Two Thousand Nine was filled with blessings (some tears, of course – some laughter).
I am so grateful for my family and my friends – some of whom I’ve met and engaged with via the internet (who would have thought we would be communicating instantly with just a click of the fingers?? Not I – coming from a generation that, in the 1950s, was jitterbugging in the corner drugstore to music from a colorful jukebox – listening to 78rpm records).
May God richly bless all of you.
Wearing one of the squaw dresses my Mother designed and stitched – sitting atop my Dad’s green Nash Rambler – at the side of the house we lived in (formerly a parsonage) during the 1950s in Farmington, New Mexico.
“The Squaw Dress, a categorization label for several types of one- and two-piece dresses, was a regional style in the American Southwest in the late 1940s and became a national dress trend in the 1950s. Its defining feature, a full, tiered skirt, came in three shapes: (1) a slightly gathered skirt based on Navajo dress; (2) a “broomstick” or pleated skirt based on Navajo and Mexican attire; and (3) a fully gathered, three-tiered skirt based on contemporary Western Apache Camp Dresses or Navajo attire. In addition to the common designation of Squaw Dress, dresses with the third skirt type were also called Fiesta, Kachina, Tohono, or Patio Dress (depending on the type of decoration); the former two styles were called Navajo Dresses. Squaw Dresses were extremely popular because of their comfort and regional indigenous associations. They represented both idealized femininity and Americanness because of their Native American origins.”
What’s in a name? The 1940s-1950s “Squaw Dress”
By Parezo, Nancy J.
Publication: The American Indian Quarterly
Pat Jordan’s novel A False Spring was a very moving read.
… I think often about that day. And about the others, too, the good ones. Baseball was such an experience in my life that, 10 years later, I have still not shaken it, will probably never shake it. I still think of myself not as a writer who one pitched, but as a pitcher who happens to be writing just now. It’s as if I decided at some point in my life, or possibly it was decided, that of all the things in my life only that one experience would most accurately define me. It hardly matters whether this is a fact or a private delusion. It matters only that I devoted so great a chunk of my life to baseball that I believe it’s true. I believe that that experience affected the design of my life to a degree nothing else ever will. Yet it never seemed to end properly, neatly, all those bits and pieces finally forming some harmonious design. It just stopped, unfinished in my memory, fragmented, so many pieces missing. Over the years I have begun sorting and resorting those bits and pieces–delicately, at first–finding every now and then a new one to further flesh out that design, finally discovering the pieces had always been there and that what had been missing was in me.
Is physical education still called physical education? Is it different in 2009 than it was in the 1950s? I would imagine that it is.
“Physical education is the study, practice, and appreciation of the art and science of human movement.” (Harrison, Blakemore, and Buck, p. 15)
“Elementary school physical education in the 1950s espoused the aims of complete education through programs which emphasized mastery of skills in games, sports, dance, and similar activities.”
There were some excellent girl athletes in our school (I was definitely not one of them), however I don’t recall that we really had competitive sports for girls. The physical education classes provided for games such as basketball and softball.
If I remember correctly, our classes were called “Physical education and health” classes. The health class is where we were taught proper hygiene, the birds and the bees, etc.
The physical education class was for movement, i.e., calisthenics, softball, and basketball. I don’t recall playing volleyball or any track-running activities. However, I had no athletic prowess whatsoever so perhaps I just don’t remember some of what was taught.
We all have cherished memories — lovely moments we can replay whenever we want to feel happy.
Every waking moment of every day, and some non-waking moments, we make memories. Most vanish before the day is done; very few last a week. Some good memories return when reminders come along, but most are forever lost. We deal with this by keeping diaries, taking photos, or telling stories, and it all helps…perhaps that is why blogging has gained such popularity. We are remembering some events; we are making others. We are creating and sharing memories.
When I came across all of these old Tucumcari snapshots, I was actually looking for a specific childhood photo (which I have not yet found). But it has been great fun finding these old Tucumcari photographs.
Posted on my blog Life in Seguin and Other Aimless Musings is a photograph of the 1950 Tucumcari Rattlers basketball team. It seems as if my family attended every high school basketball (and football) game in Tucumcari. Although I can’t identify any of the players in this photograph – I love the picture of these young men.