Memories of Chicago Novembers

 

I urge people to write family stories, and I always will, but you should also write your memories of a certain time in life. These memory pieces do not need to have a beginning, middle, and ending like a story must. 

Today, I'm going to share my November memories, written and revised some time ago. Perhaps my piece here will trigger memories for you of what November was like when you were growing up. Tell about the place, the weather, what your family did in that month, how you celebrated Thanksgiving, or if not, why not? As our poster today tells us, our memories gain in value as time goes on. 

November in Chicago

The crisp, sunny days of October somehow slid into damp, gray ones during November in the Chicago area where I grew up. The sun played hide-and-seek in the late autumn and winter months, mostly hiding. Wind swept across Lake Michigan, bringing a chill that seeped through warm, woolen jackets and into the bones. Fallen leaves swirled around our feet with each new gust and naked branches dipped and swayed like ballerinas. We walked faster on our way to and from school. Once home, Mother often commented that we had roses in our cheeks, nice way to describe chapped skin. We paid little mind to our rosy cheeks once inside our warm apartment. 

Each of the five rooms in our third-floor apartment had a large radiator with an on-off knob on the side, and a deep, narrow pan for water that hooked over the back to increase humidity. We had steam heat, fired by a huge coal furnace in a garden level basement. The coal man inserted a chute from his truck into a window. He sent the coal rumbling down the chute while several kids gathered around. The apartment janitor stood at the delivery end of the chute in the basement. Once this scary looking, coal-blackened man finished, the kids ran to the basement door to witness the next step in bringing heat to all our apartments. The janitor, grabbed a big shovel and fed the furnace from that huge heap. He let us watch for a few minutes, then snarled at us. “Get out of here now. No place for you kids.” His fierce look sent us scattering. Once, during a coal strike, we wore coats and hats inside, waiting in vain for the hissing sounds of heat coming through the radiators.

We celebrated Armistice Day every November 11th, commemorating the armistice signed to end WWI at the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month, 1918. Even after WWII, Armistice Day remained as November 11th. Now, we call it Veterans Day. There are still parades and meals to mark the day.

At school, we studied the Pilgrims’ first Thanksgiving—history and art class rolled into one. Some classes had replica feasts.

My Thanksgiving menu now remains the same as when my mother or aunts prepared the dinner—turkey roasted to a golden brown and stuffed with a moist dressing redolent with sage. Aunt Adeline made French dressing, a spicy sausage added to it. We savored mashed potatoes and rich gravy, sweet potato casserole, homemade yeast rolls, cranberry sauce, a salad called Seafoam made with lime jello, cream cheese, mashed pears and whipped cream. Our vegetables were usually green beans. Pumpkin pie with real whipped cream finished the feast. 

We alternated hosting the dinner with my dad’s two sisters who lived near us. My five cousins, three brothers and I had a wonderful time together, despite the wide range of ages. After dinner, we were shooed outside to play, even when it was very cold. I suspect the adults sat around and drank more coffee, nibbled on the leftovers and did all they could to put off the dish washing time.

No dishwashers, so all the women cleared the table, washed and dried the dishes with towels made from flour sacks. When my female cousins and I got older, we were drafted  to help. Chattering women and clattering dishes, that’s what was heard in the kitchen after dinner. The men plunked themselves in comfy chairs and listened to the radio or a small black and white tv, and often napped.

Once married, I thought about asking my extended family to our house for Thanksgiving. I hesitated for fear of upsetting my mother who had cooked countless Thanksgiving turkeys. My aunts had passed away, so Mom was always the hostess. One year, I worked up the courage to suggest it, and Mom threw her hands skyward and said, “Finally! I’ve been waiting for someone to invite me for Thanksgiving for years.” 

Now, my children sometimes make the trip to Kansas for Thanksgiving. We use a few shortcuts and we load the dishwasher instead of drying dishes with flour sack towels, but the grandchildren revel in being with cousins just as I did all those years ago. The faces around the table may be different, but the same warmth of a family gathering to give thanks and spend time together is there. May it ever be so.

NOTE: There will be no new posts until Monday, November 28th. Enjoy your holiday weekend.

 

Write About November Memories

November offers a lot to write about. Those who write family stories probably have many happenings to choose from. Choose something from the list below as a topic. Make it an essay, a memoir piece, a personal essay, or a poem. Delve deep and bring your memories to the surface and use them as you write. 

November brings:

• Elections
• A Change in weather
• Veterans Day
• Family Birthdays
• Thanksgiving
• Leaves to rake
• Winter clothing
• Christmas decor in stores

You can write about what November was like where you lived during your growing up years. I wrote something along that line several years ago and included it in my Family Stories book. It doesn't tell one particular story but does describe what life was like in November when I was a child and young adult. As always, use sensory details, emotion and descriptive phrases.

