

Are you interested in whale watching, archeology, or the Galapagos Islands? Two organizations support some 500 Lifelong Learning Institutes (LLI) nationwide for short-term intensive study. Check out Elderhostel (renamed as www.roadscholar.org) and Osher (www.osher.net). They offer something for almost everyone.

Those Who Can, Teach
Another possibility to study economically is to trade your expertise for what you want to learn. For example, if you excelled in the trades, such as electrical wiring, investigate teaching a class on it in exchange for a class in photography. Many schools have limited budgets to hire instructors, but may be more than willing to work out an arrangement. Be creative in your suggestions and you just might find the ideal arrangement.

Conferences
Many organizations open their conferences to the public, in addition to their members. For example, the Association of Personal Historians (APH) is holding their annual conference in Las Vegas in October, details at www.personalhistorians.org. It is a wonderful way for anyone to learn more about preserving their family stories. Check out other offerings on the internet, at your local library, or in trade magazines.

Ask Others
When you notice someone doing something out of the ordinary, either in person or in the newspaper, ask them how they learned it or discovered it. People enjoy talking about their hobbies and you may find both a new activity and a new friend with whom to share it. You can also find information at your library, bookstore, craft or hobby stores, and on the internet. There is a wealth of knowledge available when you start researching an area.

Other Opportunities to Learn
Many Senior Centers schedule group events for people to play cards, games, chess, crafts, book clubs, etc. Find one or two you like and participate. If you don’t find a group that shares your passion for cribbage, start your own. You can post a notice on a bulletin board, local newspaper, or community calendar.

Watch for the new catalogs arriving from your community college, continuing education provider, park district, and neighborhood associations. If you don’t find anything of interest, call them to ask for future classes on topics of your choice. You’ll never know how they’ll respond if you don’t ask.

What have you always wanted to learn, but never tackled? Discover a whole new world of exciting things to learn, both in school and out. But the important thing is to start today!

Never Too Old to Learn is a post from: Simple Marriage

The Stress of the Strapless Gown

A date for the Senior Prom – how utterly exciting! And especially unheard of, since I was only a lowly high school sophomore in 1963. It was a totally unexpected surprise because I had not started dating yet and had no prospects for a “boyfriend.”

At the end of the school day, all the kids hurried out of the school to their respective yellow buses. Back then, driving a car to school was a rare exception that required a written note from home and a special pass from the Principal, so virtually everyone rode the buses. I was a bit surprised when a boy named Denny paused by my seat and asked, “Is this seat taken?” My natural inclination was to reply with a smart-aleck “Does it look like it’s taken?” but fortunately I replied with a graciously mumbled “Gosh, no.”

So Denny sat down next to me. Being from a small town and attending the same church, we knew each other, of course, but I sensed that this trip was going to be a little out of the ordinary. It was unusual to think of a boy as anything other than a friend, so the concept of “boyfriend” had not been established in my personal vocabulary. My older sisters each had boyfriends, but no one in my circle of friends did.

We had an uninspired conversation about the weather and school events, followed by an awkwardly lengthy silence. I was unaccustomed to talking to boys as boys. As we approached the end of our ride, Denny suddenly blurted out “Wanna go to the Prom with me?” Trying to not take anything for granted, I quickly looked behind me, just to make sure that he wasn’t talking to someone else. Since there was no one else around, I naively replied “Who, me? Well, um, okay, I guess.” As he got up to get off the bus, he let out a sigh of relief and said “Okay. Good.” Such snappy repartee (or lack thereof) underscored our mutual inexperience and discomfort with the opposite sex.

As soon as the bus pulled up to stop at our farm house, I rushed out to find my mother and tell her the exciting news. “Hey, Mom, guess what? Somebody asked me to go to the Senior Prom!” I hollered excitedly. The Prom was only a week away, so we had to figure out in a hurry what to wear.

Mom grew up during the Depression, so she had become very resourceful and thrifty. Hand-me-down clothes were a fact of life in our family of seven children. However, a special occasion would merit something decidedly out of the ordinary. We generally had two options for clothes when money was tight: either sew something new from scratch or alter an existing piece. In the interest of time, we needed to do the latter.

