Ready for Errands

Suburban Chicago, January 1962. Ha! I see the Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook on the shelf.

The Tchotchkes Shelves

Suburban Chicago, 1967. This photo shows the items on display in the Rec Room (see also here, here, and here). Did you have a troll doll?

Work on the focus.

Suburban Chicago, 1967. I'm still learning to use the new camera; focusing isn't easy when one has bad eyesight.

Mom sits at her sewing machine. The shelves on the left store Mom's medical books. On the left are many of Dad's historical books; he rarely read fiction (that's something else he and I have in common). I see two books that influenced me: (1) Zoë Oldenbourg's The Crusades; and (2) Stanley Loomis's Paris in the Terror.

The "Keith Moon Sweater"

The sweater is one of the designs in Kate Davies's new book, Yokes.

(I love this one. Read more about Kate Davies here.)

Colorwork

A seventeenth-century, Dutch artist's compilation of watercolor hues.

"Crafting with Cat Hair"

The book.
 
(Don't forget knitting with dog hair. And Glamourpuss: The Enchanting World of Kitty Wigs.)

Knitspiration

I'm usually on the lookout for weaving designs. Weaving graphs adapt easily into knitting graphs. Until recently, I've relied on this little gem, "Lithuanian Folk Decorations:"

Karvelis, a Chicago publisher, issued this pamphlet in 1957. Many in the Displaced-Persons community owned it. The pamphlet reproduces designs for woodcarving, embroidery, and weaving. The weaving graphs include illustrations for tableclothes, runners, and sashes. The pamphlet is in rough shape because I played with it when I was a child.

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I bought this book about twelve years ago at a a local shop that onced carried both knitting and weaving supplies. I adapted one tablecloth chart into a sweater in 2003. I won't post a photograph of it now because the sweater is a nightmare. I knitted it when a family member was hospitalized for three weeks, and we had an eight-week-old puppy, Baci, at home. My knitted "gauge" wasn't even because I was distracted, worried, and tired. I didn't focus properly on my knitting. Most knitters tighten up their gauge when they are stressed; I am the opposite. As a result, the sweater—which should have measured 40 inches around the chest—was a size 49. So I ran it through the washing machine on the "hot" cycle, and the sweater morphed into a boiled wool jacket.

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A few weeks ago, I aquired this gem. It's the motherload of graphs! My Toronto Cousin picked up the book for me at a parish rummage sale, and she brought it during her recent visit. Anastazija Tamošaitienė and her husband, Antanas Tamošaitis, wrote the book. After World War II, the Tamošaičiai settled in Canada, where Tamošaitienė exceled as a weaver.

Christmas Manners: Enjoy the giving.

Suburban Chicago, December 1967. My Mom gets a kick out of my "big bear" gift. I am opening a package that holds a book, Slavic Lullaby. The look on my face says: it's another unwanted gift.

Most Popular, Out-of-Print Books

Number Ten is a favorite of mine.

Language Lessons

My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, tried to teach me her native Russian language. It was a struggle. I learned only a few phrases (blue-tongued insults and foodie terms), and I now regret that Russian is not among the languages I understand fluidly.

Perhaps my disinterest in the Russian lessons stemmed from the books Tatjana used to teach me:

The only thing familiar about this book cover is the set of bows in the girl's hair.

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The boys wear the mandatory red neckkerchiefs.

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Tatjana thought my understanding would improve if she penciled in the meaning of the words above them in Lithuanian.

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The last pages of the book remind children about what's really important. Look! The right-hand page is torn out. Was it a picture of Stalin that someone ripped up?
  

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A later edition in the same series is not more inspiring.

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It, too, has lessons for the little comrades.

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Here's the 1959 French language book with which Tatjana had much more success.

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That's one lurky wolf!

Let's go to "The Plaza."

A Melrose Park landmark, Winston Plaza stood at the intersection of Ninth Avenue and North Avenue. "The Plaza," as we called it, was across the street from Amling's Flowerland.

The Plaza was a hub of many activities, but at its heart, it was a shopping center. Most Melrose Parkers did all of their shopping at The Plaza. Two grocery stores—Dominick's (originally a Kroger) and Jewel—anchored the mall. Moms usually shopped at either Dominick's or Jewel, but never at both. We were a "Jewel family." (I leave discussions of "Foodtown" and "Bonnie Bee" for later posts.)

The Plaza had a Walgreen's and a number of other stores that attracted preteens and teens. There was, for example, a record shop, a Lerner Shop, and a discount store, Newberry's. Newberry's had wooden floors similar to those one usually found in a Woolworth's. 

The higher-end, department-style, store was Madigan's. My Mom bought shoes and underwear there occasionally. Madigan's had a small book department—toward the back, near the bathrooms. After my Parents took me to see Mary Poppins at the movie theater, they bought the official Walt Disney Mary Poppins book for me when we visited Madigan's one evening. I remember feeling very special that day.

One of the undercover security guards at Madigan's was a patient of my Mom's. We'd see her walking around the women's department, looking cosmically bored, spinning the dress carousels as she feigned interest in the merchandise.

My childhood home was less than one mile from The Plaza. I was not allowed to go there alone, or with my Best Friend, until I reached the Seventh Grade. After I got my big-girl bicycle, however, my Best Friend and I sometimes snuck away to The Plaza and illicitly bought things like lip gloss, Fritos, and Creedance Clearwater Revival records.

When I was much smaller, my Dad sometimes walked with me to The Plaza. One year, The Plaza featured an "attraction" for kids: an "Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe" structure.

Suburban Chicago, February 1964. There's still snow on the ground, but Dad decides it's warm enough to make the 0.84-mile walk to Winston Plaza. "The Swan" stands in our open garage.

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Suburban Chicago, February 1964. We walk near Silver Creek as we make our way down Andy Drive, and across Fifth Avenue.

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Suburban Chicago, February 1964. We're getting close! There's the baptist church on the corner of Andy Drive and Ninth Avenue.

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Suburban Chicago, February 1964. We've reached the "Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe" attraction.

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Suburban Chicago, February 1964. It's a lame, walk-through lure of nothingness.

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Verona, Wisconsin, February 2012. But cheer up! I still can go home and read Mary Poppins.