Christmas Tradition

When my children were very young my wife and I and two kids left Racine, WI and traveled to Shingleton, MI to have Christmas with Bonnie's parents. It was always a joyous time. The grandparents were properly doting. Tom and I usually got to do some fishing. Glady ran the general store they owned and was quite busy, however in the evening we played with the kids and then played cards.

However, after one or two years of that we decided to stay home in Racine. Like many young married people we wanted to establish our own family traditions. Traveling at Christmas time just didn't lay down any roots. We lived in a small, three bedroom "starter" home in Sturtevant, WI. We would decorate the tree. Bonnie and the kids would bake Christmas cookies together which always led to the usual sister competitions and a sprinkle of candy color on the table, the floors and other locations of the kitchen.

Christmas eve meant church and coming home about 8:30 PM. We would sit up, watch the tree lights, play carols, and play with the kids. Then off to bed for the youngsters. I usually had some kind of a put together toy that Santa left. I always used to wish that Santa had written better instructions. The gifts got together though. I never did enjoy the taste of milk and cookies after scotch on the rocks, but there had to be proof of Santa's visit.

Christmas eve was a good time at our house. The kid's eyes shown with excitement and that excitement carried over to the adults. Their enthusiasm for the season was heartwarming and made you love them all the more.

So this time of year brings back many memories. They are all good.

Toot

My grandmother's name was Nettie Viola Firman Floria. I knew her as Toot. Others knew her a Fuzzy, but Toot was the name I called her. She was a strong woman. She was born in 1876 near Remus, MI and married my Grandfather Burt Floria around the turn of the century. She was 68 years old when I was born and lived another 16 years.

When I was a young boy my parents were gone quite often during the week. They might be at a mixed bowling league, some community activity, or other social engagement. As a result Toot babysat for me. Even when I went to the movies by myself I would walk back to Toot's apartment and spend the evening with her until my folks came by to pick me up and take me home.

Toot was a spry old lady. She was positive in her believe in Jesus and God and secure in the knowledge that she had done as good as she could and God would make a place for her. I am sure he did. I have no idea about the level of education she attained, but I wouldn't be surprised it was limited. She often told me that her father was an itinerant preacher who had an extensive library at home. She sometimes bemoaned the loss of that library in a house fire. Nonetheless Toot was an inquisitive soul who loved geography. When I was in elementary school at Lincoln in Munising the school would dispose of old textbooks at the end of the school year. Many times they sold these books for a couple of cents or a nickel. I would buy as many geography books as I could lay my hands on and take them to Toot.

Many an evening she I and would sit on an overstuffed couch made of a rough materials that was OK to sit on, but rough to the skin if you laid on the couch. She would drag out those worn geography books and we would sit and look at the pictures and speculate on how those folks lived, what they ate, how they survived? She had a lot of questions and would read and try to understand other people's circumstances around the world.

From time to time a traveling missionary would visit the local church and talk about the work being done in far off lands. Toot would attend those meetings and listen to the reports then speculate on how people got along in remote regions of our planet.

I believe my sense of curiosity was born in this old lady's apartment. As a young lad I enjoyed sitting and looking at those books with her.

She also had an old radio that had a shortwave feature. Many an evening we would turn that radio on to short wave and turn the dial. We would pick up radio broadcasts from various parts of the world and speculate on what language we were hearing. Perhaps we heard Spanish, Porteguese, or Russian. We had no idea. However, Toot wanted to know and would speculate about what was being said.

I think it is difficult to be in contact with that kind of curiosity and not have it rub off. I will always be grateful to that old lady of my blood. My good and gracious Grandmother, Toot.

Past Thanksgivings

It is hard to remember past Thanksgivings now. I have just completed my 64th. I have general impressions of family members being present, of the smell of the turkey roasting and the chatter of conversation that surrounds such events. I recall going to Midland, MI one year to spend the holiday with my brother Dean and his family. I recall several trips to Boulder Hill, IL to spend the day with my sister, her husband and wonderful family. I think through our adult years we, meaning wife and children went to some other relatives home for Thanksgiving.

For a number of years Thanksgiving morning meant a pheasant hunt in SE Wisconsin. The hunt ended with the dogs lying wearily in the grass by the side of the road. The hunters enjoying a glass of port, a beer and some sausage, cheese and crackers. It made for some memorable moments.

Thanksgiving in Munising when I was a kid were great. Sometimes we had snow and it seemed to lend a magical feeling to the time. Before I was 16 Toot, my grandmother Floria, would come for Thanksgiving. I can recall Toot working in the kitchen with my mother and Dad and I in the living room watching the Packers and the Lions play. Football, turkey, dressing and gravy all made for those moments we wish we could recreate but never seem to be quite the same.

Still I've had many memories and hope to generate many more. It is fun to take the day and cook some new foods and try something new yet tradition pretty much dictates that turkey be the mainstay. I do love the period. It doesn't seem as intense as Christmas, and a more relaxed time. I do love Thanksgiving.

A new outdoor friend?

