Grampa Ruhl and his Clubs

Grampa Ruhl is of Bavarian descent.  His mother's name was Anna.  I don't know much about his ancestry, but he was a bold man with a commanding presence, although a slight but sturdy build.  He was on the acrobat team otherwise known as cheerleaders for the University of Michigan football team.  He often practiced on us kids, lifting us up on his hands and putting us on his feet to balance as if in mid air.  We also jumped into his arms from the stairs at the house on Puritan Road.  He was the main person to secure the Joe Lewis Scholarship at University of Michigan.  He excelled at golf and bought some land in Naples, Florida, which started out as two golf courses and later became the Moorings retirement center with a hospital and all.


He always urged us to do our best, stand up straight and be goal oriented.  He offered each of us a thousand dollars if we could make it to twenty one without taking a smoke.   Not one of us made it.  When my first marriage failed, I spent Christmas with him down in Naples, and he asked, "Did you love him?  Did he love you?  Is there any chance things could change with him?"  When I answered, "No" he took me out to the end of the Pier and watched me throw my ring into the Gulf of Mexico.


Grampa lived at 525 N. Gulf Shore Boulevard, a stone's throw from the Gulf.  The shells we found there were exquisite as was the enjoyment of a sunset shared with the food chain:  vis. gnats, flies, gulls, minnows, seatrout, pelicans, and dolphins.  Grampa firmly believed in, "The Green Flash" which was to come at the precise moment when the sun hit the horizon.  We never ceased looking for it each evening during dinner.  The last day of our visit always brought a dinner of stone crab and beer.  Even Mom and Dad kept this tradition when they lived in Naples after Dad's retirement.  Mom was with Grampa when he spent his last hours on the beach in front of the home in Naples.  Mom was a good daughter and learned not a little about real estate from Grampa Ruhl.


Early memories took me up to Petoskey and Harbor Springs in his cigar filled Cadillac, air conditioning pumping all the way.  He stopped at a Kresges to buy me my first diary.  How did he know I loved to write?  I always cherished our one-on-one time, even with the smoky car.  We stopped at a pub in Claire to taste the homemade soup of the day, no matter what it was.  Very delicious.


Grampa also extended his membership to Orchard Lake Country Club to us whenever we wanted.  Aunt Gretchen taught me to sail there.  Although we lived only one lake away, I enjoyed going to the club to swim so as not to have to battle the seaweeds found on our beach at Pine Lake.  We also loved going to the snackshop to get a hamburger or ice cream cone.  Aunt Kathy was also my constant companion when we went  there in the summer, darting through the sprinklers on the way from the parking lot to the beach house.  I loved the sweet smell of the tall pines mixed with the new mown grass.


My brothers and I also went to Orchard Lake in winter and flew down the many hills on our toboggan.  When we exhausted our supply of energy, we changed for a formal dinner with the family.  Grampa used to make a rabbit with his big, white napkin and entertain us kids while we waited for the adults to finish their cocktails.  He always ordered our kiddie cocktails and relish tray to tide us over til the rich gourmet meals arrived.


Grampa also belonged to Detroit Golf club, but that was mainly for business and golf.  I only remember going there a few times and didn't like it nearly as much as Orchard Lake.


The place I liked best to visit with Grampa and the family was The Pere Marquette Rod and Gun Club.  The PM club was up in Baldwin, Michigan, and we  went there often on weekends, especially long holiday weekends.  Grampa's cabin was at the end of a fairly long, narrow, winding, sandy road through the woods, and sat atop a sandy hilltop between the Pere Marquette River and the man made fishing Lake with the dam on the non woodsy side.  


The times I went with Grampa out in the canoe or rowboat fishing on the lake were special moments of quiet solitude when Grampa displayed his hidden patience with a novice fisher girl.  I would often get the trout up to the boat and see it escape at the most crucial turn.  He never got frustrated with me but gently urged me to try again.  He often read a book or newspaper during our trips out to the lake.  He took me down to the high banks where the bald eagles had a nest atop the tallest pine, right in the middle of the picnic spot.  He was always the first to see them flying back to their home.  Grampa also showed me how to fly fish in waders in the river, although I never really got the hang of it very well.  it was a bit more engaging to fish this way, a more captivating adventure for sure.


