Michael: Browse The Strips

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Like my mother, I was not a fan of chewing gum. The look, sound and storage of chewed but cherished chunks drove a wedge between me and my offspring, who had learned about the sugarless variety from television and had been given a stash by the child-free staff at the dental clinic. They chewed in secrecy, but still the occasional wad found its way into my arena and often with irremovable results.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Lynn's Comments: In our house, it was of utmost importance to maintain good table manners. My mother went so far as to give us eating lessons. My brother and I learned to sit straight with a yardstick down our backs and a "Golden Book" under each arm. We learned how to use our fork and knife in the English style, cutting with wrists up, dabbing the edibles onto the back of the fork. (Rarely should one "stab" at one's food.) We were never to talk with our mouths full; never to reveal the mastication going on inside. Eating was often an ordeal. The benefits of the lessons, however, came to the fore at summer camp when we were the only kids who could eat comfortably while crushed onto a wooden bench with a line of other campers. If mom saw us chewing with our mouths open, there was instant objection. This, of course made it mandatory that we eat as rudely as possible when the moment was ripe. This strip was done in memory of these unfettered times.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Lynn's Comments: As a kid, I thought being grown up would be the best thing ever. I thought about the freedom I'd have ... and now that I've experienced many years of freedom... I wonder why I didn't enjoy more those years when somebody ELSE did all the work and all the worrying!

Monday, September 27, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Back to school always meant "back to bed" as the kids bumbled home with everything from flu to pink eye. Mine had to be certifiably sick before I'd let them skip school...none of the "thermometer under the hot water bottle" stuff... I wanted proof. Proof of a certified illness usually came in the form of a shared experience, as we all came down with whatever was going 'round. "The family that's sick together sticks together" and we did...under quarantine.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Lynn's Comments: I don't know what passes for the average allowance now. A buck a week was fine when Kate and Aaron were kids- they seemed to make do. As I recall, however, no matter what the folks decide to bestow.....it's never, ever enough!

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Negotiating for added income with my dad always involved chores. He rarely gave us extra for breathing...there was always a lecture about earning; about effort and reward. My brother and I sighed, rolled our eyes and thought he was mean for denying us a free ride. We grumbled through the assigned chores, watched the clock and thought of Cinderella and other storybook orphans forced to work under the cruel gaze of a merciless supervisor. When we finally received the money, however, there was a real sense of accomplishment in having EARNED it. Perhaps that's one of the reasons we have both been hard and reliable workers.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Lynn's Comments: More than once I said this to my parents. My mom was especially miffed because if she'd had a choice in the matter, she'd have definitely raised someone other than me. It was a subject I often pondered as I looked at the ceiling in my room wondering how I got to be where I was, in this form at this time in history. I remember thinking about other parents and if I could change mine for someone else's- who would I choose. After examining the families of friends, I almost always came back to the parents I had....even though they frustrated me no end with curfews, rules and restrictions.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Lynn's Comments: We had an enormous cherry tree in front of our house. One wouldn't think a tree could be so much work, but ours was. Dad pruned it, mom watered it, we treated it like the gift it was and after the blossoms fell, the cherries ripened, we had pies, preserves and fresh berries all from our own garden. The problem was, it dropped stuff. Like a pet, it had to be picked up after. How we resented raking the blossoms and the leaves, how we resented the litter of twigs and the caterpillars that had to be picked from its branches. The tree was not to be climbed and not to be punctured. It was a rival for our affections and sometimes, I think, rightfully so. Sad to say that a few weeks after my parents sold their house the new owners wanted less shade in the garden and cut the tree down. What we'd give now for the right to rake up the leaves and watch the cherries grow again!