Hi Maxi.
Okay, a long description with content. It needs to be in Indesign.
So my Mom is a fascinating person with all kinds of interesting things to share. We already done a standard book on her life (see carolsbook.com). S so this second one we decided to a grab bag collection of everything including the kitchen sink.
As a kid she used to love perusing around her grandmother’s attic finding all sorts of unusual things. So that’s the reason for the the title.
Here are the categories of content we have:
1. Carol’s stories
2. Things I own
3. Pets I Have Known
4. Recipes
5, Family history
6, Cartoons
7. Quotes
8. Art by Carol and relatives
9. Games/Parties
10. Intersesting Pictures
11.Aspects of my life growing up
12. Life as a Missionary
That’s 12. We will probably come up with 5 more as we go. The first one, carol’s stories, is probably the longest. 30 different stories averaging 400 words each. We’ll see. Others will have short items, like recipes and quotes. I expect many of these stories to start on one page and continue later on page 20 or so. And long ones might continue on page 100 and then 120 etc, like a newspaper.
So I am envisioning five to ten “template” pages where you sprinkle in these items here and there (take your time, don’t feel cramped, enjoy it) and I come in after you and cut and paste within your templates. I can envision the book being 200 pages. Hope this makes some sense.
We would pay you for the templates. After that, I’m guessing we will need some consulting help by the hour.
Let me attempt to give you one example of each of the 12 categories:
1. Carol’s stories
House fire saga
I was in Tennessee celebrating my 80th birthday with my family when I got a call July 1, 2017, from my neighbor, Mary Ann Porter, who informed me that my house was struck by lightning and the firemen were there to put out the fire.
The lightning came through the roof, traveled across the wiring and came out the middle upstairs bedroom, exploding and incinerating everything in that room and basically melting the other rooms upstairs. The soot traveled downstairs and covered everything.
A neighbor two streets over heard the fire trucks and called a company she had used for a house fire, Emergency Services and Reconstruction. Their representative, Steven Alford, came immediately and in talking to Mary Ann went ahead and did the needed securing of the property after the firemen left.
I drove home from Tennessee on Sunday and on Monday met with Mr. Alford and signed a contract to repair the damage. He told me it would take 3 months but for sure I would be in my home for Thanksgiving.
All my possessions were then either destroyed as non-salvageable or taken away to the warehouse of ESR.
The insurance adjustor came to look at the damage and assess how much money was needed to complete the repairs. The contractor pointed out to him the damage to the tilework downstairs next to the fireplace and mentioned that the downstairs wiring might have been compromised, but the adjustor didn’t think that was a problem.
Extended living situations were not available due to the large influx of displaced people from the hurricane in Puerto Rico. So I moved in next door where I was given a bedroom to stay in, have an office for my work, watch the house and meet with workers and keep up the yard.
On August 8 I received this email from Steven Alford: Met with demo crew this morning went over scope of work demo starting today
Work began upstairs to demolish the walls and rewire, and replumb, insulate and then install drywall. The whole house was cleaned and painted and new flooring installed.
Because of my work I was out of the country so didn’t see how slowly the work was progressing. But my neighbor told me that basically nothing had been done the two weeks I was away in August. And again in September/October and November.
On Nov. 11 I received this email from Randy Clark, job contractor: We passed rough plumbing mechanical and electrical inspections framing inspection will be done tomorrow.
Not until Nov. 17 did I received this email from Steven Alford: Walk job with Jason and Steve and homeowner inspections called in for Monday framing and insulation
But I was again assured that the work would be completed by Thanksgiving, so I could have my family come and stay with me.
Returning home in November I could tell that little had been done and I wasn’t getting back into the house by Thanksgiving. But then I was told I would be in by Christmas, when I have family coming.
When it got closer to Christmas I could see it was still not going to get done. I told the company that I had to have the house ready by January 11-12 because it was the annual meeting of our board and people were coming from different parts of the country, three planning to stay with me.
Then January came and went. I had to find other accommodations for my family and for the board members.
On January 23 I received an email from Randy that they were beginning to put the flooring on the stairs.