We never had to cook when we went to the cabin.  The clubhouse fed us all three meals.  We got to walk down the sandy road or wood path (but later preferred the wood path due to almost stepping on a huge, blue racer.)   We passed the deer licks and headed into the woods, down  by a steep overlook of the river, passing only a few cabins until we got to the main camp with many cabins in a circle around the clubhouse.  We could bring in our trout to be cooked for breakfast, lunch or dinner.  We just sat down and waited for the server to bring us our food.  What luxury!  I am sure Mom appreciated it more than any of us!


One time our whole family went on the three hour canoe trip down the river, and we stopped on a sandy bank to eat the huge and delicious lunch the kitchen fixed for us.  It was that Fourth of July that first brought to me, "My Friend" at age thirteen.  My brothers knew Mom had loaned me some of her feminine products, so they were sure to tip my canoe.  I was so mad, but a while later I forgave them.  It was mainly my older brother, since Andy was only about eight and would never have figured it out.  


One hot summer day Aunt Kathy and I went into the woods for a walk fully intending on getting lost.  Of course, we ended up on a familiar road and walked all the way back.  The down side was I was barefoot, and the road bringing us home was paved, so I arrived home with not a few blisters on the bottoms of my feet.


When we were young, we played, "Statue,"  a game we made up in which we used to jump off the cliff where the cabin sat down onto the sand below.  In whatever position we landed we would freeze, and the, "Buyer" would come and determine what kind of statue we were and if we were deemed valuable enough to purchase.  If we had moving parts, it always lent particular motivation to the Buyer.


One very cold night Andy and I made a tent out of a card table and blankets and camped on the beach (adjacent to the cabin across the road.)  It got colder and colder, such that the labrador retriever Dad tied out to guard us got cold and shivered and moaned.  We did not know said protector was there and thought it was a bear, so we shivered til morning afraid to peek out,  in hopes the bear would go away.  I am glad we did, for that morning there was a soft, light fog on the crystal lwater, clear yet smooth enough to reflect the deer who had come for their morning drink across the lake by the Tarzan rope.  It was a beauty that will never leave my mind.


When evenings did get that cool, we usually sat by the fireplace and piled on blankets, since the three bedrooms off the main room didn't have heat.  There were twin beds with just enough room to walk between them, and one dresser in each room.  The wool blankets were grey or green, some plaid.  Probably from the Traverse Bay Woolen Company.


If it rained we sat on the porch and worked a jig saw puzzle or played games, popped corn in the old fashioned wire popcorn popper over the fire, played the player piano or read.  I remember feeling the first bit of independence from my parents up there.  Sometimes they let us kids eat with our friends, and sit on the beach around a bonfire later in the night.  There were always fireworks on the Fourth.


We got to go on even six hour canoe trips with the aunts and friends which were always a challenge, since the river water was very cold most of the time, and the boys upset our canoes at every turn possible.  The Pere Marquette River was the most clear and beautiful river in Michigan to me.  One time Kathy, Gretchen and I were skinny dipping down at Cooper's Rollway (right down from the cabin) and scampered out when we heard some fishermen upriver.  Later at dinner, we heard some guys at the next table saying, "We were down Cooper's rollway this morning and heard some mighty big trout jumping."  We about choked on our food laughing.  Oh, the things we three have been known to do when parents weren't watching!


Grampa often took us to Idewilde, a small community of African American neighbors, who had a smoke filled nightclub where we sat for what seemed a long time listening to their most excellently played jazz and blues.  The cigarette girl always took our picture (I wish I had one.)


We also went to the PM a few times over New Years.  Ice fishing was a challenge but a wonderful vehicle for viewing the constellations on a perfectly clear, bright and vivid canvas.  We usually went to a place nearby to hear a Dixie Land style band, and I dance a lot with Daddy.


There was one more 'club' we attended with Grampa Ruhl in the fall during University of Michigan football season.  Known as, "The Brown Street Country Club," it was really the parking arrangement Grampa secured each Saturday there was a home game.  The people who turned their back yard into a parking lot happened to live on Brown Street very near the stadium.  Grampa had fifty yard line seats, which each of us kids had the privilege of using at least one time.  We usually got to sit in the end zone, which tickets cost only a buck back then.  I imagine they are a lot more than that nowadays.  I can remember feeling very trusted when we got to sit down there together while the adults sat at the fifty yard line.  Often we were invited to share in the family meal at Brown Street, because Grampa parked there every time we attended a game.  They cooked some mean ribs for Yankees.


