A very gray Thanksgiving Day at a rest stop about a half hour south of Seattle. After two years at the University of West Virginia, my mother and her good friend from childhood, Frankie Lee, transferred to Colorado University in Boulder. My mother said they picked Colorado because they saw where people could own white rugs. They came from coal country where that was unheard of. It was 1944.
My mother triple majored in chemistry, math and English. It was called a Distributive Major. She met my dad the next year in a Physics Lab when she was twenty-one. Their first conversation involved a hygrometer. I had to look up the word. It's an instrument used in meteorological science to measure the humidity, or amount of water vapor in the air. My mother describes herself as having been very shy. She recalled walking across the room to the hygrometer and was aware my dad was following her. She was having trouble reading the instrument and in describing her troubles she said the wrong word. She used the word discriminating in trying to explain she couldn't see where the bubble was. As soon as she heard her own voice saying "discriminating" she knew she used the wrong word. My father didn't skip a beat and replied, "My mother always told me to be discriminating," referring to choosing the right partner.
Their first date came later. My dad's roommate, upon hearing him talk enthusiastically about this beautiful girl he met in Physic's class, told him he knew of her and that she was a real keeper. The first date was a Fraternity party way up Boulder canyon. My dad picked up my mother in a two door Ford coupe that had a rumble seat. She said at least three other people were crammed into the front seat with her and my dad, and the rumble seat was packed with at least that many. "It was great fun," she said. They married nearly four months later.
At that point in her life my mother had never had an alcoholic drink. Her father, a self made man, who put himself through law school, had an abusive step father who was a drinker and it turned him off to alcohol the rest of his life. Not growing up with liquor in the house, the first time my mother had a drink was on Thanksgiving at my dad's cousin's house after they were married. My mother couldn't believe people served beer with their meal. It was not love at first taste, but over time she learned to not dislike it. My father grew up with tales of drinking "hot toddies" when he was four or five years old.
To those who celebrate Thanksgiving (we do not) we hope you have a memorable day in the way you want. Our other hope is to see the sun, but it may have us waiting until tomorrow.
My mother triple majored in chemistry, math and English. It was called a Distributive Major. She met my dad the next year in a Physics Lab when she was twenty-one. Their first conversation involved a hygrometer. I had to look up the word. It's an instrument used in meteorological science to measure the humidity, or amount of water vapor in the air. My mother describes herself as having been very shy. She recalled walking across the room to the hygrometer and was aware my dad was following her. She was having trouble reading the instrument and in describing her troubles she said the wrong word. She used the word discriminating in trying to explain she couldn't see where the bubble was. As soon as she heard her own voice saying "discriminating" she knew she used the wrong word. My father didn't skip a beat and replied, "My mother always told me to be discriminating," referring to choosing the right partner.
Their first date came later. My dad's roommate, upon hearing him talk enthusiastically about this beautiful girl he met in Physic's class, told him he knew of her and that she was a real keeper. The first date was a Fraternity party way up Boulder canyon. My dad picked up my mother in a two door Ford coupe that had a rumble seat. She said at least three other people were crammed into the front seat with her and my dad, and the rumble seat was packed with at least that many. "It was great fun," she said. They married nearly four months later.
At that point in her life my mother had never had an alcoholic drink. Her father, a self made man, who put himself through law school, had an abusive step father who was a drinker and it turned him off to alcohol the rest of his life. Not growing up with liquor in the house, the first time my mother had a drink was on Thanksgiving at my dad's cousin's house after they were married. My mother couldn't believe people served beer with their meal. It was not love at first taste, but over time she learned to not dislike it. My father grew up with tales of drinking "hot toddies" when he was four or five years old.
To those who celebrate Thanksgiving (we do not) we hope you have a memorable day in the way you want. Our other hope is to see the sun, but it may have us waiting until tomorrow.
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