Monday Morning Musing: Land of Lincoln

While filling out some intake paperwork for a new physician this week, I was asked to list all of the places I've lived, both as a child and an adult. Two very small lines were provided for the answer. My first thought was that this particular practice is obviously unfamiliar with my life or the life of any military brat, such as my Beloved. My second thought was to question why a medical practice would want to know ALL of the places I'd lived. More specifically, a dermatology practice. Although I suppose one's skin has lived differently in the deep south than say, in Alaska. They didn't give specific instructions, such as list just the states or list the cities and the states or list the countries, states, and cities. So, I plunged in, deciding to list countries and states. Then I started to think about cultural differences in the states I've lived in and how those impacted me and what I remember and value the most. In order and with intentional repeats listed, my states are: Illinois, New Jersey, Illinois, Indiana, Alabama, Tennessee, Alabama, Ohio, Washington, Ohio, Washington. Coast to coast and then some clusters of states.

I was born in Illinois, where both of my parents were also born and raised. Central Illinois is rich with farms and flat land and small towns. Both sets of my grandparents and my lone aunt, uncle and cousins lived in the same town that we lived in and attended the same church we attended. There is something so significant about having this experience as a child. Almost every Friday evening my parents would drop me off with my Nanny and Papa who would hand me back over after church and Sunday dinner. Holidays and birthdays had a set list; where we were and who gathered at the table didn't change. I thought everyone celebrated holidays and birthdays and dance recitals with family in this way. I thought everyone's grandparents played cards together.

My mother's extended family were mostly farmers, living in the small towns surrounding our slightly larger town. My Aunt Mildred and Uncle Bob had a large farm, with two horses both named Matilda and a big, mean German Shepherd named Rastus. When we'd pull up to their house, we'd have to wait for Aunt Mildred or Uncle Bob to come call Rastus off of our car before we could get out. In their backyard was an old well, with a piece of plywood laid over it. We would be sent outside to play with the admonishment "stay away from Rastus and the well."

That same side of the family held annual family reunions at Christmas Time every year. We'd gather in the basement of the Lutheran Church in Emden for a day of food and visiting and the exchanging of gifts. Oh, and did I mention the talent show? All of the children were expected to show off whatever they'd been working on that year. I usually played something on the piano or donned my dance recital costume (see below) and did some awkward rendition of a dance designed for a class of at least six adorable children all by myself.

My aunt owned and operated a dance studio in town, where all of the girls and very few of the boys learned ballet, tap, jazz, and what we called "acrobatics". I loved going to lessons there, where I was in class with one of my cousins, but the other two were always hanging around. We had highly produced dance recitals every spring.

The high school mascot was actually a racist word I can't write here, but it was related to the fact that if you put your finger on our town, Pekin, on a globe, and circled it, you'd land in Peking, China. Eventually, maybe in the eighties, they changed the mascot's name.

We'd go to the drive in movies and watch Fourth of July fireworks on the hill at the high school. It cost money we didn't have to sit in the stadium, where you could even see the low fireworks. We fished in the strip mines for bluegill and the occasional bass, which my father would clean and fry up for our supper. To his consternation, I always took a book with me on these day long fishing trips and an umbrella to block the sun and I'd sit in the stern of the rowboat and read the day away.

My father's family owned a cabin on Spring Lake. When I say cabin I mean, two rooms, an outhouse, and no indoor plumbing at all. To this day. But many happy gatherings were held there along with some scary times, too. Once my brother fell into the water as a toddler in the boathouse (he's fine). Once my cousin (same one as in my dance classes )and I made my uppity great aunt so mad that we hid in my grandmother's car, locked the doors, and put towels on all the windows because that wouldn't give us away.

Park Avenue was the cobblestone street where Mrs. Mayberry, my piano teacher lived. I loved the sound our tires made when we traveled over it. I learned to ice skate at the local ice arena, where my brother played hockey and my father was a hockey referee. The town had a picturesque park in its center with a lagoon and a beautiful old building where parties and gatherings were held. A big deal was going to the Dairy Queen and my favorite restaurant was Andy's Diner. We had a drive in burger joint called Sandy's where my mother left me in the car while she ordered and it rolled into the street.

My father built a house when I was probably five years old and when I was nine he built one on the vacant lot next door. That was an easy move.

My Nanny worked as the Revlon lady at the Thrifty Drug Store. She never learned to drive. Eventually, after Papa died, she also worked as a receptionist at the local doctor's clinic, located close enough to her house that she could walk to work. I loved watching her type. My Grandma was a great cook and she worked at the local nursing home doing just that. She also worked at the corner grocery in her neighborhood as a cashier. My Papa was in Insurance and wore a snappy suit to work. My Grandpa was a laborer. My uncle was a firefighter and whenever my class would take a field trip to the fire station, he would pick me out of the group first and swing me up into the driver's seat on the fire truck and let me clang the bell.

None of these memories are about Illinois and all of them are about me in Illinois. If you read this far, thank you for going here with me. It felt good and right to remember in this way this morning. I do remember Illinois as being the Land of Lincoln (although he was born in Kentucky), and that the state flower is the marigold. When my father was transferred from Illinois to Indiana, when I was eleven, my grandmother gave me a charm bracelet that had a charm for Germany (where'd I'd lived from ages 2 months-2 years) and a charm of Illinois on it. Engraved on the back of the Illinois state charm, in all caps, is the word "HOME". She did not want me to forget.

The Shelter House at the lagoon at Mineral Springs Park

Pekin, Illinois