LIGHTNING BUGS: LITTLE MIRACLES”

4 mins · 

About the age of three or four, I remember the first time ever seeing lightning bugs and I just stood out in the yard in wonderment. Had no idea what they were at all but the way they shot this way and that with their lights left me in awe. I wasn’t alone for my mother was with me and I remember not wanting to come inside. But ah, I had to—no choice there.

Two years later, I became a constant lightning bug watcher and catcher. Caught them in my hands like most kids did and had no idea what to do with them and so I had to let them go. Wanted to keep them: Didn’t all kids?

By the age of seven I had learned how to catch them at night and put them in a glass jar [yes back then there weren’t any plastic jars] and have my dad poke holes in the metal lid—that way the lightning bugs could breathe. There weren’t many kids around me in this neighborhood for we had moved—there was a girl next door who was about twelve and as mean as snake and a boy who lived sort of beside me the other way.

I chose the boy of course.
He and I spent many an evening catching what seemed like hundreds of them and we had jars and jars full of lightning bugs. The best thing was his idea to let them all go at once after he counted to five: It was like tons of sparklers going off to see them shoot out of our jars! It was one of those awesome moments that a kid never forgets—ever.

The next year another move and this time it was in a big neighborhood with tons of kids and tons of lightning bugs to catch. Nirvana. For six years I had such happiness in that place with the joy of friends and lightning bugs.

Teenage years set in and I could have cared less about them and this feeling stayed with me into my adult years---until I became the mother of two sons.

They were taught to catch them the same way that I was only they got to use plastic which was a lot safer because those broken jars of the past that left me with cuts and scrapes. And not only did my sons experience the joy of those shooting star-like bugs but so did I, once again.

When my sons grew up and moved away, I tried to quit looking at lightning bugs for it made me sad—sad that not only my childhood had been long gone but also my sons.

Just when you think things will stay status quo sometimes miracles do happen. I became a grandmother and my first grandchild was a boy. He was about two or so and I took him out in my yard to see the lightning bugs: He went haywire running this way and then that way trying to catch them. I laughed when he said, “More over there!” Well, there weren’t but it looked like it. We caught some and put them in a plastic bug keeper—but that didn’t last long for I had to let them go.

The older he got, the more lightning bugs we chased and caught! By this time, he had a little sister and she was in on the chase and they wore me out! But it was such fun! Add another grandson and the three of us became lightning bug catchers and chasers—experts of sort. We no doubt caught hundreds upon hundreds and always let them go –but not till we had a lot to let go at once. [I remembered that boy who had counted to five long ago.]

The other day I saw my first lightning bug of the season and my heart lept up in wonderment just like it did when I was little. Funny that such a little bug with incredible light can evoke such a childhood memory—but it did. And for me, lightning bugs will always be little miracles. Go outside some evening and let yourself go and see if you find any: I’ll bet that little child in you will come out just as it did with me.

Wonderment still exists: All we have to do is to look at those lightning bugs.

Sherry Hill
Published in The Charleston Gazette

“AND YOU WONDER WHY I HAVE QUALMS ABOUT FOODS”

When I was little and ready to eat my food, I listened to what had been said before about it. And trust me I heard a lot. And I remembered it even if it were true or not. My grandmother told me that tapioca was made with “fish eyes:” Think I ever wanted to eat that as a kid? Uh no. Had problems with that stuff until adult age.

Heard that Jello was made from scraping the insides of horse’s ears. Now really, as a young kid, my mind went zooming into who knows where and I had never seen the inside of a horse’s ears but the thought of it was a major sickening thought.

My mom would never buy cling peaches for she told me “They slide down your throat like a goldfish.” Yes, I knew what goldfish were because I must have coerced my grandparents or my mom to buy me one at the ten cent store about once a month. [And I don’t know whatever happened to them all, but that’s another story.] Did I ever try to swallow a goldfish? Never. What an icky thought that turned me off big time to cling peaches; like my mom, I ate “freestone” peaches.

I was told that if I swallowed watermelon seeds that a watermelon would grow in my stomach. “Just what every kid wants to happen” said no one ever. And so I well remember going out to the curb to have to eat my slice of watermelon and spit the seeds out into the street—that was because I lived in the city and times were safe then.

“Better eat that; it will stick to your ribs” I heard too many times and it was really scary to think what would happen if that food did stick to my ribs because what would happen?

Throughout my childhood, I heard so many horror stories about how foods were made or what they had in them, that it’s no wonder I have qualms about certain foods to this very day. But it’s even worse now for the contents of packaged or canned foods have to list the contents. Try looking at those sometime if you dare.

My list could go on and on and I’m sure you were told a bunch of horror things about food as well. One thing’s for sure: You never forget what you heard despite the fact that they might be true or not. Rest my case.

