Growing up OC – Finding the perfect tree

Jenny’s blog Gray Hairs and Teddy Bears got me thinking about Christmas trees. Jenny has a “live” tree that is already drooping and dropping needles. One of her readers pointed out that it was probably cut back in October, stored in a refrigerated truck, then put out for sale in late November. It doesn’t take a botanist to figure out what is causing her tree to wilt so quickly.

For the past three years, we have had a fake tree. I really dislike fake trees. They just look……fake. Even the high quality ones look like oversized pipe cleaners sticking out of a central pole. I resisted as long as possible, but what did it for me was the idea of being 7 1/2 months pregnant, on all fours trying to water the Christmas tree, with the dog poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. I bought a fake one at Lowe’s. Pre-lit.

As soon as is humanly possible for me, I’m going to start getting real trees again, and hopefully by that time, Orange Countians will still be able to find live trees to cut. Because, you see, the best kind of live tree is one that is fresh cut. Going to pick out the Christmas tree was a family activity on the day after Thanksgiving. That’s the first day you could go reserve them and get a good one.

We would trek out in the Ford de jour to a local place, under the high wires most likely, pull into the mud and gravel parking lot, then walk out into the stands of trees. Close to the parking lot there always seemed to be a forest in miniature with pine saplings no more than two feet high just dreaming of their future in someone’s living room. We liked Monterrey Pines. Their long needles are soft and lush and fairly easy to hang ornaments on, they are hardy and homey.

The chill of the air, the smell of the pine needles and sap, the squish of mud beneath our tennies…these are all great memories to me. It seemed we would spend a long time finding a tree that didn’t lean too much to one side or the other, didn’t have a hole in one side, or didn’t lack the lovely a-line shape of the perfect Christmas tree. We’d circle two or three, my mom viewing all angles. Our living room set up demanded that the tree be attractive from all sides; we couldn’t just stick the hole in a corner. Finally we’d settle on one, tear the ticket and go pay for it. It was ours!

Two weeks before Christmas, we went back and had our tree cut, and that is a great bunch of smells too. There’s the pine sap, sawdust, gas from the chain saw, and the sweat of the young bucks working there. My parents liked the tree flocked, I suppose as a tribute to their Eastern US upbringings. It took me a long time to connect that the flocking was supposed to simulate snow. I didn’t care for the flocking much because it was sticky, smelled weird and I thought it didn’t look natural. Most tree farms would flock the tree for us, and the back of the Ford de jour would be lined with an old sheet to keep the flocking from sticking. Some years my dad flocked the tree himself. That might have been the years we grew our own trees.

Dad ran wires from the tree trunk to the bannister to keep the tree from tipping over, and we draped the tree stand with foil then a white sheet. Once it was set up, it was time to get into the crawl space and pull back the dusty plastic sheets that covered luggage and the boxes of Christmas decorations. The boxes were what you’d expect – old shipping boxes, May Co. or Broadway boxes – with all our precious decorations stored within for 11 months of the year. I can still remember the dusty plastic smell and my poor sister sneezing from it. My sister and I, along with my mother would carry them down to the living room and set them out for excavation. Dad would put on the lights (old school ones with the star reflectors) and Mom would put on the three long strands of glass bead garland (red, white and blue). Then my sister and I would reverently decorate the tree.

Once the family project was finished, we knew we had the perfect tree.

Growing Up OC – bottles for ice cream

For about a minute of my life, in the 5th grade, my best gal pal was named Patrice. I don’t recall now what her last name was. She wanted to be called ‘Trice, but her mom always called her by her full name. She was a girl raised by parents who were older, and I realize now they were probably alcoholics and they were certainly heavy smokers. But for me, Patrice was fun. We were both awkward socially and so, we bonded on that point. She had a cute fluffy little white dog that might have been a poodle or a cockapoo. I used to walk or ride my skate board to her house, which was a little over a mile from mine. She must have been smart because I think she was in the advanced class with me. I didn’t have many other close friends at that school, so I can’t think of any other way I could have met her.

Being smart did not preclude a questionable childhood surrounded by weird friends of her parents and did not necessarily include a financially stable life. Patrice lived in an unincorporated part of Santa Ana, just behind a fronting of little houses built in the 40s or 50s. Back there, they could still have horses though, and it was like stepping into a rural retreat once you rounded the corner to her street. It’s hard to imagine today there being stables in the middle of a Santa Ana neighborhood, even lots with a house and a stable, with actual horses and chickens, but it’s true. It was a quiet, dark and shady place with large trees, that smelled like soil and horses, manure and car oil. There’s a garish church that was built where a little home with a white board fence once had been. It had acted as a sort of gateway or mile marker into that forgotten little corner of town. The church is hideous, in my opinion, but the little home was a ramshackle abandoned wreck by the time it was torn down, so it’s likely the better of the two abodes.

