Jensen Creativity

We learned early from dad that you used whatever was in the garage or basement to build anything you wanted.

Just wanted to share my high tech gate latch based on What Would Merle Do design and engineering.  It now has possible interest from Homeland Security.  Patent Pending

POP- Get It? I Know Kenny Doesn't

Well, one year, our whole family, plus John Prelamen, a friend of DJ's, jumped into the ole' staton wagon and headed WEST- to California for the grandparents 50th Anniversary. The year, 1963. Getting to know our family and getting USC and UCLA sweatshirts was the highlight.

Well at a family dinner in Santa Monica with Aunt Dosie (aka Coleen Gray in movie circles) and family-along with cousin, Bruce, he ragalled over a previous trip of mine to California for the summer and a day at the Pacific Ocean Park. Pacific Ocean Park, at that time, was like Coney Island or a family paradise full of rides and food.

Bruce, over dinner exclaimed, " POP, Get it: POP????? I know Kenny doesn't get it so I'll give it to him" with which he took his fist in the air and drilled it into my lap at dinner.

Memories............................................

Disasters

I would propose that there is an opportunity to report on the series of disasters that befell the Jensen clan over the years...... We could probably add to the list below:

1. "That Damned Dog Ate My Teeth" (a classic!)
2. What do you do with a pan of burning oil on the stove? Why you throw it into the garage and under the gas tank of the car, that's what! AKA, getting a facial!
3. Need a boutineer for Mike Calog's date for the big dance? A little tissue paper is all you need!
4. Why is DJ throwing up in the basement bathroom? And why does he smell of alcohol? He must have the stomach flu! So let me call dad.....
5. Can the Peke's get lost if they've never left the rig? Does a bear shit in the woods? A classic meltdown!
6. Does one shift the gear lever up or down on the corvair to back out of the garage? Should be obvious, right? Wrong!
7. What is the appropriate excuse when realtors come on a Saturday morning to view the abandoned house at 2112 Westview Drive only to discover beer cans and bodies in each room?

Okay, a little help here!

Long Distance Phone Calls

Way, way back - the 1950's, long distance phone calls were very rare. Calls were very expensive based on time and distance. Moreover, in Rockford, we had two phones, one in the kitchen and one upstairs on a small table at the head of the steps. Anyhow, a long distance call was a family event. It was planned in advance, timed for brevity, sequencing of who would talk when,coaching to keep it short and be sure to hang up the phone at the end of the call!!

Calls to California to the grandparents usually started out with an opening by dad, then a nice touch by mom. After they were through, each of us had to get out our current life story in 30 seconds or less. Dad would finalize and the hangup would complete that family call. Wow, technology is great!!!!! We talked all the way to California!!!!

DIY- Football Field- Rockford

As a youngster, you always tried to have the closest thing to the real thing. In Rockford, that meant having a football field in the backyard, with field lines!!! Well, you couldn't do that at the Circle since we didn't own it, but the backyard was an artist's clean canvas.

Football season always brought out the creativity: homemade additions to uniforms, hand painted helmets to reflect favored teams, etc.....

Well, to take this to the next level, you had to have line markers on a field. Thinking this through, as a seven year old, of course, you would first look at the field dimensions. Backyard- good enough, despite they trees. Sidelines, good enough, despite the garden, slope to Connies and the rock garden on the other side to Klingstedt's. OK, next, what do you line the field? Bear in mind, there are five eager player fully suited up and ready to play! A trip into the house.....white paint.. good, but wouldn't dry and not enough.... flour... right color, but again, not enough... VOILA!!!!! LAUNDRY DETERGENT! We took both of the boxes mom had and began marking the yard. It looked great! An our jerseys were never cleaner.

However, for a few weeks, remnants of the markings were still in as brown lines in a normally green lawn.. Sorry, Dad.............................

Relative's Names- Two By Two

As a youngster in the Jensen house, you learned all of your relatives names in "twos." Very sing-songish. This was the way you connected the dots of who belongs to whom and eliminates, no, reduced, but did not prevent the risk of calling people by the wrong names.

