I was once a lifeguard….

When I was growing up in Winter Haven, Florida, the city had a Volunteer Lifesaving Corps, and my sister Linda and I served on it for four summers each. I don’t know if it’s still in existence, but it was well run, and our members guarded beaches at lakes around town.

After passing the required Red Cross courses, we went through initiation by the lifeguards at Daytona Beach. We had to jump off the end of the pier, swim a half-mile parallel to the beach, and then come in. During my swim, a great gray shape surfaced beside me and I looked over to see the curious eye of a large porpoise. He wouldn’t let me touch him, but he escorted me to the turn-in point. I felt very protected, knowing a porpoise can kill a shark.

One of my granddaughters is working as a lifeguard this summer in Atlanta, and I dug out old pictures from those days. I found this hilarious one I call Awkward Lifeguards. I’m on the left, in all my 16-year-old gawky glory, apparently trying to affect a glamorous pose. Linda, 18, is on the right, unprepared for the photo with her eyes closed.

#thegirlwhotalkedtoomuch. #americangoverness

Why yes, I have a cat…..

His name is Mr. Pooh Bear, or Pooh for short. He’s an orange Bullseye Tabby, (meaning he has bullseyes on both flanks), a completely indoor cat, who enjoys catching lizards on the screened porch and bringing them in to chase.

Every day, in no uncertain terms, he explains that it’s time for me to lie down for half an hour with him curled under my arm, paws and head on my chest and purr rattling in my ears.

When i’m working at the computer, he requires me to put a quilt across my legs so he can curl up in my lap. When I watch TV in the recliner in the evening, he reminds me to put the blanket across my legs so he can stretch out to my knees and get in some serious sleeping.

Here’s what I found when I went to take his portrait for this post:

My Bavarian zither

At Christmastime in 1961, I was a governess in Schloss (Castle) Neufraunhofen, living with Count Georg von Soden-Frauenhofen and his wife Countess Elisabet and their five children, affectionately nicknamed Buale (Buddy), Alfie, Susie, Hitti, and Puppe (Little Doll). The castle was in Niederbayern, or Lower Bavaria, meaning in the foothills of the Alps. This antique zither was my Christmas gift from the Countess, along with weekly lessons, for which I walked to a nearby village, rain, snow or shine.

I can no longer play it because of arthritis in my fingers, and am giving it to a grandson of mine who’s a musician. Besides extra strings and a simple wooden case, it comes with a tuning key and a copy of Volkstümliche Zitherschule (Folk-style Zither school). It’s decorated with a scene from Lohengrin…just a decal, I’m afraid.

The story of my year there can be found in my book, American Governess, which is on Amazon under the author name Ann Dickinson Sargent, and on my website, anndickinsonsargent.com.

A Birthday Card From Kippy

Although Kippy had intellectual handicaps, she loved to draw and was surprisingly good at it. In my memoir of her, The Girl Who Talked Too Much, i include a birthday card she made for me. Granted, our mother found the pictures of the skeletons for her to look at. She also composed and dictated the words of the captions, but Kippy took it from there.

A Chaplain, 1898, Puerto Rico, Spanish American War

My grandfather interrupted his medical training to sign up as a medic in the Spanish American War, and was stationed with the infantry in Puerto Rico. He was a gifted amateur photographer and left many photos, including this one of Acting Chaplain Butters, posing proudly with his rifle. I’ve tried to find out what the white bands are that are slung across from shoulder to hip. I found an “abdominal band” listed; stuffed with herbs like rosemary and thought to be effective against fevers. Another suggestion was that it was filled with grain to be cooked in the field. It looks too regular to be a rolled ground cloth or sleeping bag.

#thegirlwhotalkedtoomuch #americangoverness #spanishamericanwar

#*@!%&$#%!!! WORDS OF POWER?

I have long thought that English no longer has has words with any real force or power to them. Overuse has deadened the ones the language had.

it’s not that I would choose to use them. I’ve always thought them a substitute for thought. Using the same standard words to express anger, frustration, or even bewilderment seems to indicate the lack of adequate vocabulary.

My great-grandfather never used a curse word. He was a sea-captain, and in the 1860’s, piloting a sailboat around Bermuda, he realized the stiff breeze was bringing them to an overhanging bridge too quickly. He called to his mate, “By the great and shining star of heaven, Nathaniel, lower that sail!” By that time, of course, the wind had smashed them into the bridge, before Nathaniel had a chance to lower the sail and unstep the mast.

I admire the grandeur of his command, but it’s clear a shorter epithet would have been more helpful.

My father ran away to sea at twelve, and later became a Master Mariner. A lifetime on board ships, in the US Navy during WWII, followed by a career as captain of merchant ships, gave him a sailor’s vocabulary.