Memories of November In Chicago

 The crisp, sunny days of October somehow slid into damp, gray ones during November in the Chicago area where I grew up. The sun played hide-and-seek in the late autumn and winter months, mostly hiding. Harsh winds swept across Lake Michigan, bringing a chill that seeped through warm, woolen jackets and into the bones. Fallen leaves swirled around our feet with each new gust and naked branches dipped and swayed like ballerinas. We walked faster on our way to and from school. Once home, Mother often commented that we had roses in our cheeks, nice way to describe chapped skin. We paid little mind to our rosy cheeks once inside our warm apartment.

Each of the five rooms had a large radiator with an on-off knob on the side, and a deep, narrow pan for water that hooked over the back to increase humidity. We had steam heat, fired by a huge coal furnace in a garden level basement. The coal man inserted a chute  from his truck into a window. He sent the coal rumbling down the chute while several kids gathered around. The apartment janitor stood at the delivery end of the chute in the basement. Once this scary looking, coal-blackened man finished, the kids ran to the basement door to witness the next step in bringing heat to all our apartments. The janitor, grabbed a big shovel and fed the furnace from that huge heap. He let us watch for a few minutes, then snarled at us. “Get out of here now. No place for you kids.” His fierce look sent us scattering. During a coal strike, we wore coats and hats inside, waiting for the hissing sounds of heat coming through the radiators.

We celebrated Armistice Day every November 11^th, commemorating the armistice signed to end WWI at the 11^th hour on the 11^th day of the 11^th month, 1918. Even after WWII, Armistice Day remained as November 11^th. Now, we call it Veterans Day and it’s celebrated on the second Monday of November. There are still parades and meals to mark the day but I like the original date best.

At school, we studied the Pilgrims first Thanksgiving—history and art class rolled into one. Some classes had replica feasts.

My Thanksgiving menu now remains the same as when my mother or aunts prepared the dinner—turkey roasted to a golden brown and stuffed with a moist dressing redolent with sage. Aunt Adeline made French dressing, a spicy sausage added to it. We savored mashed potatoes and rich gravy, sweet potato casserole, homemade yeast rolls, cranberry sauce, a salad called Seafoam made with lime jello, cream cheese, mashed pears and whipped cream. Our vegetables were usually green beans. Pumpkin pie with real whipped cream finished the feast.

We alternated the dinner with my dad’s two sisters who lived near us. My five cousins, three brothers and I had a wonderful time together, despite the wide range of ages. After dinner, we were shooed outside to play, even when it was very cold. I suspect the adults sat around and drank more coffee, nibbled on the leftovers and did all they could to put off the dish washing time.

No dishwashers, so all the women cleared the table, washed and dried the dishes with towels made from flour sacks. When my female cousins and I got older, we were drafted  to help. Chattering women and clattering dishes, that’s what was heard in the kitchen after dinner. The men plunked themselves in comfy chairs and listened to the radio and often napped.

Once married, I thought about asking my extended family to our house for Thanksgiving. I hesitated for fear of upsetting my mother who had cooked countless Thanksgiving turkeys. My aunts had passed away, so Mom was always the hostess. One year, I worked up the courage to suggest it, and Mom threw her hands skyward and said, “Finally! I’ve been waiting for someone to invite me for Thanksgiving for years.”

Now, my children sometimes make the trip to Kansas for Thanksgiving. We use a few shortcuts and we load the dishwasher instead of drying dishes with flour sack towels, but the grandchildren revel in being with cousins just as I did all those years ago. The faces around the table may be different, but the same warmth of a family gathering to give thanks and spend time together is there. May it ever be so.

Lots To Write About In November

Here we are in the first full week of November. Look at all the things that happen this month! Only yesterday, most of us set our clocks back an hour. No extra hour of sleep for me because I woke up at the old time. Hopefully, that won't be the case in a few days. 

Tomorrow is Election Day when we all have an opportunity to voice our opinions through our vote. This year has been one of hotly contested races. Mud-slinging tactics on both sides. That doesn't seem the best way to get votes. Back in the early fifties, our junior high class held elections for class officers. It was a good way to learn about our election process. I ran for Secretary. Of course! Why? Because in those days girls were secretaries and boys ran for the other positions. We learned about campaigning, the voting process, and more. The one thing that stayed with me was that we were taught not to put the other candidate down. I can hear Miss Stange saying, "Tell your audience why you are the best candidate. Don't say anything negative about the other candidate. Sell yourself." Poor woman must be rolling in her grave at the way elections have changed over the years. Even so, I will vote and I hope each of you will do so, too. It's a privilege we should never take for granted. 

