50 Year Memory

In the history of the Unites States of America, four Presidents have been assassinated. The most recent was President John F. Kennedy, on November 22, 1963...fifty years ago tomorrow.

I was 8 years old, in third grade at Meadow Hall Elementary in Rockville, Maryland. When the news of the shooting in Dallas broke, I was in Mrs. Gonano's class. A teacher from another class came into our room, and she was crying. This was startling at a young age, to see an adult teacher crying. She spoke quietly to Mrs. Gonano, who then shakily told us what had happened. Minutes later, the school principal came on the public address system to make an official announcement. School was cancelled, and we were told to go home.

As young children, we couldn't completely comprehend what had happened. But the message that it was really bad news got through, and we were scared. I remember the walk home, with panicked, crying children around me. Fortunately, I lived only about 2 blocks from school, so was home quickly.

Although I clearly remember the reaction at school, I don't really recall how my parents dealt with it at home. For me, it was enough that we felt safe and reassured with Mom and Dad.

We watched the funeral procession on TV, and I remember feeling sad for Carolyn and John, because their Daddy was gone forever.

Years later, as a teenager living in the Washington, DC metropolitan area, I visited Arlington Cemetery, the site of Kennedy's grave and the Eternal Flame. Early in my work career I lived in Dallas for 14 years, and many times drove the route of the President's motorcade on that fateful day 50 years ago, past Dealey Plaza. 

We are connected to this and other historic events that occur during our lifetimes in many ways - some small and some very influential to who we are or who we become. To many people today, the assassination of President Kennedy is merely history. For some of us, it is a vivid memory.

Remembering Dad

Father's Day is painful now. Ron lost his father in 1995, and I lost mine in 1999. Nevertheless, those of us who no longer have our dads are shotgunned with all the same Father's Day advertising and wishes as everyone else. I wish there would be even a little emphasis on remembering our fathers with love and respect. To that end, I'll tell you a little about my dad.

John Haropulos was a WWII veteran, who saw action on Okinawa. He didn't talk about it much, but I sensed that it shaped his appreciation of home and family. Dad grew up in Chicago, and I learned to share his love of the city - cheering for the Bears and the Cubs, going to Northwestern University where Dad studied Electrical Engineering, and eventually living about a mile from where he and his family lived (on Belmont).

After the war, Dad and Mom eloped in 1950, and shortly thereafter he finished his college degree at the University of New Hampshire. They lived in New York City less than a year, before Dad obtained a government job in the DC area. Three daughters (I'm #2) and a son were all raised in suburban Maryland. All of us got good public school educations and the opportunity to go to college.

Dad was an impressive figure. I used to describe him to friends as "6 foot 2 with a mustache". We were taught to think in a disciplined way and to use our brains to figure things out. (In fact it was demanded of us.)

I'm thankful that we were able to finance a trip to Hawaii for Mom and Dad in the 80's. Dad had a chance to show Mom where he was stationed at the end of the war. Hilton came through and upgraded them into a suite with a view of Diamondhead. I also fondly remember the trip Ron and I took with them to Arizona to see the Cubs in Spring Training.

Dad taught me how to throw and catch a football and a baseball, and how to swing a golf club. He paid for summer camp, swimming, hula, and piano lessons. He yelled at me when I did something stupid, and comforted me when I skinned a knee. We played wiffle ball in the back yard. Saturday nights, he grilled burgers or steaks. We all piled into a car for summer vacations, and Dad drove us to New Hampshire. When he got tired, he would sing silly songs. I remember him pulling over to the side of the road to pick wildflowers flowers for Mom. We loved it when Dad would play old 78 records and he and Mom would dance in the living room. Dad mowed the lawn, fixed the car, and built things. At the end of the day, he would often come upstairs to tuck us in at night and check the bed for creepy-crawlies. When Ron and I married in 1991, Dad placed our wedding crowns on our heads, and danced at our reception. He was the best father I can imagine.