To help out the family, Patrice wandered around town collecting bottles. Eventually they turned them in at the liquor store for cash, or maybe liquor. I don’t know. Looking back I don’t know really what drew me to her. I found a picture of her recently and it reminded me she was boy crazy and wanted to grow up fast and get out of her house. She was the type of girl I’m sure my parents dreaded I would turn into.

One thing she did teach me about during our brief friendship was that bottles were worth money – maybe it was 5 cents per bottle. I had never even considered this type of a transaction before knowing this girl. Some hot days, if we didn’t have much to do, and Patrice had already collected “enough” bottles for her family, we would go scrounge bottles until we came up with enough for two cones of ice cream from Thrifty Drug Store over on Harbor Blvd. It was near the Zody’s – a store I never went in for some reason. Anyway, to this day, I can remember collecting those bottles…the smell of the warm day on a part of town that was not shiney and clean, the sun on my neck, the weight of the bag with the bottles in it, and the stink of the icky guy at the liquor store who changed them out for us…but even more, the taste of that mint chip ice cream. Sigh…… Pure heaven!

Growing up OC – High School Memories

I attended high school at Los Amigos in Orange County from 1983-1987. It was, at times, an enjoyable experience. I was quite tall, taller than all the girls in my school until a freshman came along who was taller and a lot less coordinated than me, so sadly for her she garnered a lot of the teasing from that point onward. I was also quite curvaceous but didn’t have a

lot of confidence, so I slouched a lot. My friends thought I was fat – I weighed 150 pounds at 5′ 11″. Um, I was skinny, but I believed them, since they all were 5′ 2″ and 105. I was naïve, not realizing that while some girls were being friendly to my face, they were not-so-subtly making fun of me behind my back. I desperately wanted to fit in with the “in crowd” but I also wanted to be friends with, well, my friends, who were the math geeks, Key Club members and A students. I was just like so many other girls across America.

A large number of the girls who had been my peers for several grades became cheerleaders or drill team members. That was SO not my bag. I was a little bit of a sport-o. Over the course of three years, I played JV volleyball, JV and Varsity basketball, Varsity badminton, and ran Varsity cross country. I did most of this so I could get out of P.E. because I hated getting all sweaty doing whatever it was we had to do and then going back to class icky. Often times I had better conversations with my coaches than some of my teammates. It was difficult being an intellectual among the jocks.

Here I am as a sophomore Varsity center. Just look at that crazy curly hair!!

Junior Varsity vs FVHS, they killed us, but just look at my perfect form!

I liked Depeche Mode, Oingo Boingo, Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, Billy Idol and Paul Young.  I tied an old piece of muslin in my hair Madonna-style and wore my slacks rolled up at the hems with white dance shoes and no socks. MTV was my radio, and after school we literally ran home to watch General Hospital. I recall a group of my sister’s friends coming to our house, because we were the closest to school, and screaming “Ice Princess!!!” at the television during the critical moment Luke and Laura were to defeat the Cassadine’s.

For two years one of my closest friends was Cindy Wilcox, who I recently found on Facebook, and who I am so delighted to be back in contact with! We had so much fun in high school, she made me forget a lot about the awkward parts. Once we went to some school dance that was a toga theme and she wore a bed sheet with yellow flowers on it. Cindy had a way of looking at life in a very positive manner and I took on this optimism too. It’s a lot nicer to believe the best in people than to expect the worst.

I was terrible at math, failing Algebra and Geometry, excelled at English and History (no surprise there!), and of course sports, and considered becoming a teacher because of the example set by my sophomore English teacher, Mrs. Morin. I’ll never forget her coming into class and telling us our next essay was based on an idea that had come to her in the shower that morning: 1984, Should We Hope or Mope?

I went to one reunion, but don’t plan on going to others. The one I went to consisted of the same cliques, the same guy was still completely stoned, the same bully was still pushing around the same gay guy, and the same girls were still oozing out of their tight dresses. I wish them all well and I hope they are happy with their lives. My memories of high school aren’t all wonderful, but they aren’t all terrible either. Time has worn down the sharp edges and once in a while I polish up my rose colored glasses for a walk down memory lane.