I will always be thankful for the many privileges I had as a granddaughter of Grampa Ruhl.

The Edwards

Grama Amy and Aunt Betty had a brother named Bill.  I did not know Uncle Bill very well.  I know that their mother was a Nutman.  She was Jewish.  Their father was a Hale.  He was a distant cousin of the famous patriot, Nathan Hale.  Grama said she had his watch at one point.  I assume she had to sell it, because no one ever inherited it.


Before I go into my memories of this side of the family, I have to say I found a book by Grama's cousin, Nancy Hale, at a library, "Save the books from the cruncher" giveaway.  It was time to leave, and as I was on the way out the door, my eyes literally fell on this book in the middle of a whole lot of other books strewn around on the history table.  I picked it up and saw Nancy's picture on the back flap and thought, "Gee, she looks like a perfect cross between young Amy and Betty Hale."


When I showed it to Mom (who still has it,) she confirmed it was a relative.  Nancy's parents were artists, (both portrait) and the mother a fairly good one at that.  Nancy, however, chose to be a writer and publisher.  I enjoy both artwork and writing!  Not surprising, then, to find we are distant cousins.


What I find interesting about the Hale connection is that it was Great Grampa Hale, their father, who died falling down the stairs drunk as a result of breaking his neck.  This caused the children, Bill, Amy and Betty, to become orphans, and the two girls were brought up by a lady named Aunt Enid.  I am not sure about Uncle Bill.  I only remember seeing him one time.  The same way we have genes from Molleneaux on Mom's side of the family, which tie us to Prince Charles (17 times removed) we have to remember that not only good things travel down the family line, but bad genes as well.  Thank God we have Jesus who broke all these curses by becoming a curse for us having hung on the tree.


My first memory of Grama Amy is being at their home on Wisconsin St. in Detroit and following around after her as she went about her morning routine.  She had very thick, dark but graying, manageable short hair which she pushed into waves with her fingers when she hadn't recently been to the beauty shop.  She and Grampa slept in twin beds on their backs and snored so loudly, you could hear it all over the house.  Uncle Tom had a room with bunk beds, and Uncle Bob had the guest room when Dad moved out.  I slept in the guest room in a double bed.


Grama made very good white bread and all kinds of cakes.  She was known for excellent roast beef, which she surely must have learned from her English ancestors.  She often served turnips and sometimes rutabaga along with the delicious and smooth mashed potatoes and creamy Yankee dark gravy.


On nice days she let me play outside on the front porch.  The neighbor lady made my brother a sock monkey one time.  I was so jealous, she asked the lady if she would also make one for me, which she did.  I treasured that sock monkey more than my Madame Alexander doll.  There was a neighbor in back who had kids, and Grama made me go over there to play one time.  I didn't want to go.  I remember the little boy was potty training and wouldn't let anyone flush his poop down the potty.  When I went to use the bathroom, there it was in the potty, and I didn't want to go there.  She told me I was too shy and needed to learn to play with other kids.  (Funny how my daughter, also a middle child, has the total opposite mentality, so outgoing she looks at her friends more as family than family...)


We often went over there on Sundays and stayed until just before bedtime.  The Edwards liked to watch sports, especially basebal, hockeyl and football and enjoyed Dragnet.  They even named their cocker spaniel, Friday.  I used to hide in the closet and jump out at Grampa Edwards  when he opened the door to hang up his coat and hat.  He never left the house without a hat.  He then gave me a big, juicy kiss on the cheek which I proceeded to wipe off.  He said, "Don't wipe it off!"  I immediately said, "I'm not!  I'm rubbing it in!"  And he picked me up and hugged me.


On Sundays Grampa and Grama bundled me up in a blanket and drove me to Sunday School at the Christian Science church.  They did not have a heater in their car.  I remember learning the ten commandments and Onward Christian Soldiers there.  I did not know it was a cult that perverted the words of the Bible to Mary Baker Eddy's ends.


