I awoke this morning from a dream that has left me feeling sentimental about an establishment where I spent nine early years of my life. From my first ride on a big yellow bus to my last day as an 8th grader, Woolwich Central School was a place where friendships were made, art projects created, musical notes sung and lessons learned. So much more than reading, writing and arithmetic was experienced at 137 Nequasset Road, some of the most valuable things I'll never forget.
At WCS, I had the opportunity to see a playground built and to participate in a contest to name it. With pride for our school mascot the Woolwich Wildcat, we named our new playground Wildcat Woods. It was a design made from wooden beams, plastic slides and metal swings. It was an elaborate upgrade from the previous metal swing and monkey bar set. After the unveiling, our only thoughts were of recess.
On school property first friendships formed, but also fell apart. Boys and girls declared boyfriend/girlfriend statuses only to "break up" days later. I had favorite teachers and principals and some I despised. I loved Chorus and failed at Band. I was on the Cheering Squad in seventh grade, then played on the Basketball team in eighth. From Field trips to Field Days, Science Fairs and Talent Shows, we bonded as a school community and created a family.
September 1986 began my days as a student, from there I went on to High School in 1995, to College in 1999, being the first in my immediate family to obtain a Bachelor's Degree in 2004. My educational beginning was a stepping stone leading me to the life I live today and I will be forever grateful for the teachings from my past.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Seasons of Reflection
As a child I didn't pay close attention to dates and times. I remember using the change of seasons to gauge my world. We had mud season (AKA Spring), school's out season (AKA Summer), leaf peepin' season (AKA Fall) and blustery, snowy season (AKA Winter). Personally, my favorites have always been Summer and Winter.
In the Summer we would wake up in the morning by the sun's light, put on clothes and gather up the neighborhood kids. We would play outdoors until we got hungry for lunch, an indicator that half the day was over. After lunch, we'd be right back out to play until we saw our Ford Escort station wagon come into view. This was an indication that we had approximately an hour left to play until dinner and even though we had this indication, our mother still had to call out our names for 5 or 10 minutes before we'd get our "butts in the house for dinner"! Once we did get home it was always "after dinner can we go back out to play?" Sometimes it was allowed and other times it wasn't and it just "wasn't fair"!
As the months passed and the temperature dropped and we finished the big family gathering for Turkey, the next exciting ritual that took place each year was preparing for Christmas. We'd pick out the tree and decorate it, an indication that December had arrived. We'd be allowed to stay up later than our usual bedtime whenever Christmas shows were on television. Then there would be the Christmas music which indicated it was almost time for making cookies! Mom would put in the same CD each year and roll out the wax paper, then the dough. We'd use cookie cutters to make trees, gingerbread men, wreaths and stars. After they were baked, we'd decorate them with icing and confetti and sprinkles. It was always a big mess when we were finished, but that was half the fun! Then came the BIG day...the day when all our childhood fantasies came true! This was probably the only day of the whole year when I actually looked at a clock, every hour on the hour until the sun came up! It was such an exciting time. I don't remember much about the toys I received, but I remember emotions. It was happiness and smiles, love and laughter. It sounds cliche, but it's absolutely true. No one bickered or got angry. Everyone was happy and proud to be giving and receiving and nothing else mattered.
As an adult I live by the rule of my date book and have become completely dependent on the clock, but I cherish the few moments when I'm transported back to the long days of summer and when I get a glimpse of the memories made on those cold, dark winter nights.
In the Summer we would wake up in the morning by the sun's light, put on clothes and gather up the neighborhood kids. We would play outdoors until we got hungry for lunch, an indicator that half the day was over. After lunch, we'd be right back out to play until we saw our Ford Escort station wagon come into view. This was an indication that we had approximately an hour left to play until dinner and even though we had this indication, our mother still had to call out our names for 5 or 10 minutes before we'd get our "butts in the house for dinner"! Once we did get home it was always "after dinner can we go back out to play?" Sometimes it was allowed and other times it wasn't and it just "wasn't fair"!
As the months passed and the temperature dropped and we finished the big family gathering for Turkey, the next exciting ritual that took place each year was preparing for Christmas. We'd pick out the tree and decorate it, an indication that December had arrived. We'd be allowed to stay up later than our usual bedtime whenever Christmas shows were on television. Then there would be the Christmas music which indicated it was almost time for making cookies! Mom would put in the same CD each year and roll out the wax paper, then the dough. We'd use cookie cutters to make trees, gingerbread men, wreaths and stars. After they were baked, we'd decorate them with icing and confetti and sprinkles. It was always a big mess when we were finished, but that was half the fun! Then came the BIG day...the day when all our childhood fantasies came true! This was probably the only day of the whole year when I actually looked at a clock, every hour on the hour until the sun came up! It was such an exciting time. I don't remember much about the toys I received, but I remember emotions. It was happiness and smiles, love and laughter. It sounds cliche, but it's absolutely true. No one bickered or got angry. Everyone was happy and proud to be giving and receiving and nothing else mattered.