Later in the month, we'll honor our veterans with parades, news articles, interviews on TV news shows and military ceremonies for service given. If you see a veteran or someone in the military now, be the one who steps up and thanks them for their service. It's not always easy to go up to a stranger and say what's in your heart. If you can do it, you may make that person's day. On November 11th, our entire nation should give thanks for our veterans and military personnel.

On the 27th, families all over the USA will gather to give thanks and to partake of the Thanksgiving feast. Traditional foods will be prepared and enjoyed from east coast to west coast and from the Canadian border to the Mexican border. Turkeys and pumpkin pies and more will grace dining tables in homes and restaurants, in church basements and missions. It's one holiday that people of all religions in our country can celebrate. 

Our daughter's birthday falls on Thanksgivng Day this year. We'll have birthday cake along with the pumpkin pie. Her children will help her blow out the candles after we sing Happy Birthday. You can read a story I wrote 6 years ago about the Thanksgiving week she was born here. 

November probably brings various memories to many of us. Surely, some of these special times this month will trigger something for you to write about. When the memory comes floating out of the past, don't ignore it. Do something with it. Write the story, poem or personal essay. 

New Month, New Memories

The picture above reminds me of what my childhood November days were often like. Bare, gloomy, and a bit depressing. Of course, living in a Chicago suburb, we didn't see the wide open spaces as the picture shows, but maybe some of you who were raised in rural areas can relate.

November 2012 is only a few days old, so you've got plenty of time to write about the things you remember from childhood, young adult days for that month to add to your Memory Book. Think of the many things that occur in November. Maybe some of these will trigger memories for you.

Election Day (some years)
Veterans Day
Thanksgiving
Family Birthdays--we have several in our family this month
Starting your Christmas shopping

Think back and ask yourself these things about November:

What kind of weather did you have where you lived?
What special things did your teacher highlight?
What preparations did your mom make for Thanksgiving?
Did you have a small gathering or big at Thanksgiving?
Did you attend Veterans Day parades or events?
Did your parents talk to you about elections?
How did your clothing change this month? Need warmer clothes or not?
What was it like when you got that first cold of the winter?

I never liked the month of November, as in Chicago, many days of this month were gloomy, damp, windy, and downright chilly. More than chilly some days. November days were the preview of winter to come. It got dark earlier so there was no more playing outside after dinner. Trees were now bare and people wore jackets, hats, scarves and gloves. Rainy days called for umbrellas and boots. But inside, my mom was creating a cozy nest with lots of baked goods that warmed our kitchen and made after-school treats something to look forward to. I remember walking the six blocks from school to home, feeling the wind and chill temps, entering our vestibule and racing up the three flights of stairs. Often, I could smell what Mother had baked that day. It felt so good to slip inside our small, warm apartment.

Our teachers created bulletin boards that represented November, mostly pilgrims and turkeys. And we learned the story of the Pilgrims first year in America over and over again. Somehow, we never tired of it. We looked forward to the feast at home or an aunt's house on Thanksgiving Day. I can still smell the turkey giblets and neck simmering to make the stock for the stuffing that would go in the turkey. Also the spicy aroma of the pumpkin pies and roasting turkey. In those days, turkey was not prepared through the year, mostly for the holidays, so it really seemed like a treat.

The retail stores revealed Christmas displays and holiday merchandise the day after Thanksgiving. Time to shop! The teachers at school had removed the pilgrims from the bulletin boards and began Christmas decorations in our classrooms. You can read more about my November memories in this essay at Our Echo.

Start writing your November memories soon. Add them to what you've already got in your Memory Book. Sooner is always better than later!

What Are Your November Memories?

Last month, I urged readers to think about the things they did in October during their growing-up years. If you do this for every month of the year, think of the treasure chest you'll have to put in your family memories book. The one you're assembling for your children and grandchildren. If you don't have one yet, get started now.

Ask yourself some of the questions I offered in the October post--things like what your schoolroom looked like in November, what your town's retailers did in November, the weather in your area in November, or what kinds of foods your mother prepared in November. Thanksgiving will loom large for all Americans. Was it a small gathering or a big affair? Did your mom do all the cooking or did relatives bring food with them? Did you go shopping the day after? Answering these questions will trigger a lot of memories for you.

My childhood November memories are pasted below in a piece I wrote last year for Our Echo.