Grama Amy was warm and affectionate and had lovely friends and manners.  It is unfortunate she left the Episcopal church and went into the arms of Mary Baker Eddy and her insanity. Desperate people can often be very open to deception.  This had devastating effects on Dad and his brothers.  When Dad came down with asthma at around five years old, she took him to a practitioner and traded up in the devil's market.  She traded his asthma for a spirit of death.  The enemy has killed my dad's little boy faith and tried to take his life many times.  I am thankful my true Abba Daddy has my earthly daddy in his hands.  He didn't even really get over the asthma, because I have heard him wheeze many times.  The devil is such a liar.


Grama Amy also made my dad kiss a little dead boy who had died at a very early age.  Mom told me this, because, evidently it is one of the few early memories Dad shared with her.  It could be part of the reason they shooed me away when Grampa Edwards died.  Sometimes when we feel we are being rejected, it is really God's way of protecting us.


Grama used to let us watch Bozo the Clown and Howdy Doody during lunch time on Disney TV trays in the living room. I liked the one with Dumbo.  Steve usually had the Mickey Mouse tray.  She cut our peanut butter or bologna sandwiches into party pieces and finished it off with cookies and milk if we ate everything.  Sometimes we got to see Buffalo Bob and Sheri and Lambchop if it came on while we were there.


These memories of The Edwards did not come from photos.  I don't remember seeing many pictures of Dad's side of the family, unfortunately.  But the love was there, a family love that comes down from God above, no matter how messed up those are who dispense it.  Grampa was also a thirty third degree Mason.  I found this out later.  I don't remember much about him, except he was quiet and died when I was twelve years old.  It was the only time I ever heard Dad cry.  I heard him crying in the shower the morning Grama called to tell him.  They let me go to the visitation, but not to the funeral.  I was sent up north with Mary Underdown that weekend.  I felt rejected and lonely and wished I could have been with the family.  I wanted to give my cross to Grampa to take to the grave, but they had him cremated.  I somehow knew the cross was associated with death and people's need for Jesus at that time of their existence.  I remember when he died, they had him laid out on the couch for the first day.  I guess it was a custom people who did not have a lot of money followed at that time.


Grampa and Dad and Uncle Bob built a summer cottage for Grama and Uncle Tom on the Detroit River near Amherstberg, Ontario.  It was one of my favorite places to visit.  They installed a pot belly stove to heat it and a huge attic fan to cool in summers.  We played such games as Sorry, Tiddly Winks and Parcheesi when it rained or sat on the porch swing watching freighters go down the river.  I learned the route of, Paddle to the Sea and the antics of Little Toot and heard the tales of Nurse Jane and Uncle Wiggley before bedtime when at the cottage.


It is so nice to be able to get away from home for a weekend perk.  I was very blessed to have frequently been able to visit Grama and Grampa Edwards in Canada.  Grampa even went to work from the cottage, since it was very close to Detroit.  We were allowed to stay up late during the annual barn dance at the Grace's.  It was said to be pretty rowdy, but I only remember being asked to dance by Red Wilson or Lou Bouberette of the Detroit Tigers.  Square dancing was lots of fun.


The nextdoor neighbors, the Dick Prices,  were close friends and had not only a bunk house and outhouse in back but a beach house down on the river.  We used the dock and beach adjacent to it for our swimming escapades.  The river was not clean, but we swam anyway.  There were big globs of seaweed that floated by at regular interludes with the current.  The water was cloudy and the sand dirty with oily spots as well.  But this did not bother us when we got to cool off on the hot and humid days of July and early August.  I often got to swim down at the Graces beach when an adult was there to watch.  


On the weekends when Uncle Tom and Bob were there, they would take me by the arms and legs and throw me off the dock.  I had no choice but to become a strong swimmer, since not only was there a steady current in the river, but a pull when freighters went by.  Sometimes we did not get out in time to avoid it.  We had to swim like crazy to get back to shore or the dock.


We also had lots of fun playing croquet in the front yard.  I never tired of that game.  Grama was the type of cook who did it all herself.  She even had a plaque over the stove that said, "There is only one finger allowed in this pot - mine!"  So I spent endless hours playing croquet while dinner was being prepared.  She did allow us to set the table, so I had to leave the game when they set up the table on the front porch and handed me the tablecloth.