On January 26 I received this email: Stairs are completed base and shoe installed completely working on shelving and painters thank you
I again told the company I had family coming the middle of February and they began to work daily to complete the project.
On Feb. 8 I received this email from Randy Clark: Mrs. Arnold we are in the process of finishing and completing your home I will be scheduling final building inspection for tomorrow. My carpenter is picking up the wood shelving for your home today I will be meeting him on site to go over the installation. My cleaners are scheduled for tomorrow. Pressure spraying your driveway as I talk to you before about doing has been scheduled. And as I told you yesterday and I have spoke with Jeff and we are looking for moving you back in on Tuesday. If all things go according to plan we should be completely finished.
I was able to move back in on Feb. 15. The furniture I ordered was delivered: sofas, chairs, beds and mattresses.
All the furniture and boxes from storage were delivered, unloaded and piled to the ceiling in my house. My family came to help me (my son, his wife and her sister). We unpacked boxes and put everything away, kitchen, clothes, books, linens, everything. We flattened all the boxes and piled up the bubble wrap. It took three days. I bought food for the cupboards and refrigerator as the kitchen had been empty for 7 ½ months.
I finally slept in my own bed and my family stayed in the new beds upstairs. I scheduled a handyman, Scott, to come to clean the attic and cover the insulation, so I could move things up from the garage to be stored in the attic.
The first outlet problem was the day after I moved in. I turned on a light switch in the family room and it popped, sparks flew and it blew the circuit. The electrician came out and replaced it, saying a wire had been put in wrong.
The second outlet problem was the light switch to a closet upstairs (bedroom on left). When Scott turned on the switch we heard a pop and the circuit to all the lights upstairs blew. I was told it might have been a faulty bulb, but then the light came on when the circuit was switched back on.
I mentioned to the Scott that the AC wasn’t working. He checked the control panel downstairs and said it wasn’t even on. I called the AC company and they came out. He checked the handler (?) in the attic upstairs and saw that the electricity wasn’t hooked up to the handler. Apparently about 6 feet of wiring needed to be added in order for the AC to work.
Was I, the unskilled homeowner, supposed to figure this out?
The third outlet problem was two days later when the vacuum cleaner was plugged into the socket in the family room. Sparks flew, the plug melted and part stayed in the plug and the circuit blew. I was told it was a faulty vacuum. The electrician came to fix the outlet and then checked all the outlets plugging in his power drill. He pronounced them “all clean.”
The fourth and fifth outlet problem was in the garage, when the man came to replace the garage door opener. When he unplugged the unit, sparks flew out and scared the man. It blew the circuit. My son turned the circuit back on and sparks flew out of the outlet in the garage ceiling again. The man said he was “out of here. Call me when it’s fixed.”
We went inside to discuss this, and I mentioned to my son that for some reason the wall switch in the family room (the first one to blow), used to control the plug behind the sofa, now it controlled the plug next to the TV. Why that happened the electrician said was a mystery and questioned whether or not I was telling the truth.
My son said maybe the lamp was plugged into the top part of the plug and the wall light switch controlled the bottom part of the plug. So my daughter in law’s sister switched the lamp and the phone charger, which were plugged into the wall plug behind the sofa. When she put in the charge plug sparks flow out again, and started a fire. My son quickly moved the sofa and put out the fire, preventing the whole house from going up in flames.
The electrician came out (a different one), the contractor and the head of the project. They declared the house unsafe and told me the downstairs had to be rewired and everything in the house would have to be packed back up, the walls taken out and all the wires replaced.
I had to move my family out again and cancel the visit other family members had planed during spring break.
On March 2, 2018, I received this email from Steven Alford: Ms. Arnold,
Randy had asked me to send you an update;
The floor protection and drywall demo is being completed today.
The electrician is scheduled for Tuesday.
On March 9 I received this email from Randy: Rewiring continues at your home. Hopefully we will be finished by next week and receive an inspection on the rough electrical and be able to start drywall.
On March 19 I received this email from Randy: Inspection was scheduled with the appropriate detail concerning the lock box on the job and lockbox no obvious when reading the inspectors comments that he never read the notes have talk to Chris with Tri-City on this.