As an adult I live by the rule of my date book and have become completely dependent on the clock, but I cherish the few moments when I'm transported back to the long days of summer and when I get a glimpse of the memories made on those cold, dark winter nights.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Pink Ribbons
I'll never forget the day my parents sat me down at the kitchen table and asked me how I felt about having a little brother or sister. Most five year olds would be excited...I threw a tantrum and started crying as if this would cause my parents to change their minds. I don't have any recollection as to why I felt so strongly about not wanting a sibling, but things slowly changed as I began to learn more about the excitement of bringing a new baby into our house. I discovered baby things were miniature-sized, like the clothing and the bedding. It was as if I was getting a new baby doll with an entire room to herself! I thought about dressing her and taking her to school for show and tell. I thought about brushing her hair and putting pink ribbons in it. I thought about sharing my toys and my clothes with her. All of these visualizations were accompanied in my mind by the sweet sounds of birds chirping and soft lullabies.
Then, just as I began to like the idea of a sibling, they hit me with a bombshell. A BOY? What would I do with a boy in my house? My thoughts were shattered; the pink ribbons unravelled from my mind and baseball hats set to the tone of loud honking sirens and fire engines washed over me. Another tantrum unleashed. I couldn't possibly imagine how I would share my toys with a boy. Everything I owned was pink and purple! However, my love for my mom and the joy she was experiencing calmed my imagination and as time went on I was able to put aside my fears and develop a new sense of excitement.
Shortly before my mom was to give birth, my parents found themselves in a dispute over naming their son. They wrote down the names and put them in a hat for me to choose. The name I pulled from the hat was Corey, but I wanted Justin....a tantrum ensued. A few days later on November 17, 1986, Justin Vaillancourt was born.
The years have flown by since that day. The first few years he was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Between the ages of five and ten he was an annoying little brat. Between ten and twenty, I thought I might strangle him (and actually tried to on several occasions). Today, he is my greatest ally and one of my best friends. We've been through the worst of times and the best of times, together. We share experiences that only we can understand and I wouldn't trade any of them for those pink ribbons that I once longed for.
Then, just as I began to like the idea of a sibling, they hit me with a bombshell. A BOY? What would I do with a boy in my house? My thoughts were shattered; the pink ribbons unravelled from my mind and baseball hats set to the tone of loud honking sirens and fire engines washed over me. Another tantrum unleashed. I couldn't possibly imagine how I would share my toys with a boy. Everything I owned was pink and purple! However, my love for my mom and the joy she was experiencing calmed my imagination and as time went on I was able to put aside my fears and develop a new sense of excitement.
Shortly before my mom was to give birth, my parents found themselves in a dispute over naming their son. They wrote down the names and put them in a hat for me to choose. The name I pulled from the hat was Corey, but I wanted Justin....a tantrum ensued. A few days later on November 17, 1986, Justin Vaillancourt was born.
The years have flown by since that day. The first few years he was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Between the ages of five and ten he was an annoying little brat. Between ten and twenty, I thought I might strangle him (and actually tried to on several occasions). Today, he is my greatest ally and one of my best friends. We've been through the worst of times and the best of times, together. We share experiences that only we can understand and I wouldn't trade any of them for those pink ribbons that I once longed for.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Bingy
When I was four, my parents bought their first home at the end of a dead end road in Woolwich. The neighborhood was well kept with blossoming trees and lush green lawns. There were several young families with children near my age and the rest of the homes were habited by kind folks from an older generation. Our next door neighbor was considered among the more mature, but in age alone! Elva Edwards was my mother's grandmother. She was a vibrant, sassy woman, who was as quick witted as a stand up comic, but given a topic she passionately opposed, could be as foul-mouthed as a pirate. She would shoot hoops with the boys and play dress up with the girls. We called her "Bingy".
When I was eight, I was given an autograph book for my birthday. It had pages and pages of space for people to write, sort of like a yearbook. Each page boasted a short saying or phrase. On one of the pages was the famous quote "Love many, trust few, always paddle your own canoe." Although Bingy was the first person I asked to sign, she chose this page near the end of the book to leave her mark. At the time, I took her words as words and didn't think much of the meaning behind them. Now, over twenty years later, her words resonate with me. I think back on her life and see her as a survivor; she was a single mother with three children in a time when divorce wasn't as prevailant as it is today. I see her as a selfless giver; she didn't have much money, but what she did have she spent on her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I see her as a hard worker; from the farms picking potatoes to working in the town office, her abilities were endless.