How I miss not only the fresh, locally grown corn on the cob, tomatoes, cucumbers and green beans we shared, but the family togetherness we experienced on weekends in Canada.

Grandparents

Since I was the first granddaughter, I had a special bond to my maternal grandmother, so Grandma Rosie will be first.  I don't know a lot about her past, except her father came to America at a young age from Czechoslovakia.  He was not a Sims but took on that name to avoid being caught for deserting the Prussian army.  So, we do not know how to reach back into the mysterious genealogical matrix for our roots.  All we know is Grampa Sims was a 'boot boy' who fled the army at a very early age to avoid being raped by the officers.  He ended up in Bowling Green?, Ohio, met Grama Maude and did the only thing he knew:  Blow and cut glass.  The family moved to Detroit and lived near downtown around the time Henry Ford made his first assembly line.  Thus, Grampa Sims was commissioned to etch the mirrors for the new Lincoln building.  Word is he also did the artwork on the doors.  He also started a sort of assembly line method of etching glass, although his freestyle etchings were a work of art in themselves.  Mom only has a few of his pieces.  My favorite is a glass with a woodland scene, a deer under a flowering tree next to a pond.


Grama had two younger brothers, Donald and Eldon.  Donald used to sneak out and attend the choir practice at the Episcopal Church downtown closest to the river.  He had the voice of an opera singer, but his papa did not want him doing such an effeminate thing as singing.  Hmmm.  One can see some unresolved issues lingering here.  Grama never spoke well of her mother.  She insisted she was born in a toilet.  I never got the feeling they had a very connected or emotionally healthy relationship.  Grama seemed to be a bit of a whiner, and I was often the one on the listening end of her complaints.  


But she had so much creativity, so much determination, and a wonderful way of hiding her pain as well.  She had back surgery down here in Texas when it was brand new.  I remember when she got home and had many massages on a massage table under a white sheet in the hall off her boudoir. Her bedroom suite had a large bedroom, a bathroom, and a dressing room off the same hall.  The hall was not really like a hall, because it also housed a few dressers, including the highboy Mom eventually inherited.  In her dressing room she had her choice of at least twenty drawers opposite a large walk in closet.  At the end of this dressing room was a vanity where she often could be seen using her curling iron, or as the case may be, trying to use it on me.  I tired of this quickly when she burned my ear the second time.


Grama took up ballroom dancing soon after her back surgery.  Arthur Murray himself danced with her.  She took to this so well, she became active in competitions and won the statewide contest against mostly twenty year olds when she was in her early fifties.  She wore the crinoline slips under flowing Ginger Rogers gowns and professional dance heels covered in sequins and glitter.


All the while Grama kept up her beautiful rose garden and often found me following her as she greeted each one with a morning kiss.  One time Mrs. Brinks asked me if I were to be a gardener like my Grama, and I said, "Oh, no, I am going to be a ballerina," brushing my hair away from my eyes with hands covered in dirt and sweat.  Grama took me with her when she began ice dancing lessons.  I remember pushing a little brown, wooden chair across the ice in my tiny skates as she took her warm-up laps around the rink.  But Grama's roses were her pride and joy, more than her dance awards


Grama also loved to go down to Quarton Lake at midnight and ice dance under a full moon. This is not the only nighttime activity she did with me.  She often took me skinny dipping in the Gulf on our trips down to Naples (before it became the Hollywood of the South.)  I can remember the phospherous gleam of the tiny creatures that glowed in the dark.  I did love the feeling of the water against my skin with no clothes.  It wasn't overly sensuous, but just a free sort of feeling.


Grama and Grampa divorced after thirty five years of marriage.  It was a rocky, scary time for everyone in the family, especially Aunt Kathy and to an extent, Aunt Gretchen.  I was on the receiving end of Grama's frequent expressions of disdain and hatred of men.  She pounded it into me that men were not nice, clean or trustworthy.  She also may have been the catalyst for Mom to have such a hankering for books by Freud or Betty Friedan.


Grama did receive Jesus as her saviour and forgave Grampa before she died.  I know, because I was there when she professed faith and forgave him simultaneously.  I was so happy, I felt like jumping up and dancing, and my heart did just that, if my body didn't.


