Wisdom Wednesday – Cover Your Knees!

I’ve been posting some of Grandma Eveline’s newspaper clippings from the 1960s-1970s and I thought this one was the perfect follow-up to my recent post about my mom’s knees and my pigeon toes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ouch.

Mini-skirts were the bane of parents, grandparents and school administrators in the mid-to-late 1960s. First popularized in Europe – many credit British designer Mary Quant – the mini-skirt made it’s way across the ocean to middle America where girls like me subscribed to Seventeen Magazine and wanted to dress like Twiggy.

I never really had the knees for mini-skirts though.

And even in the 3rd grade, sitting by a friend on the playground, I was asked about those little blue and purple lines showing through the skin of my thighs.

So I suppose I should have avoided short skirts.

In my high school in Joplin, MO around 1968, girls were required to drop to their knees if a teacher or administrator thought their skirt was too short. A ruler was used to measure the distance from the floor to the hem of your skirt. If it exceeded 4 inches, your parent’s were called and you had to go home and change.

I think I had to do this once. But maybe I was just so humiliated for a friend that I think it happened to me. I do know I was never sent home – so if it was me, I tugged that skirt down just far enough to pass.

And this is reminding me of the girl I carpooled with in Joplin. Ninth grade was in middle school then and I carpooled with another girl who also had to get to school early for band practice. When my mom drove, Gayle would sit in the back seat and, during the drive to school, she would take off her shoes and white socks and procede to put on a pair of panty hose and sometimes a different pair of shoes that she had stashed in her very large purse. (No backpacks in those days.) On the days her mom drove, Gayle would run into the school bathroom as fast as she could to change there. If my mom knew what was going on in the back seat, she never said anything.

These days it is undoubtedly best to cover my knees.

 

Family Recipe Friday – Strawberry Dessert

Continuing with recipes my mom contributed to the Friendship Circle Cookbook, Westminster Presbyterian Church, Clovis, NM, 1973 

I must have asked Mom to make this dessert a lot, because I remember her making it for me when I was a little older – maybe home from college on break – and her making reference to it being my favorite.

When I made it as an adult, I realized my tastebuds had undergone a transition and I found it a little too sweet. (Must have been around the time I stopped adding any sweetening to my tea!) I still make it in the spring or summer and enjoy it.

There’s just something about angel food cake and strawberries.

Not making it today, though, as I am waaay behind on too many things.  And I happen to have a picture I took years ago when I thought about making a family cookbook.

The picture doesn’t really do it justice. If you are skilled, you can get servings out of the pan in a nice square.

Daughter in picture is now 21. That’s how long ago I started that project.

Strawberry Dessert

3 packages (3 ounce) strawberry jello
2 cups hot water
1 quart vanilla ice cream
2 large or 3 small boxes frozen strawberries, thawed
1 angel food cake

Break angel food cake into small pieces and fill bottom of 9 x 13 cake pan. Mix jello with hot water. Stir until dissolved. Let cool. Add vanilla ice cream and stir until the ice cream is melted. Add thawed strawberries. Mix and pour into cake pan. Let set several hours or overnight in refrigerator.

 

Why did the pigeon-toed girl cross the board?

To avoid wearing orthopedic shoes.

Do you see the problem here?  How about here?     Certainly not here!
           

Yup, those are my little pigeon-toed legs in the first picture. When we lived in Great Bend, Kansas, Mom took my little pigeon-toed legs to an orthopedic doctor to see what he could do about them. He looked me over and had me walk back and forth across the examination room. Then he told my mom to walk across the room. “Um hum,” he said, “She got that from you, Mom.”

As Mom’s puzzled expression changed to realization, you could hear the indignation in her voice as she replied, “Well, I’ve never had a problem with my legs!”

And you can see, as we are pointing out in that last picture, Mom did not have a problem with her legs.

The doctor stuck by his professional opinion and did his best to explain that the problem resided in our knees… the lower leg bone turned in at the joint. (That middle picture is of Mom’s little girl legs.) Mom wasn’t buying her part in this, I could tell, but she didn’t argue. The good doc pulled out the ugliest, clunky, oxford-style brown shoes you would never want to wear and told me these would be mine…. unless I followed his instructions.

I was to practice walking on a board every day until my return visit and if I could walk with my feet pointing straight ahead when I came back to see him, I could avoid those ugly shoes.

Dad (Jim) went to the lumber yard and bought me my own 6-foot piece of lumber. He laid it in an open space in the basement and I walked back and forth on that board every day because there was no way I would be caught dead in those shoes.