Growing Up OC – The Lunchbox

Today’s Growing Up OC is from Auntie Kat. What with back to school supplies flooding Target and rounders full of uniform tops and bottoms, this is a very timely post. I don’t even know if lunchboxes are being used anymore outside of novelties. Probably kids use those nylon insulated soft sided lunch bags these days. For my first lunchbox, I had a white plastic one that probably came from my cousin Becky. It had something very girly on it. Later I upgraded to a metal The Walton’s lunchbox and my mom would tape a dime inside in case I wanted get a carton of milk. So, enjoy our guest blog post, Growing Up OC – The Lunchbox.

Let’s start this story with, I had to wait for the staff to come back to the doctor’s office and I had time to kill in Orange one day. With time to kill and other places to go that were distant I decided to stay in Orange and browse the Orange Traffic Circle Antique or Treasure shops for an hour. What I was looking for was a pair of gloves. I did get them but I digress. I saw all kinds of stuff that reminded me of my childhood. Then I wondered what ever became of my stuff like that. Was it sitting in a shop just like this one waiting to become a prize treasure again or sitting at the bottom of some landfill never to be thought of again. The contemplations of a lazy Friday afternoon.

Then I saw it: a Bobby Sherman Lunch Box. I had a Bobby Sherman lunch box in the 1st or 2nd grade. I loved that lunch box. It was purple. It had a thermos. It was metal. Some of the lunch boxes that year were plastic. And there were pictures of Bobby Sherman on it. Did I mention I loved that lunch box?

I was now down memory lane thinking of Northcutt and lunchtime; going back to school shopping at Sears with Mom, getting to pick out the new lunch box for the year, new pads of paper, and so on. I had to walk uphill both ways in the snow…oh, wait, that was Dad. I walked across the street to go to school. That school was brand new when I was in first grade. That was in 1971, ahem.

As I went around a corner of the shop I thought to myself “I wonder what that lunch box is going for now days?” I took a peek at the price tag and it said $65.00! For a lunch box!? I could not imagine anyone paying $65.00 for a lunch box unless they were a true Bobby Sherman fan or maybe a fan of lunch boxes. You never know, there are fans of everything out there now days. Just go to an antique or treasure shop and see.

So, I’ll trade my PBJ for your cheese sandwich…

Growing up OC – an old man feels like a young boy

In our county, we have a wonderful piece of history called the Dory Fishing Fleet that continues to flourish today. Founded in 1891, the Dory Fishing Fleet is the only commercial fishing fleet that is permitted to cast off by the Newport Pier. The number of boats has shrunk since its heyday, at which time around 30 boats were active in the fleet. Today there are seven or eight who still ply their nets in the open ocean, setting out as early as 2 in the morning. The age old tradition stirs images of a time when we lived closer to the earth, gathering our consumables and using them immediately rather than the convenience shopping we experience today.

When I was a child, my mom would sometimes go down to the Dory Fishing Fleet market to pick up some fresh caught red snapper or the like. We often ate fish and this was a great way to get outside and do some shopping at the same time. I have a distinct memory of going down the to Dory boats with my family and grandparents one year. I was around 8-10 years old I’d guess. We arrived while they were still bringing in the boats, close to 8 a.m.

The process of bringing in the boats involved placing wide rollers under the boat to drag it up onto the sand, and they acted a bit like wheels on a tank. There were a limited number of these rollers, so when the boat rolled over the last one in the rear, it was run around to the front, and this was repeated over and over, a circular process, until the boat reached its destination.

On this particular visit, my Grandpa Jim worked on recapturing his youth. At the time he might have been in his early 70s. He was a youthful man, strong and happy and I always remember him with a smile on his face. He had a great affinity for very loud, very plaid slacks, golf shirts and (gulp) white belts and shoes. I think that day it’s a safe guess he wore sneakers though, since we were going to be in the sand. Well, when we arrived down there at the beach, Grandpa Jim surprised us all be heading down to the boats and helping pull them up on the shore. He was having a fantastic time, helping pull the boat while the rollers were run from rear to front. I remember the air was damp and chilly and he had on a white hat. The smells were of the sand, the ocean, and the fish. It has embedded itself with the visual memory of Grandpa Jim pulling on that boat with a huge grin on his face.

He had the time of his life!

Somewhere there is a picture of this. My sister, dad and I all know exactly the picture but we cannot find it. We recently looked through every old photo album and shoebox of photos we could find. I’m sad to have misplaced the photo, but I am delighted to have the memory. Create a few memories of your own by visiting the Dory Boats. Your kids are gonna love it!

