Each plastic thread square was then placed on a ring. She’d also made a supply of colored threads for us–although ours were made from cotton thread wound onto plastic pieces with a hole at the top. Each kit had a small piece of cloth, some snips, a small hoop to hoop the fabric, small wood frames to hold the ornaments after they were made, and a small pattern book. One summer when we were old enough, my mom presented my sister and I our own set of stranded cotton thread and some cross stitch kits to make mini Christmas ornaments. It was like a rainbow in a box and I loved to pull out and look at each of those squares of threads, neatly colored in their rows, although I was always careful not to get the colors out of order.
I can see her in my minds’ eye with her big plastic bag of cross stitch supplies–which included her large aida cloth roll and pattern books and her fisherman’s bait box filled with cardboard squares of all different colors of stranded cotton thread wrapped tightly for cross-stitching.Įach of the individual thread colors were labeled and placed in order. She would sit under a tree or at the sides of pools, watching us play and doing her handwork. My mom would always bring a hand sewing project with her on the trip and it was usually cross stitch. Occasionally we would stop at historical sites along the route, American History has always been important to my dad, and then spend hours waiting outside warehouses and offices while having picnic lunches and playing while my dad made his sales calls. We would all share one small hotel room and then wake up the next morning and have a quick breakfast and be on the road again.
We slept in a different hotel every night, always with a pool that we would splash around in to tire us out, and where most of my siblings learned to swim and dive off diving boards. Then later in a large Cutlass Ciera where I would claim a wheel well all to myself with a new book that my parents would buy each of us to read on the long hours of driving until we arrived at whatever hotel we would be sleeping at that night.Īs a child, these memories were so much fun. First, in a wood paneled station wagon where we loved to roll around in the “tippy back” as we called it (back in the day of no children’s seat belt laws) where we would lounge around or play with each other.
So, he was on the road a lot.Īnd for part of the summer, the rest of the family would join him. He would travel from Ohio to Nebraska and all the states in between. He did most of his sales face to face with clients and since we lived in the Midwest, many of his “sales territories” were quite large. My father’s employment was in advertising sales and his job was to sell ads for newspapers and magazines. ***This post was originally part of our Stitched Podcast series.***įor a few summers of my childhood we spent a good portion of our days out of school on road trips.
0 kommentar(er)