Grama moved out of the Puritan Road house over to Baldwin Court into a small, modern house with a nice yard for her garden.  She stayed there a few years and found a nice semi-Victorian house on Willets close to town.  This house had a bigger yard and more potential for what turned out being a tour garden.  From this home she also worked for the city of Birmingham growing prize winning roses.  These homes were much smaller as were the pine trees in front.  I will never forget how those big, colored lights looked on the big spruce trees on Puritan Road at Christmas time.  We also seemed to have more musicales, with Kathy playing the harp and Gretchen accompanying our carols on the grand piano in the spacious Puritan Road living room.  Downsizing is always part of the cost of divorce.


No matter what house Grama inhabited, she always loved good music playing on the record player.  She taught me to polka through the halls to Chezh music or Norwegian dances.  I know my love for classical music came first from hearing it at Grama Rosie's.


I had to be careful not to knock any of her beautiful, colored glass off the shelves when dancing through the house.  Grama had a lovely collection, always kept by a window so the sun could shine and disperse its splendid rays through each pretty piece.  Grama felt at home no matter where she was when she had her antique furniture, glass, music and  good soil in which to grow her darling roses.


This was why she failed at living on a thirty five foot motor sailor with her second husband, who changed her name to Vienott.  She did try, and I was brave enough to join them out in Quincy, Massachusetts, for a ten day vacation.  After steering her (Liebchen) through the Cape Cod Canal,  I got sea sick and had to finish the trip at a friend's home near the marina.  This was an experience in and of itself, because these people, the           Fischer's, were Jewish and it was Passover; ah, but that is another story for another time.


Grampa Vienott helped Grama keep her home on Torch Lake.  It was my favorite place in the whole wide world, and it was called, "Trollhaugen."  The lake was always a beautiful tourquoise color, very cold and clear.  The house was an A framed style with a huge kitchen and fireplace which also opened into the living room.  Upstairs included an open loft and what we called the bunk room, because it had 4 bunk beds built into the walls with drawers underneath to house all the grandchildren.  The loft had a double bed and dressers, as well.


One thing I learned from Grama Rosie was the fact that divorce doesn't solve anything.  If one divorces, their problems will only follow them into a second marriage.  Grama and Grampa Vienott also argued and left things hanging, with no real chance at honest emotional connection and caring.  Interestingly enough, both Grama and Grampa Ruhl ended up marrying Easterners, both from Massachusetts.  Neither were happily married the second time around.  I know, because I was a first hand witness to their wretched fighting.  This definitely contributed to the fact that I was married late in life.

First Memories

Most of my early memories were loaned through photographs and overheard famiy conversations.  I, for instance, was born in St. Joseph's Catholic hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and handed to my mom by a nun who dubbed me, "Your little Pocohantas"; My dad forever thus called me, "Pokey" and still does today.

The first family home I remember was a small, two bedroom bungalow on Washington Street in Birmingham, Michigan. We, (my brother, Steve, who was sixteen months older than I,) were given an attic bed by default at the appearance of our little brother, Andy, soon after we settled in our new home.  

We also were sent to, "The Apple Orchard," a nursery school owned by some people my parents knew pretty well.  I don't remember it well, other than that I disliked the place.  It was old, musty smelling and dark.  I did not like being away from Mom, but I did like the nap times, which were introduced by snacks of apple juice and graham crackers.  I enjoyed the quiet time because I knew in an hour our parents would come to get us.

Our first Christmas withnew baby brother, Andy, found us up and opening (sans parents) at daybreak.  Steve told me which presents had my name, so boy, did we rip!  Mom and Dad were not any too pleased to find we had opened everything before they got up.  I remember getting a doll baby and carriage.  But it was not long before a nap was needed, since we had stayed awake  as long as possible Christmas Eve waiting for Santa by playing, "Blow a peep and go to sleep." It was a silly game Steve made up that kept us laughing until we finally succumbed to slumber.  Mom always cleaned while we napped, so she had plenty of time to clean up the effects of the unwrapping cyclone we had brought to the living room.