One of my older sisters had been in a cousin’s wedding a few years before. She wore a long yellow gown of chiffon, satin and netting. It had already been remade several times for each of their Proms. By the third reincarnation (this time for me), it became a fashionable strapless vision of loveliness.

At the tender age of fifteen, I had not “blossomed” nearly as much as my well-endowed sisters. How on earth could I wear (and keep up) a strapless gown? Mom took me to one of the nicest dress shops in town, one that we typically did not frequent. She explained the situation to a snooty clerk that I needed to find a strapless bra that was small enough to fit my almost nonexistent bosom. The clerk practically snickered when I timidly stated my size as 30 AA, then she replied, “If she is old enough to go to Prom, then she is old enough to wear a real brassiere.” The smallest strapless bra they had was a 34 B (which of course was much too big), but we splurged and bought it anyway.

Now we had a real dilemma figuring out how to make the dress stay up properly. The answer was to sew the bodice of the dress directly to the strapless “long-line bra” with stiff stays on each side. I felt and probably looked like a real-live “Barbie Doll” with a small waist and hips, topped by a disproportionately larger-than-life-size bosom. I practiced walking and sitting gracefully in my stiff corset, but unfortunately I didn’t do it long enough.

By the time Denny arrived in his Sunday suit and necktie to pick me up, my younger brothers had teased me mercilessly. They undoubtedly were curious about my sudden transformation from tomboy to WOMAN, complete with the requisite enhanced bosom. Off I went to my very first Prom in my very first long gown on my very first date, feeling oh so grown up and sophisticated. In retrospect, I undoubtedly looked quite young and naïve, rather than mature and worldly.

The evening went quite well until we had been dancing for a while. The high school gymnasium had been transformed into a fairy wonderland with the aid of crepe paper streamers, tinsel and reflective balls. Music was supplied by a real, live band as opposed to the typical 45 RPM records. The band started out playing sedate, soothing waltzes for the first few numbers until more and more requests were made for a “fast” song to liven things up.

The 1960’s was the era of “outrageous” dances, such as the Twist, the Watusi and the Mashed Potato, but they were a staple at any social gathering. My date and I joined the festivities out on the dance floor, jumping and jiving to the pulsing beat of the music. Each dance number became progressively more and more frenetic and it was a relief when the band finally announced they were taking a break.

Returning to the sidelines, I looked down to discover that in the course of twisting and turning, my dress and bra were now positioned a full ninety degrees off center, with one breast behind my armpit.

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed softly. All of a sudden, I looked all too much like a Barbie Doll who had been contorted into an impossible position.

My only recourse was to take immediate action. As discretely as possible, I quickly grabbed the top of my dress with the bra attached and twisted it more or less back into place. It was lucky for me that I had inherited Mom’s pragmatic side and just dealt with the situation, instead of becoming mortified with embarrassment.

Fortunately, Denny didn’t seem to notice. Regardless, that first date turned out to be a real classic “three-in-one” event. It was the first, last and only date I ever had with that particular young man. And the only time in my life I ever dared to wear a strapless dress. No more Barbie disasters for me!

Tall, Taller, Tallest

One of the things I remember most vividly about fifth grade was being the second-tallest kid in the class. Another girl was the taller, but I came in a close second at over five feet. Little did I know that would be the end of my surprising growth spurt.

For some reason, our class had to line up by height that year, with the shortest in the front and the tallest in the back. That really emphasized the fact that the boys in general were shorter than the girls. On the rare occasion that dance partners were paired up, none of the boys wanted to dance with the ‘freaks’ like my friend and me. So we danced with each other.

I was convinced that I would always be tall. The one boy I really liked was a full head shorter than I was and of course he liked a little girl who was sweet and tiny, not a tomboy like me. So I always said it didn’t bother me and I continued to be ‘one of the guys’ instead of a girlfriend. My one sympathetic concession was when I noticed that a boy was overly conscious of his lack of height. Then I usually sat down or slouched just so he wouldn’t be reminded of the difference.

Fast forward about seven years to preparation for high school graduation. Once again, we were told to line up according to height. Without any hesitation, I meandered on down to the end of the line where my guy buddies were lining up.