Sherry Hill

Copyright © 2016

Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved

GENEALOGY IS AMAZING

Luckily, I have had past cousins of my late mom do a lot of genealogy research and was just blown away to learn how many lines I have. Amazing to find out that I had two dates in high school with a guy that would turn out to be my cousin--I hope you are smiling at that one.

On my mom's mom and dad's line I found out that I am a mixture of Dutch, Irish, Scottish,

English, French Hugenot, Native American [on my maternal grandmother's line Tecumseh, the Shawnee Indian chief, had a sister that married into her family making this woman my fifth great grandmother,] and Spanish. Quite a combination.

And then there is my late dad's line which is mainly German, Polish, French and English.

That makes me a mixture of ten different  backgrounds.

And I am so glad I found out about my ancestors for it is what makes me, me.

My sons have the genealogy of mine as do my grandchildren: Looking at it gives a lot of insight into who we are and our traits

I could throw out a lot of surnames and no doubt many of us would be somehow related--but I won't just yet. Will keep you guessing.

If you don't have your genealogy lines, ask your relatives to tell you what they know for doing that is really helpful. And you can go online and find out a lot--just be careful for a lot of genealogical information is not quite right or has been made up to make it sound better. The latter happened with one ancestor or mine--a lot was made up about him that was not true.

If you do have your genealogy, consider yourself lucky; I certainly do.

The more you dig and find out, the smaller the world seems because genealogy is really amazing.

Sherry Hill

 Copyright © 2016

Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved

‘A FLASH OF RED ON THE HILL FOR A LONG TIME”

You are probably thinking from the title that perhaps an ambulance or a police car was on this hill for quite a spell but I’d have to say that would be wrong. A sunset? No, not really. What I’m talking about that had a flash of red was an Irish Setter that roamed freely and yet he did have a home—right up the street from me. When he ran, I saw a flash of red that was more highlighted on a sunny day and this dog was a sight to see: He looked ablaze.

In my life up to that point, I’d never seen an Irish Setter much less been near one. Oh I’d seen a lot of different dog breeds prior and would wind up having my first dog when my sons were little on this hill for we got a purebred collie but not at the start. Curiosity got the best of me and I followed this blazing red dog home one day and found out that his name was Sham—short for Shamrock. He belonged to a family up the street that had two daughters and a son.

It was a time when there were no leash laws. Right next door to the where Sham lived was a huge collie named Fritz; he too was a visitor in my house.  But Sham was the one with the personality that said “I will come in your house and I will make myself comfortable.” And that he did. I’d find him lying on my couch with a non-care attitude looking as if he belonged there. My young sons adored him and although I’m not quite sure what my then-husband thought, Sham seemed to be my best buddy.

I had to nix that idea really fast after finding out that my house was not the only house that Sham inhabited while roaming during the day: He visited practically everyone on the street and they let him. But oh when he was here it was as if I had a house guest—albeit one with blazing red fur and four legs but he had manners. Good dog manners. I would find out that one day those good manners would change and become something that to this day, a lot of us remaining here still remember with a huge laugh.

There were many young couples on this street and upwards and many young children. Young children can entice and also leave front doors open for they have the habit of going in and out a gazillion times. Just ask any parent even today: It happens.

It was one young family up the street from me that was composed of young parents and three little children. I knew them all and was at their house a lot as were many other young families. On a hot summer day, the young mother had fixed a huge ham and set it on the kitchen counter. The aroma hung in the air and leaked outside beckoning any ham lover to get nearer and nearer. Now no one knew this for a while until everyone saw Sham running down the street with the entire ham tucked in his mouth!

The aroma got to him and there was no way he could help himself we all reasoned and especially that young mother who was expecting to have a lovely ham dinner. Didn’t happen.

Where Sham took that ham will remain a mystery to this day for no one saw him after he had it in his mouth but one thing was certain: He had eaten it all. Whether it made him sick or not is not known but he was roaming around the very next day as if nothing had happened with a look on his face “I didn’t do a thing. Suspect me? No way.”

A couple of months later we got our first dog and he was a collie named Rusty. Rusty got bigger than thought and yet when Sham came to visit, there was no tension between the two of them—Rusty would go his way in the house and Sham always sought my living room couch. I would have loved to have known what Rusty really thought but since I was and am not a “dog whisperer,” I will never know. They got along.

For what seemed like years but in essence must have been at least seven or so years, Sham lit up the neighborhood with his blazing coat of fur as he ran up and down the street.  Everyone knew him and his name: How could they not? He was magnificent with a streak of ornery in him.

It saddened his owners far more than me when the word “divorce” was mentioned. I will never forget the dad asking me if I’d take Sham and keep him. Having two young sons and a dog quelled that idea in me but in retrospect, I regret it this day that I didn’t take that dog. It would have worked out. I just couldn’t see it at that point.