Growing up OC – sights and sounds of the fair

Every summer, the Orange County Fair comes around and most summers I attend. There have been a few summers that it just didn’t work out – like that summer I was on crutches and in a cast. Yeah, that would have been fun! There have, however, been many, many s

ummers that found me at the fair. One of my favorite memories as a youngster was going to the fair because my Dad would spend a lot of time with us in the stock barns telling us stories about his younger days on Granny & Poppy’s farm in upstate New York. Sometimes we’d sit and watch a cattle auction, or see a milking exhibit. I can recall being afraid to touch a cow, and my Dad reassuring me it would be okay as I tentatively reached out my little hand to its bristly side. I knew it would in fact be okay because Daddy said so. These introductions to livestock helped me and my sister understand “where” our food came from and that animals, produce, and the people who tend them are to be respected and not taken for granted.

And on every visit to the fair, we would get an ice cream bar – the square kind on a stick – dipped in chocolate, maybe dipped in nuts. It was such a treat and I secretly didn’t want to share mine, but I did anyway because that’s just what we did. Maybe one of us got theirs with nuts, so the rest of us might have a small bite if ours were plain. See? We ate dinner at the Chuck Wagon barbeque place and it was a million times better than it is now, just because we were all there together. My Dad travelled a lot when we were little so these family times are really wonderful memories.

We also were each allowed to choose one and only one ride on the midway. I don’t really recall the specific rides we selected, I just remember the intensity of the lights after dark, the sounds of the rides and the riders, the various smells emitting from all the food vendors – popcorn, cotton candy, hot dogs, peanuts. One time I picked a dark ride and regretted it, but other times I picked things like the funhouse for the crazy mirrors and spinning tube thing. We rarely bought anything in the shopping pavilions and we always enjoyed the displays of handwork and photography. 

Many years later, in 2002, my sister Kathy and I had the great priveledge of escorting our great Uncle Bob (Robert Marvel) to the Orange County Fair while he was here visiting from Delaware. He was one of my Dad’s uncles, and he also worked on Granny & Poppy’s farm, 24/7 because they were his parents. Uncle Bob taught my dad to drive the tractor when he was about 8 and always took little Bert (my dad) with him around the farm. They were 15 years apart in age but close like cousins, even though my dad is Uncle Bob’s nephew. A number of very precious moments took place during this visit to the fair. At one point, Uncle Bob excused himself from us and went over to a couple of Army Reservist who were standing off to the side but fully in view for all to see (this was less than a year after 9/11). He chatted with them privately for several moments, and when he returned he told us that he was just thanking them for their dedication to America. Uncle Bob had been at the Battle of the Bulge during World War 2. This deeply touched me that 50-some years later, he was still affected by his experiences and felt kinship with these soldiers who he had never met before that moment. This brotherhood is not something to be taken lightly.

The second memory I wanted to tell you about from this fair visit is from the oxen display. As I said, Uncle Bob grew up on the farm, and when we wandered over to the livestock, there happened to be an oxen display going on, showing how Bill & Bob (the oxen) could be driven to perform certain types of activites such as pulling the cart and the sledge. This resulted in a story of how Poppy used his oxen on the farm in the early 20th century. At a certain point the oxen were replaced by tractors and all that was left was the ox bow either in a corner of the barn or behind a barn door. And, as things go, at some point, the ox bow left the farm somehow too. My dad assumes it probably was sent over to the dump. They carted loads of old harnesses, oxen equipment, and farm implements off as junk. Anyone who has seen the inside of a Cracker Barrell or antiques store in Orange will know that old junk fetches a pretty penny these days!

Over at Centennial Farm, there was a display of tractors and farm equipment, those ones with the 4″ belts and gigantic wheels and steam and smoke and loud noises, and Uncle Bob talked about which ones were used for what, and which ones were similar to the ones Poppy had used. My da

d always took us to these displays when we were younger and I can still hear the pop it puff it pop it puff it rhythm of the engines and the feel of the vibration in my feet and chest from some of the engines that were very loud. All this combined with the smells of the farm, the engine fuel and exhaust, the warmth of the sun and almost garish colors of John Deere green and yellow make this a cherished moment from my childhood. I look forward to sharing it with Melody one day soon.

The Orange County Fair has transformed over the 30+ years I’ve been attending, but I still love it. Each visit is made more wonderful because of memories such as these and the new ones that are created with every visit. Share one of your favorite memories of the Fair – Orange County or otherwise – in the comments. This year the Orange County Fair runs from July 10 through August 9. We’ll be there! Will you?