For example: Harold and Dottie, Derald and June, Bob Bob and Nana, Mom and Dad, Bonnie and Clyde, Harold and Maude- well, you get the idea. The zinger came about with Nellie, Mae and Bud. That one was hard to register on a number of different levels to a small kid. So, it became Nell and Mae..... and Uncle Bud.

The family lists on both sides were fairly lengthy, so on trips to visit, we were often coached en route as a refresher so we didn't look like the family that arrived off the boat searching for long lost relatives.

I am still trying to figure out who Fin and Hattie were.??....

SWINGING 60'S STYLE- GROOVY

Listening to some "Solid Gold Oldies" as I toil in my garden, aka Little Versailles, a Herman Hermits song came on. All of a sudden a rush of memories vaulted through my mind. One jumped out at me, dickies. Nope, not the men's work gloves and clothing. Dickies in the "swinging 60's" were faux turtle necks that slipped over your head and just enough material left to cover the opening of a shirt or sweater. They were generally made of cotton with an array of colors. As stated, they were always worn under a shirt or sweater (especially) for that extra cool look. My mainstay were white and black dickies. Everyone wore them. They epitomized the British look of the time aside from the haircuts. You wore them everywhere and especially to the school Sock Hop to illustrate just how GROOVY you were.

Wlmot Mountain (sic)

Recently, Emily moved back home and around Christmas went skiing with a friend at Wilmot Mountain…..and I use the term “mountain” quite loosely….and was offered a job as a ski instructor. Well, this brought back a flood of memories of early ski trips to Wilmot and Alpine Valley in the late 60’s and early 70’s – long before we discovered that skiing could be done on anything but ice. Wilmot was a favorite weekend destination, but I have few recollections of daytime skiing and exclusive memories of nighttime skiing in subzero temps with a biting wind chill and long lift (ha!) lines. We went at night because we were cheap and the price dropped after 5 pm. We were, of course, well-fortified with hot spiced wine and beer.

Waiting in long lift lines for a 5 minute run was the bane of our existence. The rope tow offered a potentially shorter wait but ran the risk that someone would fall going up, and like a series of dominos, everyone behind him would stop and then fall over. We were well-dressed for chic Midwestern night skiing with blue jeans and navy pea-coats. After an hour, our jeans would become stiff with ice. Our ski boots were a late form of medieval torture with something called “flow foam” that was supposed to form around your feet as it warmed up but never did. Nirvana was taking off your ski boots and having blood return to your painful feet. New Years Eve was a particularly interesting time to ski Wilmot….and I recall seeing a drunken skier face down on the slope with his skis crossed behind him and he was laughing and saying “I can’t get up! I just can’t get up!”.

The long drive home down Wilmot Road to Route 12 to Barrington was filled with recounting tales of bravado and daring-do. Ahhhh, memories!

HITCHIN' ON - Rockford

Well, many families encounter at least one member who is the finicky eater/ food tester. I earned this title quite easily by being a guinea pig for a few concoctions devised by RJ and DJ. Remember the commercial that had the line" Let Mickey try it." Well, in the early 1950's, Mickey was KJ. Enough about how I developed the superior refined palate I enjoy today, but what I developed and that evolved to became the nuance of foodie compartmentalization- Hitchin' On.

At times, we were not always really sure what was set before us at dinner. In the plating process, items got lost in another. I still suspect, to this day, that this practice was to confuse the eater and distort what may actually have been in the food. I, for one, was taking no chances. Even at a young age, I refused to eat any food group on the plate that appeared to co mingle with any other- AKA "Hitchin On." Hey, even the juices from green beans oozing over into the mashed potatoes sent me into a tizz. I refused to eat. First, dad would rationalize that it all goes to the same place. Didn't help- only made matters worse thinking about that. Second, brute force. Sometimes successful, but usually a messy affair and lots of post effort clean up. Third, and the most effective- no TV- go to bed. This became time well spent examining the pros and cons of blending foods- now called FUSION. Your welcome....................................