So as Father's Day approaches, the best thing my old friends could say to me is, "I remember your father". Otherwise, a hug would be good.

Music and Memories

I'm not one to live in the past, but sometimes a specific piece of music or an artist catapults you to a place and time. That can result in anything from a smile to wet eyes.

Some of my favorites that cause mental time travel:

GOOD VIBRATIONS by the Beach Boys: This was my first record - a 45. It brings me back to our house in Forbes Street in Rockville, MD in 1966. I was in 6th grade.

FIRE AND RAIN by James Taylor: Along with any song from his 1970 album Sweet Baby James, James Taylor's music was the soundtrack of my years at Magruder High School in Maryland.

SMOKE ON THE WATER by Deep Purple: This is the song that caused a stampede onto the dance floor at my senior prom in 1973.

COULD IT BE I'M FALLING IN LOVE by the Spinners: I fell in love for the first time to this song, ice skating at night on Northwestern's campus in Evanston, IL in 1973.

YOU COULD HAVE BEEN WITH ME by Sheena Easton: Always brings me back to the early days of my forever romance with Ron (circa 1983) in Dallas. The stereo is cranked up and we're wearing headphones and lying on the floor next to each other.

MARINA DEL REY by George Strait: Ron bought me my first CD player and George's first "best of" album when I lived in my townhouse (my first home of my own) in Coppell, TX in 1987. I had the most comfortable mauve velour sofa. It's OK, it was the 80's.

ONLY WANNA BE WITH YOU by Hootie and the Blowfish: When I hear this or any other song from  Cracked Rear View, it's 1996 and I'm floating in the pool at our house in Las Vegas.

CLARITY by John Mayer: The first song on one of the playlists on my iPod will always remind me of cocktail hour in the front room of our condo in Chicago (2008-2012), relaxing and enjoying the view of the neighborhood.

It's important to me to keep discovering and listening to new artists and musical releases. We need tunes to weave together our memories, and I'm not done with my life story.

Feels Like Home

While Ron and I were dining out last night, we were chatting with a man at the table next to us. He asked where we were from. When we hesitated and looked at each other, he said, “Where do you live now?” That, we could easily answer. As to where we are from… I grew up in Maryland, but am most recently from Chicago. We’ve also lived in Dallas, Las Vegas, and Memphis. Prescott, Arizona is home now.

"Home is Where the Heart Is”. If that’s true, I have multiple places to call Home, where I have strewn pieces of my heart. Home is a place you look forward to getting back to when you are away. Your pulse quickens when you fly over, or round a corner in the neighborhood. Thoughts linger there, replaying vivid memories.

 

Yes, Prescott is home now. Our house and our belongings are there. Our friends and community are there. But my heart still sings when I arrive in Chicago. I have history there, as does my father’s family. It’s where Ron and I started our retirement. I can walk through the neighborhood, past the block where my grandfather’s furrier store used to be. When I go to Wrigley Field, I think about Dad attending games there as a kid. I became an adult while attending Northwestern University in adjacent Evanston. I “get” Chicago, and I will always love it in a visceral way.

Mom’s home in Manchester, New Hampshire is also my home. The knotty pine paneling, the jays cawing in the trees, and the tiny, homey kitchen – all Home. Mom’s grandfather, parents, and brother built the house with love, and it oozes from every seam. I’m always happy there.

Ron’s family recently sold the farm and home place in Melvin, Illinois. We haven’t been back since. It felt like Home and an emotional touchstone for years. There are generations of history there, and so many memories of family gatherings. It was hard to let go. The feeling of home-ness in Melvin will fade over time, because we don’t belong there any longer.

Everyone should have at least one place to call Home. If you have more, you are blessed.

Looking Back at 2012

One of my new traditions, since retirement, has been to create a annual photo book to summarize the year. The process of putting it together allows me to meander through my collection of photos to select the best representations of places and events throughout the past months. It used to be common to lovingly put together photo albums to keep memories. Now, with digital photography, too many of our favorite photos hide in our computers where we just don't see them that often. That's a bit of a shame. Hence my photo books, which frequently get plucked off an occasional table for re-review.