My second Dad, Tom Dolaskie, was as good a friend and mentor as a man could get. I learned a lot about the out of doors from him. I also learned a lot about how to act in life, how to live your life without being arrogant, and taking an observers view of the passing of time rather than worrying about it.

His son, Tommy Jr. is not an out door person, but is a good guy. As good as they get. He also seems to exhibit a lot of his father's style.

Now comes Tommy's son, Tommy Dolaskie the IV. I think I'll call him Tommy Quad, for fourth. I knew him as a little kid. I met him once as and adult. However I have observed him on Facebook and have come to admire and like his style. I believe he probably is a little more glitzy than his Dad and his Grandfather, but he seems to have a good heart. I have proposed a remembrance fishing trip next summer up in Munising. He seems to be for it. Perhaps I will have a new out door partner that treads lightly on my consciousness the way his Grandfather did. By that I mean we talked about trying new ways of hunting or fishing, but it was done as equals and neither of us felt dependent or beholden to the other to be in the field. We always walked as equals, but we weren't he was always the better man.

Here's to the future. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to return the favor and be an example for my 2nd Dad's grandson.

Why I didn't go

My 2nd Father died a few years ago. I did not go to the funeral. I live 800 miles away. I would've had to make the drive by myself. I did not have enough time. That's all bullshit.

Tom was as much my Dad as my Dad was. My father (real) provided me with food, shelter, love and encouragement. I was not a mistreated son, I was much loved and loved in return. However my 2nd Father was also a son's dream. A true outdoors-man. A skilled hunter, a skilled fisher, and a person who lived off the land for much of their food. There was much to learn, much to experience and too much to tell in this tale.

He died quietly as he lived. He died in his pickup truck getting ready to drive up to the road to get the mail. He passed quickly, peacefully, and with his wife of over 60 years nearby. He had just come off the ice of the inland lake he lived on after spending the last few hours of his life fishing.

I didn't go to his funeral. I cried at his passing. I cried in thanks for all of the wonderful memories he allowed me to participate in. I grieved because I missed him so much.

His oldest daughter and I were married. We were high school sweethearts. I had been fishing with Tom since I was 16 years old. I hunted partridge with him. We picked mushrooms, wild leeks, cranberries, blueberries, we cut trees and roofed garages and snowmobiled on Lake Superior. I was truly his son.

I was not close with the rest of the family. His wife Glady and I talked and I loved her in a fashion but there were issues and I probably more tolerated her than felt the love of a parent. My wife's sister Kathy, I loved her. I would not call us very close, but she was a nice person and I enjoyed visiting with her. Tom's son Tom and I were friendly. We did not do too much together, but I was around when he was a little kid. When he got older and married I didn't see him too often, but he was family. The last daughter, Lou I was not close with at all. I tolerated her because she was family but I didn't care too much for her. The oldest daughter, Bonnie. We were married 23 years. I loved her, what happened to that marriage would be speculation. I am sure I bear the bulk of the blame because of my alcoholism, but there are always two stories.

When Bonnie and I divorced I am sure I broke Tom's heart. He never said. He still called me his son-in-law, but I'm sure I hurt him deeply. His son didn't hunt with him, didn't like fishing, and was not much of an outdoor person. I was, and we were together constantly.

So when Tom died I did not go to his funeral. I couldn't face the hurt I had inflicted on him and thusly the family. The kids and I were not particularly close, but they all knew how Tom felt about me and how I felt about him. Bonnie and I spent hours playing cards, visiting, putting up with Glady's incessant meddling. We both loved Tom dearly. Me, I couldn't face the family.

My daughters encouraged me to come, after all I knew a lot of the stories. Brother Tom told others that I would show up, but I didn't. I couldn't face the consequences of my actions.

A few years before Tom died I made a trek back to the U.P. to go deer hunting with him. It cost me over $100 for the deer license for three hours of being in the woods with him again. We walked in an area that had deer sign but no deer. I knew we wouldn't see any, and I think he did too. It was an exercise in being together in the woods one last time. I came out the next morning to see if he wanted to go again, he couldn't his legs would not support him and he was in a lot of pain. But he pushed himself the day before so we could be together in the snowstorm lurking about in the woods. It was the last time in the woods for he and I. I will always treasure it.

The night before the point of no return I lay awake in the middle of the night debating with myself whether or not I should get up in the morning and leave for the funeral. I tossed and turned, fretted and worried. I was a coward. All of a sudden as I lay in the bed a soft warmth crept through my body. A sense of well being and comfort came over me and I knew it would be all right if I didn't go. Call it what you may but I think Tom's love understood my dilemma and told me it was OK. A parting gift from a man I dearly loved.

Tough background

In the face of all of the hard luck stories you read about and where someone drags themselves out of economic tough times I have decided my family also has its history. I do not know a lot of facts because my Grandmother and Dad were of that generation where you just accepted your lot in life and played the best hand you could with the cards you were dealt.