Sham did find a home—in the country somewhere I was told—and for that I know the owners had to be grateful and yet longed for him. I can only hope that they got to visit him and that he lived out the rest of his life happy.

As for me, I will never forget that flash of red on the hill ever:  Sham was one of those dogs that crept into your very soul and stayed there long after he left here. And he wasn’t even mine.  I missed him on my living room couch, I missed his roaming and anytime anyone up here fixed a ham, well you know who they thought about—the one and only Sham. There has never been an Irish Setter here since him and I often wonder about that for I’ve seen all breeds of dogs around but never that specific breed.

Sham was just plain special and unforgettable. To this very day, I think of him and a smile washes over my face: How lucky I was to have known my neighbor’s dog in such a way and how lucky they were to have owned and shared him. He had the personality and beauty and knew it. What a dog!

Sherry Hill

Published in the Charleston [WV] Sunday Gazette-Mail

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

Wherever you live, I'm wishing you a Happy

St. Patrick's Day! It's a day of the wearing of the green, eating green foods, green beer [I opt out on that] and parades.

Check the news to see what state puts green in their main river--it always happens on this date.

Believe it or not, my former second graders really believed in leprechauns. I always took a poll and made a chart and generally there was only one kid that didn't believe and he or she would change his or her mind. Smile.

Wishing you a HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY! And check out the folklore on this day.

Sherry Hill

Copyright © 2016

Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved

VALENTINE’S DAY IN THE CLASSROOM WAS WILD

Valentine’s Day in my classroom was wild when I taught second grade.  Two weeks before the special day, my students would decorate white bakery bags with cut out hearts. I’d write their names on the bags with a Sharpie. The bags sat on the top of a bookcase in the classroom in anticipation of the BIG day.

If I counted the times that those bags were looked at by my students each year, it would be over a thousand.

And then there was valentine art made by them that was on the bulletin board and elsewhere. Red dominated the room and that was a good thing. When Valentine’s Day arrived [if it hadn’t snowed which it did far too many times and the party was held later,] concentration was extremely hard on the students’ part. All they could think of was the afternoon party and getting their valentine bags!

After lunch on that day, I would let each row of students go the valentine bags and put their valentines in each bag. This process seemed endless for some students hadn’t written names on the envelopes of their cards or couldn’t find others. But it happened and the bags were full and just waiting to be opened.

With the help of wonderful homeroom mothers that brought treats and drinks, the party would eventually start. You could feel the excitement in the air as the mothers gave each child the goodies. Yes, the students wanted them but even more they wanted the valentine bags.  The anticipation was almost equal to Christmas for that’s how excited they were.

I would call on several students at a time to retrieve their bags and the process didn’t take long at all. You could not only see but hear the ripping open of envelopes and hear giggles or an “Ah” if someone received a valentine that had LOVE on it.

The afternoon and the party seemed to whiz by but the looks on my students’ faces were unforgettable, especially if they had received a LOVE valentine. Boys would look at girls and girls would stare at boys. About ten minutes before the bell would ring, everyone shared in cleaning up the room with the homeroom mothers helping as well. But there wasn’t a single valentine left anywhere—not on a desk or on the floor. They had been crammed into those bakery bags as if they were some precious and valuable things.

And come to think of it, that’s exactly what they were to my second graders: Precious and valuable.  I remember all too well how I felt as a kid on Valentine’s Day in my own classroom: I felt the same excitement and hope of getting a valentine that had LOVE on it.  It sent chills down my spine but in a good way.

Yes, Valentine’s Day in my second grade classroom was wild—wild in that the excitement filled the air from the morning bell to the closing one.  And it was wonderful. I hope you hang onto your childhood memories of it for it was magical.

Sherry Hill

Copyright © 2016

Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved

MORE SNOW OF COURSE

I know but there comes a time when enough snow is enough and it's just February. After that overload three weeks ago, everyone here is sick of it. Today starts the blustery cold with tonight being about minus five below zero.  Fine if you play to stay inside--and I do!

But oh the insult of another snowstorm comes Monday and is forecast to go through Wednesday. Are you deluged with snow where you live?  If you are, you know the routine by now of shoveling, putting down salt or other products to keep a clear path free of snow or ice. My dog just stares at me when I get a big container and put in the huge back of salt by my door for he knows what I'm up to. I can feel him saying "There she goes again with that stuff!"

And then there is removing snow from the car which is a disgusting task if it's freezing outside. And normally it is just that.

For many years we had snow here even in April: I can only hope that this is not one of those years.

The famous groundhog in PA that forecasts whether we will have a long winter or a short one, was off base this year--he saw his shadow. That means an earlier spring. Uh no.

I don't go by what a groundhog sees. Who would?

Wherever you live, I hope that you only feel what I do and are already worn out with snow.

I am!

Sherry Hill

Copyright © 2016

Sherry Hill

All Rights Reserved