Construction of the book has the welcome side effect of stimulating remembrance. I smile and chuckle as I see pictures I had forgotten, recollecting conversations and visual snippets of activity. It all is a reminder of the abundance of happiness and love in our lives today.

2012 was a crazy busy year for us.

We packed up our urban condo life to move everything to our ranch cottage in Prescott. Then we worked like dogs to clean and paint the place to prepare it for renters. Closing that chapter was challenging and very bittersweet. Eventually we will sell the place in Chicago, when market conditions so allow. For now, we are fortunate to have found a very nice couple to live there and take care of it.

The happy highlight of our year was our trip to England with friends. There are so many special memories from our tour around southern England that I had to make a photo book for just that trip, a copy of which I gifted to our dear friends and travel companions for Christmas.

Summer in Prescott in our Talking Rock community was a giddy whirlwind of golf, parties, club events, and more golf. It was fun and exhilirating and, somehow, relaxing at the same time. It was a period of recovery from the stress of moving, and truly established us as full time residents in Arizona.

October took us to New Hampshire for my mother's open heart surgery. We were so thankful that Mom made it through the main event with flying colors. Two and a half months later she continues to struggle some through her recovery, and we are concerned about several after effects. But we are amazed by Mom's courage and grit, and thankful for the care provided by my sister Althea and the visiting nurses. Our hopes are high for continued improvement.

As this year winds down and I sift through my photos and memories - I am grateful for so much. We have wonderful, generous friends, a beautiful place to live, many things to keep us busy, and the health to allow us to keep on truckin'. We love our family and hope to see more of them in the new year.

Happy New Year to All! Let's make it a good one.

Bailey Bros. Golf

Today was the first day of play in Talking Rock Ranch’s "Big Talk" golf tournament. For $700 a person, 46 teams of 2 compete for three days for the prestigious championship. This year Ron is playing for the first time. His partner is his brother Tim, from St Louis.

Women were banned from the golf course and the club house starting yesterday, until the closing party on Saturday night. Right now, testosterone levels around the pro shop and the club’s bar might poison us anyway – so we are pretty happy staying away, having our hen parties or quiet evenings at home with a chick flick.

The guys are being fed three over-the-top, gourmet meals a day, partaking liberally from the open bar, wagering on themselves and other teams, acquiring new golf paraphernalia, and driving around in golf carts. They are out of reach of our reminders, nagging, and pleas to avoid overindulgence. They think they’re in Heaven.

When Ron and Tim left for breakfast before their morning round today, they were nattily attired in matching outfits – white shorts and beautiful blue shirts that were a gift from Tim and his wife Emily. They had them embroidered with “Bailey Bros. Golf” on the chest, and “TEI” on the sleeve. TEI was a company founded and owned by their late father, Jim Bailey. It was a poignant reminder that Jim would have so loved that two of his boys could share this experience. He will be with them in spirit. Ron got a little choked up with it all.

It’s a special treat to be witness to all this wholesome male bonding, brotherly and friendly. Sitting in the house by myself in the evening with the windows open, I can hear laughter from the club house drifting across the fairway. The guys will come home fairly lit up, eyes twinkling, grins a little crooked, and smelling of cigars. Last night after the opening party both slept soundly, like little kids worn out by the excitement of Christmas Day.

I love this for Tim and Ron. It’s fun to watch them making memories together.

Merry and Bright

Our Christmas tree is now decorated and glowing in the front windows of our home in Chicago. The possibility that it brightens the evening commute of our neighbors as they trudge home pleases me.

We trimmed the tree last night, after hors d’oeuvres and while sipping champagne and listening to Christmas music. This night is so special to us, and we savor every moment. Some of the magic of the season is here. Almost every ornament sparks memories of good times, dear friends, and places we have enjoyed. Over the years, holdovers from childhood have been retired and new additions added to reflect our own sentiments and traditions.