Winters were fun in the suburbs when Dad or Mom pulled us around the block on the sled.  Being bundled up was a time consuming, but comforting affair. Greeting neighbors was always an important activity for the folks, so our winter walks served that purpose, bringing many people out on the coldest of days.  Family played a large role in our lives as well.   We often went down to Dad's parents on Wisconsin Street, in Detroit on Sunday afternoons. Grampa Edwards, Dad, and Uncles, Tom and Bob always watched sports, usually baseball, football or hockey.  Grama made the most delicious homemade white bread, cakes and roast beef with mashed potatoes and dark gravy.

After Andy was born, we also spent a considerable amount of time at Grama Ruhl's house with Aunts, Kathy and Gretchen. They were only four and six years older than me.  Naptime rarely came for me at 963 Puritan Road.  Kathy and I and sometimes Gretchen would play with their Madame Alexander dolls.  Whenever Grama or the maid came to check on us, we hid the dolls under the covers and closed our eyes in feigned sleep.  If caught, the dolls were confiscated, but we stayed awake by whispering, "And..." stories, where one person had to pick up the story line when the first narrator said, "And..."  We couldn't wait til 'naptime' was over so we could jump on the pogo stick in the basement or play on the corner vacant lot next to Oak Street and the dog run and Grama's beautiful rose garden.  

I still loved coming home, especially after Daddy got home, or on weekends, so he could help me learn to hang by my knees on our swingset.  He also set up the wading pool where I coaxed our springer spaniel, Daisy, to cool herself off on hotter summer days.

I disliked kindergarten just about as much as nursery school and remember the day Mom took me to Pierce School to meet my new teacher.  I had only half day kindergartenl and was always happy to go home at lunch time.  Steve walked me there in the mornings, and I think he may have walked me home at lunch time as well.  Mom's sister, Margie, used to teach first grade at Pierce, but that was before Steve and I attended.

Sometime during the summer between kindergarten and first grade Mom and Dad went out to look at a house on Pine Lake.  It was on Middlebelt road and had a long rectangular back yard with the gravel driveway in the middle.  The house was just past what we called, "Andy's Apple Tree."  It had one of those white benches circling it.  I always wondered how they did that.   The garage had an attached guest house and the bigger section of the back yard was adjacent to our house. We rented the guest house to some very interesting people, especially Mr.          , a French architect.  


There were only two bedrooms in this house as well, but there was a large dressing room with all cupboards and closets instead of walls right next to the master bedroom, which Mom and Dad made into my bedroom.  I could lie down at night and see the moon and stars from a small window above the bed.  There was also a screened in porch off the dressing room, where I slept when the weather grew hot in the summer.

The back entrance to the home was through a sort of mud porch and went into either the large country kitchen or the small den where we watched tv.  The kitchen had a breakfast nook surrounded by a small bay window.  From it I could see one of my favorite tulip trees and the  McBrides house nextdoor.  The cupboards were yellow and may have had some hearts and flowers stencil painting done in red.  My room was above the kitchen.

On the other side of the kitchen was a formal dining room with a fireplace.  We ate many a, "Leave it to Beaver" dinner there.    The south wall of the dining and living rooms was a panel of windows overlooking the huge front yard that ended at the lake's edge.  The living room also had a fireplace as did Dad and Mom's room.  We had lots of trees and bushes surrounding the house.

We loved swimming in the lake as well as fishing off the dock at the edge of our front yard.  There was a bit of seaweed, but we knew just where to go to avoid it.  Winter fun began when the lake froze in December.  Sometimes it even froze in November.  But one particular Christmas Eve I remember the lake being as smooth as glass.  Below zero temperatures allowed for very little snow, so we skated almost all the way across the lake that night under a full moon after a visit with Santa, whom we knew to be Mom's daddy.  We often built a bon fire and made hot dogs and marshmellows to warm us after a long night of skating.

When school started in the fall, Steve and I went to a one-room school house about a quarter of a mile from our home. We could get there by walking down Middlebelt and Long Lake Roads, or cut across our elderly neighbor's front yard to a subdivision's beach and across Long Lake Road to the school.  Mom and Dad must have trusted Steve to get us there, since both these roads were pretty busy and the speed limit was not 25 mph like it was on Washington Street.

Later in the year, Mom would sometimes let me walk it by myself.  She always told me not to ever, under any circumstances, for any reason whatsoever, talk to strangers.  One time it was muddy, so I took the big roads home.  I had just about gotten to our driveway when a sedan came slowly up beside me, and a man rolled down his window and said, "There's a turtle up the road."  It scared me so much, I turned on my heels and ran back down the subdivision and through the muddy beach, to the McBride's yard.  Mollie McBride was like my grandmother, always eager to visit and Mr. McBride had many interesting tales to tell, so they were never angry when I cut through their yard.