My Grandmother Nettie, or Toot as we knew her, was born in 1876. She married a man named Burton Floria, my grandfather. Burt was a millwright by trade and they moved from the Remus, MI area to Manistique in the Upper Peninsula. Burt worked in the logging industry and Toot kept house. My Father was born in Manistique, MI and as a small baby the family moved to Grand Marais, MI probably around 1903. My Dad's brothers were born in Grand Marais, I believe. Burt built a home for his family which still stands to this day. My Dad told me there are boards in that home that are 36" wide, cut from the White Pine that dominated the forests at that time.

Burt apparently left the family sometime around 1909 - 10. I don't know the year, but I believe they spent a few years in Grand Marais before moving to Munising in 1913. Times were tough. There was no government program to aid destitute families and I've got to believe that mine was one of them. One of the stories Dad told me concerned an incident where he picked some small tin pails of strawberries along the lake shore and was headed home with them. A neighbor lady stopped him and asked him how much he wanted for the berries, he said a quarter. She gave him a quarter. He promptly went to a local store and bought a big container of oats which is what they ate much of the week for food.

Dad also described that Toot would bake six loaves of bread on Thursdays and the weekend. So obviously bread was a staple in their diet. In addition Toot would take the kids in the summer out berry picking. Toot and another lady would rent a team driven by a man and they would go out into the surrounding forests to pick raspberries, and other types of berries as they came into season. These she canned, made jam and sold, or some how derived some income from. In addition she took in laundry for the teachers that were located in Grand Marais to bring some money into the home.

I assume as with many families at the time the home she lived in was paid for. So at least they had a roof over their heads and that couldn't be taken from her. Other than that from things my Dad said over the years life was tough. There were times that Dad would recall some event from his childhood and just shake his head and mutter that it was tough, real tough and he had a great love and respect for his mother.

My Father always talked about the love and humor that Toot had and the antics of his brothers. Having seen my father and his brothers interact over the years I can tell there was a lot of good old fun had in there younger years. Dad always talked about his brother Earl and Cecil as being the source of the humor, but listening to them talk about early days I have a feeling the "Old Man" was right in the thick of things.

My Dad always kept a connection with Grand Marais through the years. When he ran his insurance business in Munising he had customers in Grand Marais and knew many of the people in the community. After he moved to Milwaukee he, his brothers, and my brother Dean and I made a trek back to Grand Marais to find the old homestead and to visit the community. I can tell you from participating in the trip that it was one raucous time and hardly a time when by without laughter.

So, the roots of my immediate past were founded in tough times. I have a feeling that were those circumstances recreated today Toot and her boys would've been far below the poverty level and eligible for government subsistence. Whether they would've taken assistance is another question, but they had no choice at the time. Perhaps that is where some of the metal was forged that made our family what it is today.

Childhood Illness

My daughters, Kristi & Jenny were pretty healthy kids when they were little. We did end up with some hospital time for both. Bronchitis seemed to be a particular problem. I actually don't remember Kristi with the problem as much as Jenny.

I recall when we lived in some side by side apartments in Racine about 1974 Jenny was a little over two. She became ill with bronchitis and was hospitalized. Her mother, Bonnie and I would go visit her and she was in an oxygen tent. The tent was intimidating. The little person had and IV in her arm, there were hoses and tubes running around and she was all alone in there. I recall one time during a visit she wanted a hug. I couldn't get at her to hug her, the tent was in the way, the hoses and tubes. I told her that I couldn't hug her as the apparatus would not allow me to get close enough. I felt so bad. I wondered if I shouldn't have just unzipped the tent and found a way to get close to her for just a little bit. She was a bit of a Daddy's girl.

Kristi on the other hand had a Plantar's Wart. We still lived in Racine, only now we were actually in Sturtevant just out side of Racine. Kris, Bonnie and I talked about what to do and the options and I told her that I had a similar wart removed years ago and the Dr. burned it off. We had some discussion about the procedure. I told her they had to numb the area so she wouldn't feel any pain. Both Kris and Jen had an aversion to shots. Kristi sucked up her courage and told me she wanted to have the wart removed. At the time we went to the Racine clinic and the Surgeon's name was Don Gore, what a name for a Surgeon. We made the appointment and I took her to the clinic. It seemed that when shots or things like that were required I was the person that had to take the kids. I guess Mom's soft heart wouldn't stand the emotional stress.

Kristi and I went there and on the drive you could see she was totally focused on what was going to be inflicted on her and wanted it over. We didn't talk, I couldn't get her to be her usual self. The Surgeon took one look at the wart and asked Kris if it hurt or it affected her walking or running. Kristi said no. Don look at the two of us and said then he did not recommend having the wart removed surgically as it was a virus and would eventually go away. We left the office, when Kristi got to the car she broke down and sobbed almost uncontrollably from relief of not having to have the shot in the foot. This would've been around 1978 or so. Kristi would've been 9 or 10.

Jenny would get so upset over having a shot that I had to take her because I literally had to hold her still. She would get so upset, then when it was over, she was back to normal. I recall one time she had to get some type of a shot and became almost hysterical. In fact, her little arm was so tense the nurse bent the needle on the syringe when she gave her the shot. Tough little shit.

God they are nice kids.