The Knights Templar were a gift from Dave…the handcrafted angel made by Tracy…the hand-blown ornaments from Germany we purchased on annual outings to Chicago’s Christkindlmarkt… this one commemorates the show we saw the week we got engaged…the collection of ornaments we have received from Aunt Elaine and Uncle Jerry over decades… The stories and memories go on and on, and we revisit them every year during the tree trimming ritual. Our Christmas tree will never be mistaken for a designer tree. We wouldn’t want that. It is a reflection of our life together, and it makes us proud and happy.

This will probably be our last Christmas living in Chicago. Next year, we will start new traditions in our home in Prescott. We look forward to that.

I hope these holidays provide each of you with opportunities to make your season merry and bright, to treasure traditions, and celebrate your blessings. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Embraced by the Family Home

Yesterday Ron and I arrived for a visit at Mom’s home in Manchester, NH. This is a very special place. To the casual observer, it’s just a modest mid-century ranch-style house. To us, “1070” is a family treasure.

The house was built in 1952 by Mom’s parents, Barbara and Frank Roberts. Along with help from my Uncle Jerry and Barbara’s carpenter father Carroll Powers, they turned their long-time dream of owning a home into reality. Board by board and shingle by shingle, they created a home full of love and happiness. Over time, it became a magnet for friends and family – both unscheduled drop-ins and planned vacations.

When we were kids, many of our vacations were spent as guests at 1070. The four of us slept on cots in the basement. It was a little creepy, so we compensated by telling stories and giggling ourselves to sleep. In the morning, Grammie would make biscuits from scratch. Grampa would play the organ full blast, we would collect acorns from the yard, Grammie would weave charming stories about fairies in her garden, and assorted extended family would pop in for visits. It was always wonderful. There are many, many memories ingrained into the walls of this home. The spirits of Frank and Barbara are here.

Today, Mom and my sister Althea share the home. Our parents expanded it in the early 90’s, converting part of the basement into a family room with a fireplace, adding a master suite, and renovating the kitchen. But the bones of the original house are intact…the exterior that blends into the wooded lot, the wide, golden pine paneling in the living room and all the way down the hall, and the beautiful windows that welcome in the sunlight and cool breezes.

I’ll always feel at home here.

1070 Living Room.
(photo by Althea Haropulos)

Daddy's Day Blues

Father’s Day promotions never seem to take into account the feelings of those of us who have lost our fathers. It makes the day a little hard to bear. I’ll never stop loving Dad and missing him. He was the best father I can imagine having, and was a tremendous influence on my life. I can still clearly hear his voice in my head, comforting and guiding me to this day…

John Haropulos 1924-1999

“Your daddy loves you.”
“Quit yarming around and get in the car!”
“What were you thinking?”
“You want something to cry about? I’ll give you something to cry about.”
“Go to your room and think about it.”

“I’d sell you for a nickel right now.”

“Isn’t your mother beautiful?”

“You can be whatever you want to be.”

“You’re not going out dressed like that.”

“Don’t talk back to your mother.”
“You dare to speak to me that way?”

“You’re smarter than that.”

“Because I’m the dad, and I say so.”

James Bailey 1928-1995

“I’m coming to check for creepy-crawlies!”

Ron is missing his dad too, and had these to offer…

“Do it right, or don’t do it at all.”

“Respect your tools.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re not old enough to _________.” 

“You’re too old to cry.”

“Pay attention to what you’re doing.”

“Don’t EVEN…!”

“So you think you’re so smart."

John Haropulos and Jim Bailey, we love you both and will be carrying you in our hearts this Father’s Day.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

All four of us “kids” will be in New Hampshire this weekend to celebrate Mom’s birthday. Dolores Barbara Roberts Haropulos will be 80 years old. Mom was born in 1930, early in the Great Depression, to Barbara and Frank Roberts. She remembers rationing of butter and sugar, and as a child, longed for a birthday cake with butter icing an inch thick!