2. Things I own
HANDMADE INSTRUMENTS FROM AFRICA
This is called a Kyamba. It is made of reeds, two layers, tied together with “string” made from twisted plastic bags. Inside are small stones. When you shake it there is a wonderful sound.
This is made from nails and bottle caps. When you strike your hand across all the caps it makes a great percussion sound.
Drums of all shapes and sizes are used for accompaniment for singing as well as for calling people to the meeting. They are usually made of goat hide and hollowed out logs. Sometimes cowhide. I have one of zebra skin, but it is no longer allowed.
3. Pets I have known
PETS I HAVE KNOWN
Type of pet: black and white pig
Name:Margo the Z Bomb
Where: Guam
When: 1950-53
4. Recipes
Chocolate Chip Cookie Ingredients
ButterBrown sugarSugarEggsVanilla extractAll-purpose flourBaking powderBaking sodaSaltSemisweet chocolate chips
Directions
Step 1: Cream butter and sugar
Like most drop cookies, these start by creaming the butter and sugar with the paddle attachment of your stand mixer (a hand mixer works, too). Don’t rush this step! You’ll want to mix these two ingredients together for about five minutes.
Step 2: Add dry ingredients
In another bowl, mix together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Beat this into the creamed mixture in batches. If you do it all at once, you’ll get a big floury blowup (not saying that’s ever happened to me!).
Once the dough is combined, stop mixing! Overworked dough can lead to tough cookies.
Finally, add the chocolate chips.
Step 3: Bake
Next, use that cookie scoop to drop portions of dough onto a sheet pan lined with parchment paper. Bake at 350ºF for 10 to 12 minutes or until the cookies start to get slightly golden on the edges. Bored of the usual cookies? Learn how to make a giant chocolate chip pizookie.
Once baked, remove from the pans and cool on wire racks. For perfectly round cookies, place a biscuit cutter around each cookie (the cutter should be larger than the cookie) and spin the cookie inside. This quick swirl will help smooth any uneven edges.
5. Family History
My mother went to UCLA and Cal in Berkeley. Gene went to CalTech, in Pasadena. There he met Howard Waite, also an engineering student, who became his life-long friend. They shared a love for boats, cars, camping and building stuff.
Gene graduated in 1928. Howard stayed an extra year at CalTech to get his Master’s degree, then joined the Army Air Corp, went to Kelly Field in Texas for training, and a week before getting his wings they said he couldn’t fly because they detected a heart murmur. So he left dejected and jobless. (The test was conducted after 3 hours of rigorous exercise, and was never heard again.) His life would have been drastically different.
After graduating from UCLA and UC Berkley, Cecil went to get her RN at Columbia University’s School of Nursing in New York City, specializing in Pre-Natal Care.
When she returned, she and Howard began dating. The Depression hit and Howard couldn’t find a job. He lived with his mother, Jessie, and went to work for the WPA, started by FDR, digging ditches and other manual labor jobs. He and Cecil would get together in the evenings, and go out in his mother’s old car to park on the hillsides overlooking Hollywood.
Howard was discouraged and tense because of the lack of jobs and money. Mother thought he needed sex. So a few months later Cecil discovered she was pregnant. They couldn’t tell anyone, so one night they drove to Yuma, Arizona, where there was no waiting period to get married, woke up the Justice of the Peace, asked him to marry them, and with his wife looking on as witness from her bed through the open bedroom door, they got married.
Because they had no money to live together, Howard would sneak out at night to go visit Cecil and return before morning. It wasn’t long before Jessie learned what was going on, and insisted that Howard and Cecil live together.
So they moved into a small bungalow on the Atwater’s Hilltop, practically rent free, where soon Nancy was born.
6. Cartoons
7. Quotes
The person who knows everything has a lot to learn.
8. Art by Carol and relatives
9. Games/Parties
Name this city:
10. Things on Display
11.Aspects of my life growing up
My Year at John Marshall
I didn’t want to graduate from high school in Guam and miss out on having the exciting school experiences teens were having in the States. It was 1953, in the middle of the bobby sox era: poodle skirts, drive-ins, Chevy cars and the jitterbug. I wanted to enjoy all that.