Bingy was not only my great-grandmother, she was my mentor and my friend. She taught me to love the great outdoors. In her day, she was a hunter, a fisher(wo)man, a beach go-er, and a bird watcher. She loved red cardinals. Her living room had a large picture window with a view of her backyard in which she had placed several bird feeders. It was rare, but every now and then a cardinal would fly in with the robins and the chickadees. She made it a point to tell everyone when "her" cardinal made an appearance. It was beautiful to hear the happiness in her voice and see the smile on her face.
Today, a friend forwarded me a chain email that I'd like to share about the joys of life:
When I was eight, I was given an autograph book for my birthday. It had pages and pages of space for people to write, sort of like a yearbook. Each page boasted a short saying or phrase. On one of the pages was the famous quote "Love many, trust few, always paddle your own canoe." Although Bingy was the first person I asked to sign, she chose this page near the end of the book to leave her mark. At the time, I took her words as words and didn't think much of the meaning behind them. Now, over twenty years later, her words resonate with me. I think back on her life and see her as a survivor; she was a single mother with three children in a time when divorce wasn't as prevailant as it is today. I see her as a selfless giver; she didn't have much money, but what she did have she spent on her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I see her as a hard worker; from the farms picking potatoes to working in the town office, her abilities were endless.
Bingy was not only my great-grandmother, she was my mentor and my friend. She taught me to love the great outdoors. In her day, she was a hunter, a fisher(wo)man, a beach go-er, and a bird watcher. She loved red cardinals. Her living room had a large picture window with a view of her backyard in which she had placed several bird feeders. It was rare, but every now and then a cardinal would fly in with the robins and the chickadees. She made it a point to tell everyone when "her" cardinal made an appearance. It was beautiful to hear the happiness in her voice and see the smile on her face.
Today, a friend forwarded me a chain email that I'd like to share about the joys of life:
The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn't already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being..she said, "Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?" I laughed and enthusiastically responded, "Of course you may" and she gave me a giant squeeze.. "Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?" I asked. She jokingly replied, "I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids". "No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age. "I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one!" she told me. After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this 'time machine' as she shared her wisdom and experience with me. Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up. At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, "I'm sorry I'm so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I'll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know." As we laughed she cleared her throat and began; "We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don't even know it! There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change. Have no regrets. The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets..."
At the year's end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those months ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you can possibly be. REMEMBER: We make a Living by what we get. We make a Life by what we give. God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage. If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.I share this with you because it reminds me of the way my great grandmother lived her life and followed her dreams. It's good for the soul to remember the people in your life who have shaped your thoughts and and encouraged you to be who you want to be by leading with their own example.
Friday, September 10, 2010
The Secret Room
My memories begin when I was still an only-child and my parents rented a small house on a quiet street in Woolwich, Maine. There isn't much detail I can recall about the inside of the house, I have only vague memories of my bedroom, but I do remember that there was a secret room behind the garage. Thinking about it now, I'm not so sure that it was secret, but that is precisely what my three year old mind decided to call it.
I used to play in the backyard with the other kids from the neighborhood and one day I discovered a window that didn't belong to any of the rooms inside the house. Ok, so I was three, maybe one of the other kids asked me about the window! When I asked about it, my father had said the landlord locked up that room and kept the key. He said that there were personal items inside that were off-limits to tenants. I remember pondering those words for days. What could be inside? A pony?? No, surely it would need to eat. What could it be I thought? Soon, wonder turned to doubt and I thought maybe the landlord hadn't locked it at all and maybe, just maybe, it was a room where Santa kept all my presents! Curiousity got the best of me and I just had to know.
I don't remember how I did it, whether I got a neighborhood kid to give me a boost or if I somehow managed to put a chair in front of the window, but one day I finally got a peek! I pressed my tiny face against the cold glass and peered at the contents of the small room. I noticed many unimpressive items that all seemed dark, dull, dingy and dusty. I saw items like tires and old furniture, but alas, I saw something bright and exciting. It was red and stood about three feet tall with a glass globe on top. Inside the globe was hundreds of small round multi-colored balls. GUMBALLS! I knew it! It was a place where Santa kept my presents! I couldn't contain my excitement, but I had to pretend that I didn't know. I would just have to wait for Santa to deliver my very own gumball machine!