As a young child, I noticed that it didn’t seem possible for him to finish a sentence without using the words “damn” and “hell.” They seemed unfreighted with emotion. Rarely, he added blasphemy when he wanted to express emphasis. He never used obscenities, scatalogical terms, or words related to body parts or functions.

No one else I knew spoke that way, and somehow I was made to understand that although such expressions were a normal part of my father’s speech, they were taboo for everyone else.

When I was in high school and college, I became aware that, although those ordinary swear words were becoming more common, there was still one shocking word to be avoided; the one referred to as “the f word.”

Unfortunately, that word has become too common, peppered through movies and books in profusion, used not only as a verb, but as a noun, adjective, adverb, gerund, participle, as well as an imperative and a form of personal address. It’s sad. It has become the single most boring word in the English language.

I wonder if other languages still have words that retain the power of a curse. Perhaps it’s because we no longer believe in curses that such words have become mere detritus clogging the flow of meaning in our speech.

I turned 87 yesterday, so why not share?

On my daily 30-minute morning walk, I move out at a great pace, with my long legs (I’m still about 5’9”). So last year, at my half-way point beside a lovely stream with a Beware of Alligators sign, I was keeping to the right side of the sidewalk, since bicyclists sometimes pass on my left unexpectedly. Suddenly, my right foot landed halfway off the pavement, and the grass there, level with the concrete, turned out to be camouflaging a hole. My ankle twisted.

I lost my balance, and momentum drove me into a full-length face plant onto the rough sidewalk. Lifting my head, I noticed a few drops of blood hitting the walk beneath me. It was early on a Saturday, and although I could see some cars at the nearby tennis courts, there wasn’t a soul within hailing distance. No alligators either.

Did a quick mental inventory of body parts…Hands a bit achy. Arms OK. Legs, knees, even that ankle seemed fine, no pains in hips or shoulders. I realized, “All right, I’ll just get up myself.”

I really hate putting full body weight on my two replaced knees, but there was no alternative. Halfway through my manoeuvres to return to a standing position, I realized I was thankful no one could see the graceless way I achieved it. But by God, I did. Checking arms and legs again, I saw no abrasions anywhere. 

But that blood….

I put a hand to my face, and felt it. There was a cut above my left eyebrow, another on my left cheekbone, and my lip was split. My three contact points, face first. I rooted in my pocket, came up with a single tissue, blotted the cuts, and walked 15 minutes home at almost my original pace.

This morning as I walked the same route, I smiled as I passed that spot, walking right in the middle of the sidewalk. The bicyclists are just going to have to look out for themselves.

Ann Sargent

#thegirlwhotalkedtoomuch #americangoverness

I was so smart once upon a time…..

In clearing out old bins and boxes, I came upon the tangible remains of my education. Here’s my high school diploma, in a fancy faux-leather folder designed to last for generations. Here’s my UF Bachelor of Arts certificate, my Senior Thesis (yellow cover, UF undergrad) and one from grad school (red cover, Univ of Wisconsin), plus 3 undergraduate papers. Thank goodness I was smart enough not to request a certificate for the Master’s Degree.

I’m rereading the papers, trying to find out what I knew, back in the day. It’s amazing. Also pretty irrelevant. Instead of pursuing a more scholarly life, where I might have actually had an office where my certificates could be displayed, I’m glad I chose to work in local middle- and high-school classrooms, getting to work with younger kids. Maybe I even made a difference.

What is one to do with such things? My kids aren’t going to want to store them. Perhaps a ceremonial fire with appropriately dignified comments would provide a proper disposal……..

SCAM ALERT!

Don’t buy from HIKE Footwear! I ordered 3 pairs of shoes, and I DID get 3 shoes, but they were the right size for a 10-year-old. I’ve been trying to exchange them. After 4 emails, I did get one saying they’d get back to me, but they haven’t.

I found an online Chat Now box on their website, and it was obvious that it was a chatbot, but after I gave details of the order, it said to fill out a form that would be given to a technician so they could have the details for helping me. It said there would be a $1.00 charge, immediately refunded

That form turned out to be from Just Answer, and If you filled it in and confirmed info, it enrolled you into a monthly membership costing $55.00. I managed to negate that. The site had no information about HIKE Footwear, which ships from an address in Hiahleah, Florida. I’m inclined to believe it’s nothing but a shipping address.

I should have checked them out: their rating is F with the BBB.

The Count at his castle

When I published American Governess, the Count received his copy before I received mine! The Countess took his picture holding my book, in front of the castle on the cover. He’s the son of one of the children I cared for, and my husband and I had visited him and his family before the book was published. #americangoverness. #thegirlwhotalkedtoomuch