Growing up OC – dads can be so cool

Mom has been sick all week, so today we have a post from guest-blogger Auntie Kathy.

Remember That Song?

by Auntie Kat

It’s funny how things jog your memory.  I was sitting at my computer over the weekend listening to music and working on stuff when this John Denver song came on and I though “Huh, I haven’t heard that in ages”.  Then I thought about the first time I heard it.  The song is Calypso.  He wrote it for Jacques Cousteau about his research ship.  I remember there was a John Denver special on television.  We were taping the songs off the t.v. with the tape recorder.  For some reason it didn’t record.  Now this was when you had to put the mike up to the t.v. and push play/record on the tape player and do everything yourself.  There was no DVR, no Tivo, no VCR.  Your antenna was all you had for reception.  Cable and satellite were the things of Star Trek.  Well, our dad was on business travel that week and when we talked to him on the phone I told him how disappointed I was that the songs didn’t record.  When he came home he had a John Denver tape for me of the album Spirit.  Calypso wasn’t on the album but I enjoyed it just the same.

One thing I remember about the show was that John needed a prescription diving mask.  He wore Coke bottle glasses.  He kept saying ‘FAR OUT!’ about everything under the water.  Even in the mid ‘70s that was a bit dated.  I also liked listening to Jacques Cousteau talk.  He was soft spoken and had an accent.  What song do you remember and why?

 

Growing up OC – the original organic food source

Back in my day, we got our food the old fashioned way.  We grew it!  These young whippersnappers today have no idea where food even comes from, let alone that it can grow and thrive in your own backyard.  And all this food shipped in from Chile and Peru used to be grown right here in California, Orange County to be specific.  Why, I oughta…

Ahem.  Sorry ’bout that, I got a little carried away.  It’s true though.  It does seem like kids growing up in OC today have no clue where their food comes from, and the concept of fresh food is practically passé.  The growing of a backyard garden has been relegated to the old fogies, granola crunching environmentalists, and right wing survivalist nut jobs.  The agriculture industry in America, in California, in Orange County has been outsourced to countries south of the border where labor is cheaper and growing seasons near the equator are more favorable to American demands for plums and grapefruits out of season.

However, back in the day, my family had a backyard garden.  It thrived on the rich farm land where our house was built (oh progress!) and I am certain it saved our family a lot of money.  We grew beets, Swiss chard, carrots, green onions, tomatoes, radishes, strawberries, zucchini, yellow squash, artichokes, parsley, and probably more I am not remembering.  We also had a tangerine tree and later my parents planted a lemon tree.  

Having come from parents who were well oriented with home grown foodstuffs, plus the fact that their parents had survived the Great Depression (i.e. they were frugal) and my dad started his own company, having a garden made a lot of sense to us.  In later years, my mom worked for The Irvine Company, at that time one of the largest agricultural companies in the area.  They had fields all over Irvine, and once the fields were no longer commercially viable, employees were invited to a company pick.  Basically, a whole bunch of people showed up at o-dark-thirty in their grubbies with baskets and boxes in the backs of the station wagons that lined the field roads.  We all picked and dug whatever the crop was and at the end of the day you could take home as much as you could carry.  Well, having a Ford LTD station wagon, we could carry A LOT.

Our family dug asparagus, picked green beans, corn, strawberries, and others but these picks stay in my mind the best.  I don’t like asparagus so I was particularly resentful of digging in this big field all by myself for the shoots of green bitterness.  Strawberries were equally hard on the body, not because I didn’t like the result, but because they are low to the ground and it’s hard on your back to stoop, pick, put in your basket, repeat.  Green beans were pretty easy because you could stand up to pick them.  Corn was really fun actually because you could hide among the stalks and get lost in your own little corn world and it smelled so good.  After one corn pick, I remember the wagon back seats were folded down and that car was filled from the back of the front seats to the tailgate, and all the way to the ceiling!  We sat on the tailgate and ate corn right off the cob, uncooked.  It was so sweet, juicy and crunchy!  I’ll never forget it.

The benefit of the company picks and of our backyard garden was that my resourceful mother would put up whatever harvest we had just brought in.  I recall us shucking corn, and her boiling ear after ear of corn, then cutting the corn off the cob and putting it in these special plastic bags.  She had one of those heat-sealing machines and an enormous freezer in the garage.  We had fresh corn, beans, and yes, probably asparagus, all year round.  She made strawberry jam, strawberry purée and fresh strawberry ice cream.  To this day, I cannot eat strawberry jam.  It was all we had for many years and just the thought of it is too much. 