Our neighbors on the other side had six boys!  Yes, and they played with my brothers and often made me into the Indian princess who was captured and tied to the nearest tree.  I also had two girlfriends, both of which lived in the nearby subdivision, but I did not get to play at their houses, except on an occasional weekend day.  So, I was stuck with the boys much of the time and did get to be somewhat of a tomboy, just so I could resist their meanness.

Whenever spring came around, those boys would always race to see who would be brave enough to jump in the freezing lake water.  I was very blessed to be able to live on Pine Lake and always loved summers, especially when Mom let me entertain the Brownies.  Mom was a den mother and sent me to camp.  I was assigned,"Dukki Patrol" cleaning the outhouse and got a bad case of impetigo, so Dad had to come and get me after only three days.  I was never so glad to be going home.  It was right after this episode Mom threw the Brownie party.  I snuck her razor and tried shaving my legs for the very first time.  Unfortunately, I cut my legs badly and showed up on the front lawn in thick, wool, knee sox.  It didn't take Mom long to figure out what I had done when I said I did not want to go swimming but only play badminton instead.  Mom, always the gracious hostess, let it slide and only gave me a soft reprimand after all our guests had left.  After all, I was going to be in fifth grade soon!

I always looked forward to visiting the summer cottage Grampa Edwards made for Grama in Amherstberg, Ontario.  It was close enough for a day trip, being only thirty miles south (yes,  south!) of Detroit.  But I cherished the times our whole family would stay there for the entire weekend.  Mom and Dad had the guest bedroom downstairs, and we kids got to sleep up in the attic where there were two double beds and a single bed in the middle.  The attic fan would always suck out the hot, summer air, and bring in the cooler night air, just right for sleeping.  Often we stopped at a vegetable stand and bought fresh corn, beans, tomatoes and cucumbers.  Grama made delicious ice tea and let us have Nehi or Faygo pop, usually orange or root beer.  In Amherstberg there was a little china shop where we got ice cream cones for a nickel.  A dime would get a double dip.  The ice cream tasted homemade.  Mom loved to peruse the antiques while we ate our cones. 

When the weekend was over one of us got to stay for the week.  Sometimes two of us got to stay.  I had a Canada, "Best friend" named Debbie Grace who lived three houses down.  I walked over through the back yards, stood outside her door and called, "Deeeehhhbie" until she came out or her mom said to come in.  We played in their barn where there were annual barn dances with many of the Detroit Tigers attending.  It was exciting, because I was allowed to stay up until almost midnight on those nights.  At lunch time we usually went back to Grama's cottage to see if she had any extra bread to make peanut butter or cheese sandwiches for us, and if she didn't we sometimes coaxed scrumcious corn fritters out of her. Sometimes we just had to eat separately, but we inevitably got back together to go swimming in the hot afternoons if someone was willing to go across the road and down to the river with us.  There was a strong current in the Detroit River and the regularly scheduled freighters drew a large suction and were never very far offshore.  The crew always waved at us.  We could also see the freighters while eating breakfast at the kitchen window.

When it rained, we went on the front porch and swung on the couch or played Sorry or Tiddlywinks on the table.  We also loved reading such books as, "Paddle to the Sea" or "Little Toot."  But our favorite was, "Nurse Jane and Uncle Wiggley."  Sometimes we went to visit Debbie's grama, Nellie, who was also a friend of my Grama.  These ladies always reminded me of Aunt Bea on the Andy Griffith show.

Our time of innocence at the lake came to a screeching halt soon after my brother, Andy was hit by an oil tank as he followed Dad around one morning.  I don't know how it happened, but Grama Ruhl had to come to get us from school, because Mom and Dad were at the hospital.  Andy was not quite old enough to go to school.  The tank had pinned him down, and he underwent surgery on his pelvis bone.  We spent a lot of time at Grama's in Birmingham while he recovered.  Mom had her hands full.  This, in addition to problems with the septic tank, was the reason we had to leave our lovely country reprieve.