A Case of the Human Condition: Geographic Mobility in America — Watching My Kids Disappear

Peter at the airport with his bags 2000. Photo by Barbara Falconer Newhall

Peter leaves home for college. Photo by Barbara Falconer Newhall

By Barbara Falconer Newhall

Most of my grandmother’s children – there were seven of them – lived out their lives within walking distance of their mother’s white frame house in Scottville, Michigan. Not my father. He moved away.

Which is why, when I think of my Grandma Falconer I see the pince-nez, the soft pink skin and the silvery-white hair swept into an up-do — but I also see my grandmother’s figure standing motionless at the foot of her driveway, watching as my family drives out of town. [Read more...]

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The Scottville, Michigan, High School Football Team — 1929

The Scottville, Michigan, football team, 1929. c 1929 H.J. Hansen

The Scottville football team, 1929. Photo by H.J. Hansen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Barbara Falconer Newhall

Oops. I forgot to post the photo of my father’s Scottville, Michigan, High School football team on Friday’s blog. Here it is.

My father, Dave Falconer (that’s him with the curly hair, front row, third from right), wrote these names on the back of the photo. The spellings and labels are his. Left to right:

Front Row – Backs: James Berry – Jim; Adison Miller – Addy – R. End; John Rosander – Rosy – Back; Holly Wilson – capt. – Back; Noble Stephens – Steve – Back; David Falconer – Dave – Back; Harry Young; Norman Benow – Norm

Second row – Line: Morse Osby – R. Tackle; Woodrow Briggs – L. Tackle; Harold Sanders – R. Guard; Ray Sherburn – Center; Meril Wood; Bob Berry; Dwight Spuller – L. End; Don. Sager – Coach

Back row – Scrubs: Genters; Jenks; D.D. Nelson; Harhart; James Fisher; W. Fisher – L. Guard; Burt Shulte; Ben Nap – ?ski; L. Fisher

The great Stock Market Crash of 1929 took place on Thursday, October 29, 1929, setting off a world-wide economic depression. Things were bad, but apparently not bad enough to keep these guys from suiting up and playing ball. Or had the market not quite crashed yet . . . ?

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A Case of the Human Condition: I’m a Woman with a — Sprawling — Past

A corsage my sophomore year.

A corsage from my sophomore year in high school. c 2009 B.F. Newhall

By Barbara Falconer Newhall

The trouble with painting the inside of your closets is — everything has to come out of them.

And then what do you do with all your beloved stuff?

If you’re me, you don’t throw it away.

But what if your beloved stuff is in disarray?

What if your Girl Scout merit badges are mixed in with the portrait of your father’s high school football team and your mother’s baby photos and an old World War II ration book?

My Great-great-grandmother Harlow from Red Wing, Minnesota. C 2009 .F. Newhall

A photo of my mother's great-grandmother Harlow from Red Wing, Minnesota. Walinger Studio photo

If you’re me, you want to impose some order on all your wonderful old belongings. And on your past while you’re at it.

Which takes time. Lots of it.

As a result, ever since we painted the interior of our house last year, all the good stuff I pulled out of our closets has been sprawled around my writing room, taking up space, waiting to be sorted and put away.

Twenty-eight cartons of it. Calling to me.

Finally, yesterday, I did it. I organized my beloved stuff — and my rather extensive past — into twelve tidy, carefully labeled business boxes.

To wit:

 

Five of the 28 boxes. c 2009 B.F. Newhal

Five of the 28 boxes. c 2009 B.F. Newhal

“High School Stuff.” The corsage of red roses from my sophomore year boyfriend at Birmingham High School, in Birmingham, Michigan. The insect collection I did for biology class. The report card with the note from my social studies teacher, “You talk too much.”

“Grandma Falconer.” My grandmother’s wedding photos. Photos of the family barn and silo in Scottville, Michigan, and some cows. My great-grandmother’s speech to the Michigan Women’s Christian Temperance Union.

“My year in Heidelberg.” Coasters from a Bier Stube. Train tickets to Paris and Moscow. A telegram from my parents asking why I hadn’t written in two weeks.

A photo of me as a student in Heidelberg. C 2009 B.F. Newhall

A photo of me as a student in Heidelberg. c 2009 B.F. Newhall

The boxes go on: My years growing up in Detroit. As a student at the University of Michigan. As a twenty-something in New York City. As a hippie in  San Francisco. As a respectable, hardworking mom.  Everything in a box. Everything in its place.

And nothing, nothing at all, in the trash.

© 2009 Barbara Falconer Newhall

A card welcoming the dear baby me to the family. C 2009 B.F. Newhall

A card welcoming the dear baby me to the family. c 2009 B.F. Newhall

 

 

 

 

 

 

The remains of my high school insect collection. I got an A. C 2009 B.F. Newhall

The remains of my high school insect collection. I got an A. c 2009 B.F. Newhall

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A Case of the Human Condition: Would My Husband Like to Add My Name to His?

By Barbara Falconer Newhall

January 8, 1989, The Oakland Tribune

Jon and I had been married nearly 12 years. It was time to pop the question again.

I called him at work.

Jon pouring butter on salmon on kitchen counter. Photo by Barbara Falconer Newhall

Jon after 35 years of not being Jon Falconer Newhall -- cooking dinner for my birthday in 2011. He's still comfortable in the kitchen and at the supermarket. Photo by Barbara Falconer Newhalll

Sometimes, the best way to get Jon’s attention is to phone.

“What do you think?’ I said, going straight to the point. “Are you ready to add Falconer to your name yet?” [Read more...]

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