That year, Christmas came and went and although there were many wonderful gifts under the tree, much to my surprise there was no gumball machine. I asked my father about the secret room again, and his story was the same, so I told him about peeking in the window and about my idea that Santa kept my toys there. With a laugh, he assured me that it was not the case. So with a shrug, I sat down to play with all the other wonderful toys and presents I had received forgetting about what I had seen.
Although that was over 25 years ago, I still think of the secret room whenever I see a gumball machine in a supermarket or a shopping mall and the memory takes over with adult wonder. How did my young mind come up with such grand ideas?
I used to play in the backyard with the other kids from the neighborhood and one day I discovered a window that didn't belong to any of the rooms inside the house. Ok, so I was three, maybe one of the other kids asked me about the window! When I asked about it, my father had said the landlord locked up that room and kept the key. He said that there were personal items inside that were off-limits to tenants. I remember pondering those words for days. What could be inside? A pony?? No, surely it would need to eat. What could it be I thought? Soon, wonder turned to doubt and I thought maybe the landlord hadn't locked it at all and maybe, just maybe, it was a room where Santa kept all my presents! Curiousity got the best of me and I just had to know.
I don't remember how I did it, whether I got a neighborhood kid to give me a boost or if I somehow managed to put a chair in front of the window, but one day I finally got a peek! I pressed my tiny face against the cold glass and peered at the contents of the small room. I noticed many unimpressive items that all seemed dark, dull, dingy and dusty. I saw items like tires and old furniture, but alas, I saw something bright and exciting. It was red and stood about three feet tall with a glass globe on top. Inside the globe was hundreds of small round multi-colored balls. GUMBALLS! I knew it! It was a place where Santa kept my presents! I couldn't contain my excitement, but I had to pretend that I didn't know. I would just have to wait for Santa to deliver my very own gumball machine!
That year, Christmas came and went and although there were many wonderful gifts under the tree, much to my surprise there was no gumball machine. I asked my father about the secret room again, and his story was the same, so I told him about peeking in the window and about my idea that Santa kept my toys there. With a laugh, he assured me that it was not the case. So with a shrug, I sat down to play with all the other wonderful toys and presents I had received forgetting about what I had seen.
Although that was over 25 years ago, I still think of the secret room whenever I see a gumball machine in a supermarket or a shopping mall and the memory takes over with adult wonder. How did my young mind come up with such grand ideas?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I've always said I could write a book
There have been many attempts made at writing the story of my life. Diaries when I was young, poetry in high school, creative writing in college and several hundred scraps of notes I've jotted down (and lost!) over the years. Unfortunately, I've never managed to find the time to put together an actual storyline or maybe I just didn't make it a priority. At one point I began the makings of a book in a Microsoft Word document on my laptop, I wrote several opening paragraphs and none of them seemed right so I gave up in frustration. A few weeks later I re-read what I had written and thought the whole thing belonged in the trash so that's just where it ended up.
Although blogs are nothing new, I've only recently become interested in them. A few of my Facebook friends have them and after reading some of their posts I thought, I could do this! When I set out to start my own blog, I had no clear goal in mind, only that I enjoy writing and this may be a way for me to finally explore my interest. When I realized I had to name my blog...oh the agony!!!! How was I supposed to name something I hadn't even written yet? So, I did what I always do when I need ideas: a GOOGLE search (doesn't everybody do that these days?). I searched items like "how to name a blog", "meaningful blog names" and simply "blogs". None of these searches really helped, but at least my mind started creating ideas at that point. I thought, since most of my memories come from my childhood in the Midcoast region of Maine, why not title my blog "Maine Made Memories"? Lucky for me the domain name was still available so I snatched it and ran with it.
Through this website I hope to re-create memories from my past to spark reminiscent conversations with my friends and family.
Although blogs are nothing new, I've only recently become interested in them. A few of my Facebook friends have them and after reading some of their posts I thought, I could do this! When I set out to start my own blog, I had no clear goal in mind, only that I enjoy writing and this may be a way for me to finally explore my interest. When I realized I had to name my blog...oh the agony!!!! How was I supposed to name something I hadn't even written yet? So, I did what I always do when I need ideas: a GOOGLE search (doesn't everybody do that these days?). I searched items like "how to name a blog", "meaningful blog names" and simply "blogs". None of these searches really helped, but at least my mind started creating ideas at that point. I thought, since most of my memories come from my childhood in the Midcoast region of Maine, why not title my blog "Maine Made Memories"? Lucky for me the domain name was still available so I snatched it and ran with it.
Through this website I hope to re-create memories from my past to spark reminiscent conversations with my friends and family.
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