Surprisingly, they started laughing at me! I had a bit of a reputation for frequently clowning around and they all thought I was being funny. They didn’t know I was actually serious. It wasn’t until one of my friends on the basketball team came over to me, put his arm around my shoulders and said, “Pipsqueaks belong at the other end.” As I looked up and up and up at him, it suddenly became obvious to me that he indeed was considerably taller than me. How had I missed that?

Somehow, all through high school, I never noticed that the boys had started to shoot up, while I had barely grown any taller since fifth grade. Being buddies with all the guys at school, I never dated much. In fact, on my few dates, I was always too shy to sit or stand very close to the boys. Oh, I also still tended to slouch.

Remember my last blog about not having any depth perception? I always wondered if that was part of the problem, too, with my height perception. Anyway, by that time, considerably more than half the class had grown taller than me, including many of the girls.

At just over five feet two inches and a quarter tall, I didn’t want to be teased with “Five foot two, eyes of blue, etc.” So if anyone ever asked about how tall I was, I always said “five foot two and three quarters.” I don’t recall now exactly why I felt compelled to stretch the extra half inch. But even today, I’m tempted once in a while to still exaggerate it, just that tiny little bit.

Preaching to the Choir

Mommy's Piggy Tales Week 4
Age 7, 2nd Grade

The whole first year of school, I sat in rapt attention listening to the dulcet tones of our school’s children’s choir. They sang at High Mass each Sunday, while I ate my heart out because I was too young to join. It wasn’t fair!

Imagine here that I am stomping my little feet (clad in Mary Jane shoes) in protest.

Although no one in my family had more than rudimentary skills with any musical instruments, we did enjoy singing. In fact, I remember from an early age how my sisters and I sang in two- and three-part harmonies. Perhaps we saw ourselves as the next Lennon Sisters from the old Lawrence Welk Show (1955 to 1968) – you know, Dianne, Peggy, Kathy & Janet. Personally, I identified most closely with Janet, who was less than a year older than me.

Having three older sisters participating in choir meant they often practiced singing at home, everything from pop songs to nursery rounds to hymnals. Sometimes they even let me sing along with them, but of course the Latin verses in some of the songs were much too difficult for me to learn. Regardless, I loved the experience and the closeness with my sisses.

On Sundays, our family arrived at Church early so the girls had plenty of time to get settled into the choir loft, which was in the front of the Church to the side of the main altar. A full set of risers elevated the choir so that everyone could “keep their eyes on” the choir director, who was a nun. An open divider, rather like a wrought iron trellis, separated the choral group from the rest of the congregation.

I recall one particular Sunday when I was again complaining about not being allowed to join the choir yet. After all, I knew the songs as well as they did; in fact, even better. Anyway, during Mass that day, my next-older sister made a point of walking nonchalantly along the trellis, looking directly at me and sticking her tongue! Naturally, I yelped out a “Mo-o-om,” in protest, but of course by then my adversary had moved on and I was shushed.

Again, I am stomping my little feet in frustration.

The big day finally arrived for me! Starting second grade, I was now old enough to join the children’s choir. It was a joyous experience for me. There was only thing that could have made it better: I dreamed of wearing a long, flowing robe like the ones I saw on television.

As it turned out, I never had the chance to wear any robes in all the different choral groups I belonged to. In fact, in college, I joined one chorus in part because of the gorgeous red robes they traditionally wore. My bad luck was that year they decided to break from tradition and go with street clothes instead.

You know what’s coming here: me stomping my little feet with no beautiful robe to flutter in the wind.

Over the years, our choir group became quite proficient with complex vocal arrangements, Latin pronunciations included. I loved the ethereal feeling of being part of a much higher calling, especially when I got to stand on the highest tier of the risers. We just had to be very careful not to topple off backwards. Fortunately, that only happened to me once, during the most sacred part of the Mass, naturally.

When it came time in the Mass for the Homily or sermon, half of the choir stepped down off the risers and quietly walked into the adjacent hallway to sit on the stair steps. It was drafty in the hall, so we all secretly prayed the priest would not be long-winded with his sermon that day.

I adored the choir leader and reveled in the knowledge that she combined our young voices to create such beautiful music. Even better, I recall the thrill of being recognized for having a good voice. I know, we were supposed to be modest about our talents, but sometimes you just have to savor that recognition.