We wrote letters to some family members and friends, and I was invited to live with my friend from elementary school, Sheila Smith (later Kinder). She was an only child and lived in a big house overlooking Silver Lake. We had started kindergarten together and remained friends through letters.
So I expectantly began my junior year at John Marshall High School, anticipating a wonderful year of being popular and having a life filled with all the activities I’d seen in movies and magazines.
I joined the marching band drill team—a prestigious group of well trained disciplined girls that performed at half time for all the football games. We wore blue skirts, white blouses and white gloves. We practiced most afternoons in the fall, and I loved it.
I joined a debate team, and we traveled to other schools for competition.
I took a 6-week class on Paleontology at the Los Angeles Natural History Museum next to the Coliseum on Saturdays in the fall.
I was asked to join a high school girl’s club, a private social clique that met in different girls’ homes. I don’t remember much about it, except it was an honor to be invited in. (I do remember hearing a girl give her testimony at one of the meetings, but at the time I didn’t know what she was talking about except she was crying and happy!)
My best friend, Janet Simpson (now Fletcher) invited me to her youth group at Silver Lake Presbyterian Church. I didn’t know churches had “youth groups.” I can’t remember anything that happened there either.
But I struggled being so far from home. I was having a hard time in my Algebra II class, with a very old and uninspiring teacher. My father wasn’t there to help me as before. I enjoyed an art rendering class, but felt I wasn’t very good compared to the boys who designed cars and motorcycles.
I was so popular in Guam, a big fish in a small pond. But in Los Angeles I didn’t know the latest styles, the lingo, the fads. My hair didn’t curl in the dry weather and never looked right. I wasn’t known or very well accepted.
I developed a cough that wouldn’t go away. Cough drops didn’t work. I tried cough medicine and that didn’t help. I finally was taken by Dorothy Smith to her doctor who put ultra violet light on my chest to try to dry up the cough. That didn’t help. It kept getting worse and worse and I got weaker and weaker.
In March Dorothy became worried and told my mother. She was so concerned that she flew from Guam to be with me. We moved out of the Smiths and into the new modern guest house of Richard and Dione Neutra, old friends of my family, who also lived in Silver Lake. This house, at 2300 Silver Lake Boulevard, is now a National Historical Landmark and museum. (See below)
I immediately began to feel better. My cough left and I got stronger. My mother said it was “home-sickness.” Guess it’s a real thing.
After that school year ended I decided I didn’t want to live another year away from home, so I moved back to Guam and finished high school there, back to being a big fish in a little pond. I graduated from George Washington High School in 1955.
12. Life as a Missionary
Mozambique
Mozambique Stories
We were in Maputu, the capitol city of Mozambique, with Don and Merril Mountan. Our first (and only) trip there.
When we arrived from the airport the host pastor picked us up and drove us to his daughter’s house where we would be staying.
It was in a poor shabby neighborhood, dirt streets with muddy potholes from the recent rains. People everywhere, walking with bundles on their heads, babies on their backs, arms loaded with baskets of every imaginable product. Tiny kiosks lined the roads, where the folks from the huts behind them sold everything from fruit to nuts, literally.
We drove through narrow dirt roads, with shabby huts and lean-tos filled with poorly dressed men, women and children. Most were sitting outside doorways without doors or with dingy cloths hanging down to keep the chickens and goats from wandering inside. They watched us drive by with narrowed eyes and unsmiling faces. I kept hoping the neighborhood would improve.
When we arrived at the entrance to his daughter’s house I thought to myself, “Surely this can’t be the place!”
The gate to the compound was old and rusted, held together with some wire and twine. I knew the people of the church were poor, but I didn’t know that would affect our accommodations.
When we went into the house, Sarah, the daughter. took us to show us her bedroom where we would be staying. It was cluttered with shoes and clothes on the bed and floor, dishes, pots and pans everywhere. Roaches scurrying off when we walked in.
The toilet was outside in a tin shed. A squat latrine. I didn’t see a shower.
I gulped and said, “This will be fine. Thank you.”