Mom met John Haropulos in 1948. He was a WWII veteran, completing his electrical engineering degree at the University of New Hampshire. They married in December 1950. Alexandra Susan was born in 1952, me (Laurel Anne) in 1955, Althea Alene in 1959, and Jason John in 1963. We grew up in Rockville, Maryland. All of us were educated in good public schools, and went to college on our parents’ middle-class incomes, with a little help from academic scholarships and government loans. Our wonderful Dad passed away at the age of 74 in 1999. Mom and Althea share a home in Manchester, NH.

Deciding on a gift for Mom’s birthday was a little challenging. At an age where she has no interest in having more “stuff”, Mom has asked us not to buy her presents. My older sister had a great suggestion – for each of us to write down enough childhood/family memories for Mom to have one for every day of the coming year. We’ll type them up, print them on small pieces of a lightweight card stock, fold them like fortunes, and present them to Mom in some sort of attractive container. Great idea!


Dolores Haropulos 2009

The reality of encouraging my siblings to actually produce their “Memories for Mom” has been a little stressful, given that we are all hopeless procrastinators and the immovable deadline is looming. Speaking for myself, however, the process of recalling the memories has been really pleasant. I have been daydreaming, mentally meandering through my happy childhood, making notes, and smiling or wiping tears. What I’ve received from my sisters and brothers so far has been fun to read, reminding me of things I hadn’t thought of in years, and providing an interesting perspective on what snippets of life have shaped each of us as individuals. I hope the end result of this project is something that will touch our mother…a gift of cherished memories from her children.

Thanks for everything, Mom. We love you.







Echoes of The Past

Ron and I are on vacation this week in Wells, Maine. Yesterday we met my sister and my mother at Rye Beach, NH. Rye Beach is where my family spent a week or two every year on our summer vacation. It’s a quiet, uncommercialized community that hasn’t changed much in the fifty years we’ve been going there. The beach is broad and deep, the sand clean and soft, and beautiful old homes line the shore.

Over the years, I would come to Rye with my parents, my two sisters, and my little brother. We would rent a cottage on Cable Road – but pretty much all daylight hours would be spent on the beach. We’d swim in the waves, dig in the sand, walk for miles, collect shells and beach stones, surf with boogie boards, catch crabs and starfish in our pails, and even eat breakfast and lunch on the beach. When we climbed, exhausted, into bed at night - we still had sand on our feet.

My Yiayia and Papou (my Greek grandparents) often spent time with us at Rye. Yiayia grew up on the Greek island of Rhodes, so had the ocean in her blood. My Aunt Katee would sometimes visit from New York City. Back in the 1960’s she was young, beautiful, and exotically interesting and eccentric. Father George Pappaiouannou (the priest who performed our marriage ceremony), and his wife and three girls also were frequent guests in Rye. I still remember Father George relaxing on the beach with us in his priest’s collar, black shorts, and black high top sneakers! Time at Rye was magical.

Rye is fondly ensconced in my memory; inseparably connected with family, fun, youth, love, and warmth. I still enjoy spending time there, but it has changed for me and become bittersweet with memories. My father died ten years ago. Yiayia and Papou have been gone for years. Katee passed away when she was about my age today, from cancer. We lost Father George the same year Dad died. My sisters and brother are spread around the country, and although we remain close, we don’t get to see each other often enough. Mom is thankfully still with us, but I understand how she sometimes feels lonely, with so many ghosts around. I see them sometimes at Rye – Dad gazing out to the ocean’s horizon…Yiayia laughing and lounging in the sun…Katee, glorious in her polka dot bikini with her long black hair blowing in the wind…Father George talking to his daughters in his gentle voice.

Grab all the moments you have with your loved ones, and make opportunities to create special memories. There will come a time when those memories are painfully precious.