Here is me, stomping my big feet and clapping my hands in appreciation of all the hard-working choir directors in our world. Kudos to all of them!

For ideas on how to start writing your own family stories, 1) sign up for my Newsletter at www.bethlamie.com and 2) check my website for upcoming free teleclasses held each month.

As a Personal Historian, my goal is to help people save their heritage before it is lost forever. What is your favorite story?

First Grade Fears and Tears

After World War II ended, Dad was no longer needed to build LST boats. Well-trained in his craft as a welder, he started working in the Maintenance Department at the new A. O. Smith factory about 40 miles away. I didn’t realize until many years later how forward-thinking the design engineers were.

In 1946, “The company constructed a 400,000 square foot residential water heater plant in Kankakee, Illinois. Life Magazine proclaimed it ‘the most modern water heater factory in the world.’”

About five years later, Smith’s had an open house for all the families, just so everyone could see the ultra-modern facility. OSHA would have had a conniption fit if they saw the plant tours that included me and other young children. We stood beside the huge noisy blast furnace that melted frit onto steel to make the patented glass-lined water heaters. Did that impress me at just four or five years of age? Of course not! I happened to be much more excited about the little bottles of orange drink than I was about the technology.

After my father made the round trip drive to and from work for several years, my parents decided to move our family closer to his work. So soon after the war, it was impossible to find the four-bedroom house they wanted for their growing brood. The solution was to order and assemble a structure from a precut lumber kit, rather like putting children’s building blocks together from a diagram. That was the summer of my sixth year.

The house was a 1½ story Cape Cod style with twin gables, two bedrooms upstairs, two bedrooms downstairs, and a full basement. Somewhere along the line, we had seen tightrope walkers on television. Being quite a tomboy at the time, I thought I could walk across the floor joists in one of the upper bedrooms.

Walking along the floor joists from one side of the room to the other turned out to be not only fun, it was easy, too! I just had to spread my arms wide to balance myself a little bit, especially at the turn against the far wall. When I hollered for my older sister to come watch me, she wanted to do it as well.

She started walking along the floor joists, getting more wobbly with each step. Yelling at her to keep her arms stretched out wide, I was horrified to watch her fall between the joists. Luckily, she caught herself with her arms straddling two joists. Unluckily, the workmen had just that day put the finishing coat of plaster onto the ceiling in the bedroom below.

When Mom, Dad, and everyone came running to see what our screaming was all about, there was my sister dangling from the ceiling below. More correctly, there were her legs dangling from the ceiling below. In a matter of minutes, two burly men raced upstairs and pulled my sister to safety. I don’t remember the details of the aftermath, but I never did that trick again.

When September came that year, school bells started ringing. I had never gone to preschool or kindergarten, so I didn’t really know much about what to expect. All I knew was that I had brand new black-and-white saddle shoes and a red plaid metal lunchbox with my name on it.

On the designated day, I dressed in my red plaid dress with a white pinafore attached. Hmmm, I see a pattern here! I never realized what a preference I’ve always had for red plaid! In fact, when I went to Scotland earlier this year to conduct writing workshops for schools, I was drawn immediately to the Royal Stewart plaid, which is (you guessed it) a red plaid!

Sadly, the shoes, dress and lunchbox were the best parts of that day. Mom held my hand as we walked into the huge classroom, filled with complete strangers. Since we had moved into the new house just shortly before the start of school, I didn’t know a single soul. Not only that, my teacher towered above me, with a crucifix hanging down right at my eye level. I’m not sure I had ever seen a nun before, certainly never one up so close.

Mom got me settled at a desk with my name on it, gently pried my hand from around her fingers and walked away! I started to cry, but she walked further away. I cried harder and she walked out the door. That wasn’t what mothers were supposed to do! I felt abandoned and just knew I would never find my way home again.

After such an inauspicious beginning, I quickly learned to love school. I loved getting new clothes, new shoes, new books, new subjects, and new teachers, even nuns. Most of all, I loved learning new things.

To this day, each Fall I welcome the opportunity to plan my own curriculum for the next year. Whether it’s learning Transcendental Meditation, writing a book, becoming a Personal Historian, or discovering www.mommyspiggytales.com, there is always something new to learn. Maybe continually learning something new is my way of feeling young, like when I was six years old.