I was born in Phoenix, Arizona where I grew up during the fifties and sixties when it was still a small town. As a child, I spent most of my time outdoors, roaming the neighborhood, playing with any children who were available. I preferred to play in the dirt, catching lizards or little red racer snakes, climbing trees and riding my bike. But I could be prevailed upon to play dolls or dress-up. I never wore shoes in the summer and my feet must have been as tough as leather. I recall standing on the sidewalk that was literally hot enough to fry an egg on, and not feeling any pain.
Because my mother worked, I spent my summers with my grandparents who owned a laundry. It was not like the laundromats we have today. It was a huge building filled with agitator washing machines. After the clothes were washed, they had to be put through a wringer that was turned by hand. Then the wet clothes were hung outside on what seemed like miles and miles of clothes lines. Around the outside of the building was a gutter for the water to drain from the washers. My sister and I would check it daily for any lost change, buttons, or other prizes we might find. My favorite place was the mangle house. It was a separate building with large pressing machines. People who could afford it sent their linens there to be pressed. I loved the smell of the crisp, freshly ironed sheets. That may explain why I love to iron.
My bohemian lifestyle came to an end when I was twelve years old and I foolishly suggested that I be permitted to care for my younger brother and sister while my mother worked instead of the caregiver my parents usually employed. I must have been hoping that some of the money budgeted for the caregiver would come my way, but that was only wishful thinking. As I proved to be a trustworthy teenager, my parents put more and more responsibilities on me. Eventually, I was doing most of the housework and cooking. By all rights, I should hate both of those jobs, but I don’t. During my years of teaching, I considered cooking to be my evening therapy.
My husband and I met as seniors in high school. I had plans to attend college and insisted that we wait to get married. It was during the Vietnam era, so Craig joined the Air Force just ahead of the draft. He was only in for a short time, before receiving a medical discharge due to a sinus condition he didn’t know he had until he went to Texas. (There used to be a saying, “Send your sinuses to Arizona.”) We were married in 1970. We have raised two children, Michael and Kirstin. Michael was an outdoor child like me, but even better at catching wildlife. Kirstin was born with Down syndrome, a chromosome defect that results in mental retardation. In spite of her challenges, Kirstin lives by herself in a mobile home she owns and works at Costco where she has been employed for fifteen years. Michael is the operations manager for the local cable company and very kindly provided us with three beautiful grandchildren.
Craig and I are both retired now. Craig operated a variety of businesses over the years, but his career came to an abrupt end in 2009 with the recession. After thirty years of teaching high school special education, I retired in May, 2013. Even with the responsibility of caring for my elderly mother, Craig and I enjoy our lives here in Chino Valley which is in the central highlands of Arizona. We are fortunate to have several small lakes where we can take our kayak and hundreds of miles of hiking and biking trails to explore.