November In Chicago

The crisp, sunny days of October somehow slid into damp, gray ones during November in the Chicago area where I grew up. For some reason unknown to most of its inhabitants, the sun played hide-and-seek in the late autumn and winter months, mostly hiding. Wind swept across Lake Michigan, bringing a chill that seeped through warm, woolen jackets and into the bones of both young and old. Leaves which had fallen and not been raked yet, swirled around our feet with each new gust of wind, and naked tree branches dipped and swayed like ballerinas announcing that winter would soon begin. We walked faster on our way to and from school, and Mother often commented that we had roses in our cheeks when we arrived home, nice way to describe chapped skin. We paid little mind to our rosy cheeks once inside our warm apartment.

Each of the five rooms in our apartment had a large radiator with an on-off knob on the side, and a narrow deep pan that hooked over the back which Mother filled with water to bring the humidity levels up. Our large building had steam heat, fired by a huge coal furnace in a garden level basement. I guess you’d call it a half-basement. There was a window in the furnace room where the coal man inserted a chute from his truck and soon sent the coal rumbling down the chute while a group of us kids gathered around to watch. The coal man stood guard outside, and the apartment janitor stood at the delivery end of the chute in the basement. The coal man’s face matched the product he delivered making the whites of his eyes stand out prominently. Once this scary looking man finished, the kids ran around to the basement door to witness the next step in bringing heat to all our apartments. John, the janitor, grabbed a big shovel and fed the furnace from that huge heap of coal. He let us watch for a few minutes, then snarled at us. “Get out of here now. No place for you kids.” And his fierce look sent us scattering. Once, there was a coal strike, and we had very little heat for several days. We wore our coats and hats and even gloves inside until we heard the blessed sound of pipes rattling and radiators hissing once again.

We celebrated Armistice Day every November 11^th, commemorating the armistice signed to end WWI at the 11^th hour on the 11^th day of November, 1918. Even after WWII, Armistice Day remained as November 11^th. Now, we call it Veterans Day and it’s celebrated the second Monday of November. There are still parades and speeches, breakfasts and lunches served in places like the American Legion Hall, but somehow it doesn’t have the same meaning as it did when I was a child, and the date remained constant.

The next big event in November was Thanksgiving. We celebrate now much as we did then. The menu remains the same as it was when my mother and my aunts prepared the dinner—turkey roasted to a golden brown and stuffed with a moist dressing redolent with sage. One of my aunts made an additional stuffing that she baked alongside the turkey. This one was a family recipe from the French side. Sausage added to it gave it a spicier taste. We had mashed potatoes and rich gravy made from the turkey drippings, sweet potato casserole with a marshmallow topping, homemade yeast rolls, cranberry sauce, a salad called Seafoam made with lime jello, cream cheese, mashed pears and whipped cream. Our vegetables were usually green beans. Pumpkin pie and apple pie finished off our feast. Real whipped cream topped the spicy pumpkin pie, and vanilla ice cream and perhaps a piece of cheddar cheese graced the plate with the apple pie on it.

My father had two older sisters who lived in the Chicago area with their families, so we usually celebrated Thanksgiving with one or both of them, trading homes from year to year. My five cousins, my three brothers and I had a wonderful time together, despite the wide range of ages. After dinner, we were shooed outside to play, even when it was very cold. I suspect the adults sat around and drank more coffee, nibbled on the leftovers and did all they could to put off the dishwashing time.

No dishwashers in those days, so all the women pitched in and cleared the table, washed and dried the dishes, often with towels made from flour sacks. When my female cousins and I got older, we were drafted into the kitchen to help. Chattering women and clattering dishes, that’s what was heard in the kitchen after dinner. We were probably better off, as we got some exercise after eating so much, while the men plunked themselves into chairs and listened to the radio, and in later years, watched the small screen TV we had.

Occasionally, it would snow on Thanksgiving Day but seldom enough to keep anyone from getting to wherever their dinner might be.

When I got married, I thought about asking my parents and my brothers to come to our house for Thanksgiving, but I hesitated to do so for fear of upsetting my mother who had cooked countless Thanksgiving turkeys. My aunts had passed away, so Mom was always the hostess. After a few years, I worked up the courage to suggest it, and Mom threw her hands skyward and said, “Finally! I’ve been waiting for someone to invite me for Thanksgiving for years.” After that, when we lived close enough, Thanksgiving for the extended family that lived nearby was at our house.

Now, my children both make the trip home for Thanksgiving every other year, bringing their families to share in the Thanksgiving traditional menu. We use a few shortcuts now, and we load the dishwasher instead of drying dishes with flour sack towels, but the grandchildren revel in being with cousins just as I did all those years ago. The faces around the table may be different, but the same warmth of a family gathering to give thanks and spend time together is there. May it ever be so.