We even grew our own Christmas trees for several years.  Around Christmas, those little trees are available at the hardware store.  Well, my dad would take one out back and plant it in this one part of the yard.  After a couple years, it would be 6-7′ tall.  If you have ever gone to the choose & cut places, you know how much money we saved just with a homegrown Christmas tree and it was something we had helped to grow over the years, making it all the more meaningful at that sentimental time of year.

Back in my day, we were the original organic family but we were the rule, not the exception.  Today I miss the fresh produce that we took out of our yard.  It would be nice for young people to realize the benefits of growing their own produce.  You hear it all the time “it just tastes better!” and that’s just one aspect of fresh-from-the-garden food.  Maybe one day with Melody I will grow a crop of something.  I’m pretty good with tomatoes, even though I cannot stand them.  We’ll see.  I want her to know where her food comes from, to understand that someone has to plant it, tend it, harvest it and ship it, all before we wander through Vons and buy it.  I want her to know that those cute little white strawberry stands are all that remains of Orange County’s great legacy of agriculture.

 

Growing up OC – an old man feels like a young boy

In our county, we have a wonderful piece of history called the Dory Fishing Fleet that continues to flourish today. Founded in 1891, the Dory Fishing Fleet is the only commercial fishing fleet that is permitted to cast off by the Newport Pier. The number of boats has shrunk since its heyday, at which time around 30 boats were active in the fleet. Today there are seven or eight who still ply their nets in the open ocean, setting out as early as 2 in the morning. The age old tradition stirs images of a time when we lived closer to the earth, gathering our consumables and using them immediately rather than the convenience shopping we experience today.

When I was a child, my mom would sometimes go down to the Dory Fishing Fleet market to pick up some fresh caught red snapper or the like. We often ate fish and this was a great way to get outside and do some shopping at the same time. I have a distinct memory of going down the to Dory boats with my family and grandparents one year. I was around 8-10 years old I’d guess. We arrived while they were still bringing in the boats, close to 8 a.m.

The process of bringing in the boats involved placing wide rollers under the boat to drag it up onto the sand, and they acted a bit like wheels on a tank. There were a limited number of these rollers, so when the boat rolled over the last one in the rear, it was run around to the front, and this was repeated over and over, a circular process, until the boat reached its destination.

On this particular visit, my Grandpa Jim worked on recapturing his youth. At the time he might have been in his early 70s. He was a youthful man, strong and happy and I always remember him with a smile on his face. He had a great affinity for very loud, very plaid slacks, golf shirts and (gulp) white belts and shoes. I think that day it’s a safe guess he wore sneakers though, since we were going to be in the sand. Well, when we arrived down there at the beach, Grandpa Jim surprised us all be heading down to the boats and helping pull them up on the shore. He was having a fantastic time, helping pull the boat while the rollers were run from rear to front. I remember the air was damp and chilly and he had on a white hat. The smells were of the sand, the ocean, and the fish. It has embedded itself with the visual memory of Grandpa Jim pulling on that boat with a huge grin on his face.

He had the time of his life!

Somewhere there is a picture of this. My sister, dad and I all know exactly the picture but we cannot find it. We recently looked through every old photo album and shoebox of photos we could find. I’m sad to have misplaced the photo, but I am delighted to have the memory. Create a few memories of your own by visiting the Dory Boats. Your kids are gonna love it!

Growing up OC – would you like to buy…

…some Girl Scout Cookies?  We used to go door-to-door in the neighborhood, ringing doorbells or knocking, hoping someone would place an order for the much beloved cookies produced by the Little Brownie Bakers.  This annual tradition was something I dreaded. And my mom was the troop leader at times so I had to do it.

I hated going door-to-door, asking people to order the cookies and I especially dreaded going back and asking for the money.  I can remember doing this alone in the afternoons after school.  I wore my sash with all my badges and I’m sure every person who opened the door could tell that I did not want to be there at all.

But I also stressed out over not selling the most cookies.  I was intimidated and competitive at the same time.  I was a frustrated child.

That’s not our troop but you have to just admire the woman who dares to put together a horizontally striped sweater with a floral blouse!

Can you even imagine a ten-year-old girl going door-to-door these days?  Alone?  Not on your life. 

Here’s a really interesting and fun article from the Sussex Countian with some history of the Girl Scout Cookie and where I nicked these faboo pictures.

I had a Brownie Beanie.  I admit it.