After dropping off our luggage, the pastor drove us around the city and to the church where we would be teaching. He said his daughter needed time to “clean” her house for us.
When we returned, the house was spotless. The bedroom was straightened up, with a lovely new satin quilt on the bed, and flowers on the nightstand. Where the clutter was I had no idea. When I commented on how lovely the room looked Sarah broke into a beautiful smile. I then realized how frightened and nervous she had been, hosting Americans for the first time ever. I knew then that whatever happened during the week we would be there that seeing the relief on this young gracious lady’s face would be worth it.
It was a good thing I felt that way.
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That evening we were ready for a hot shower after our long journey. No such luck.
We were shown to a concrete slab outside the compound in a vacant lot next door. Several two-story apartment buildings were next to the lot.
A hose was attached to the fence and turned on when we were ready to bathe. A cup and bucket were next to it. We were each given a small towel.
When I saw the setup I said to Sarah, “There are no walls. People can see me!”
She answered, “Don’t worry. They can’t see you. It’s dark.”
I said, “But I have white skin. They can see me!”
“Oh you’re right,” she replied.
So she went back into the house and came out with a blanket, which Jack held up while I tentatively undressed, filled the bucket with water (fortunately tepid because of the hot weather) and washed.
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The next morning we drove to the church, mostly on dirt roads with old cars sharing the road with motor scooters, bicycles, goats, dogs and people—everywhere people.
When we arrived outside the wall of the church compound I noticed a woman digging a hole in the middle of the road with a small spade, a bucket full of garbage next to her. When she had dug down a foot or two she poured the garbage into the hole. She shoveled the dirt back into the hole and tapped it down. I then noticed freshly filled holes up and down the street. The pastor saw the puzzled look on my face and said, “This is how the women dispose of their garbage. We don’t have trash pickup like in America.” I appreciated that they didn’t just throw the trash into the road like I’d seen in most other African countries.
Our driver then took us inside the wall were I saw a freshly swept yard with the small church on one side and the pastor’s home on the other side, just a few feet across the compound from each other. Several women were sitting on mats scraping vegetables and chopping fruit for our lunch. They looked up and greeted us shyly. They weren’t used to having visitors, let alone white Americans.
We were led into the pastor’s home, which consisted of a small kitchen next to the living area and a bedroom behind a curtain. A bathroom was next to the living room with a wooden door. Inside was a sit-down “English” toilet, placed over a hole in the floor. I was glad I didn’t have to squat.
The pastor’s wife served us tea and fruit while we waited for folks to arrive for the first teaching session. As we took turns teaching in the church, we relaxed in the pastor’s parlow when it wasn’t our turn to teach.
By the afternoon, the heat and humidity began to take it’s toll on the air quality of the house, with the proximity of the latrine just a few feet away.
Before Jack went to teach he naively asked the pastor if he had any “air freshener” they could use in the bathroom, feeling sorry for the rest of us waiting in what was now becoming a pretty unbearable smell.
All they had was Doom, similar to Raid, which they sprayed into the latrine.
Jack went in to teach. Don, Merril and I sat on the old sofa and overstuffed chair in the living room.
Merril felt something on her neck, and when she went to flick it off saw a big cockroach. Then we saw other roaches, on the floor, chairs, crawling up the walls, pretty much invading the room.
We quietly shrieked and jumped up, watching roaches scurrying in all directions. Apparently spraying the latrine had only caused the roaches that lived below to exit into the house.
We were afraid to sit down, to go outside to intimidate the cooks, or to interrupt Jack’s teaching. So we huddled in the middle of the floor, stepping on roaches, hitting the walls with our shoes to kill them, afraid to sit down anywhere.
After a half hour Merril announced that she had to use the toilet. We peeked in the bathroom and saw that the coast was clear, no roaches visible as they had all found hiding places.
Don and I closed the wobbly door and went back into the next room. All of a sudden we heard a blood curdling scream, and Merril came running into the room, pulling down her skirt, her face ashen.
“Just as I sat down on the toilet, I felt something,” she exclaimed. It was a huge roach that had crawled over the seat and scurried under the floorboards.
Needless to say, we never asked our hosts again, “Do you have anything to take away the smell?”