Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from 2013

Growing Up Baptist: Mrs. DeYoung

Mrs. DeYoung sat in the front right pew of our Baptist church.   The only other person who sat up front was my dad, who played the piano. Mrs. DeYoung, our organist, was tall and thin in an angular sort of way. She had soft brown curly hair and glasses that dangled from a pearl chain around her neck. Even as a little girl, I admired her meticulously composed outfits. She wore feminine suits and high heels, sometimes even a matching hat. My favorite of her outfits was purple - entirely purple. Mrs. DeYoung was a big believer in matching. She would wear a classic purple wool suit, matching purple pumps and a small purple hat. Even her earrings, necklace or pin would have flecks of purple among the gold. Best of all, her husband would dress to coordinate with her. This particular time he chose a grey suit with a purple shirt, purple tie, and purple socks. But while Mr. DeYoung dressed to match, he sat a few rows behind his wife. Why, I’m not sure, other than the unwritten

The Chicago Fire and Emma Dryer

This photo of the aftermath of the Great Chicago Fire hangs on the wall of the Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago. On the night of October 8 th , 1871, the Great Chicago fire began. The sight of the flames spreading as far north and south as they could see was both terrifying and awesome. Emma joined her friends at the window where they could watch the blaze coming ever closer. “We saw a veering wind, fearing that the fire might be blown one more point westward, and so destroy the entire city,” wrote Emma. The wind held its northward course and the river helped spare the west side of the city. The devastation, however, was widespread. Among the city’s 300,000 population, as many as 100,000 residents were left homeless by the great fire. Of these, many were the poorest immigrants, already barely able to meet their families’ basic needs before the tragedy. The area of destruction spread four miles and long and nearly one mile wide. One hundred and twenty-five people were confi

A Cold Chicago Morn

After seeing the beautiful mosaic-like cracked ice in the Chicago River, I decided to grab my camera and snap a few shots during my early morning commute. Each day, I make the trip from Northwest Indiana to Chicago. I arrive, via commuter train, at Millenium Station and walk north on Michigan Ave, over the bridge. I zig-zag my way north to Moody Bible Institute. The city looks especially beautiful this time of year. I'm usually bundled in my ugly, but incredibly warm, down coat. My trip is a bit happier when I have a tall cup of Starbuck's in my hand. Another view of the icy river... Crossing the bridge over the Chicago River, heading north on Michigan Ave... The Wrigley Building, which has recently been refurbished, decked for the holidays. This is the Driehaus offices, housed in one of Chicago's original homes. Always lovely and worth a quick detour on my way. And here I am, freezing, but happy because I now have my Starbucks...

Christmas at the Turn of the Century

Photo copyright by Library of Congress Christmas at the turn-of-the-century was a simpler celebration than we know today. Many of the traditions we now enjoy began in the late 1800s. Families often made Christmas gifts for one another rather than head to the shopping mall or department store. Christmas decorations were typically the natural sort: evergreens, mistletoe, holly, and ivy. Christmas carols were sung in homes with people accompanying on the piano. Imagine a home celebration without the distraction of computers and televisions! 1843 – The first Christmas card was drawn by illustrator John Callcott Horlsley for an English nobleman who wanted to send something different than his typical Christmas letter to his friends.   It was not long before Christmas cards became popular with full-color and embossed illustrations. The first cards were printed in Boston in 1874. 1860 – Thomas Nast, a famous American cartoonist, depicted Santa Claus for Harper’s Weekly. Nast’s

Photos with Santa

  We’ve all seen those photos of a screaming child sitting on Santa’s lap. In fact, I have one of them. My daughter was about five years old – and, every Christmas, she had steadfastly refused to get her picture taken with Santa. While she would read Christmas stories about him, write him letters, and even set out cookies by the fireplace, she was terrified by the actual living breathing guy in the red velvet suit. One year, thinking that we were being clever, my husband and I took her to Chicago’s Christkindlmarket – a traditional German festival with small wooden huts and holiday treats for sale. My husband I learned that one of the huts contained a Santa. As we strolled through the village, we noticed that there was no one in line. Casually, we entered the booth – and my daughter came face to face with Santa. I plopped her on his lap – in what probably was a cruel motherly move – and let the photographer snap the now treasured photo of my cute little girl screaming

12 Ways to Know You Grew Up Baptist

  If you grew up attending a Baptist church, you should recognize most of these. Can you add more?   1) You know what an Awana circle is. 2) You always hold a hankie over your nose when you go under water. 3) You can name at least five different kinds of Jello salad. 4) As a child, you “marched in the infantry.” 5) You know what it means to pray for “unspokens.” 6) Campfires always make you break out in song. 7) When it is six o’clock on a Sunday evening, you get ready for church, again. 8) You’ve passed a concern over the prayer chain. 9) You know that sword drills have nothing to do with sharp objects. 10) The word “potluck” makes you salivate. 11) You can quote John 3:16 word for word. 12) You fellowship with the best of them.

Growing Up Baptist

  My dad, Neil Storms, was the piano player at the First Baptist Church of South Holland. He played the glossy black grand piano wedged into the front left corner near the pulpit. When he was not at the piano, my dad always sat in the first pew. At First Baptist, no one else sat in the front row, except for the organist, who also sat in the front pew on the right side. The first three pews were always empty. Baptists are known for sitting in the back of the church. Our church sanctuary was one long rectangular room with an unfashionable suspended ceiling. On each side of the auditorium were long pews upholstered in nubby red fabric. The carpet was also red, and the church walls were covered in brown paneling. The red pews and carpet, which looked rather festive at Christmastime, was often a problem for other occasions. I knew of many brides who moved their wedding ceremonies to another church because the red theme clashed with their chosen colors. The piano and organ resi

The Day I Was Swedish

When I was little, I wanted to be ethnic. I wanted a strong, proud, national heritage, something other than the United States of America. My own family was a mix of European descent. My dad’s side, Storms, was predominantly German. On my mom’s side, we were a mixture of English, Irish, and a smattering of other things thrown in. My mom and uncle always claimed we are a little bit Native American – but I had my doubts. Even though I later learned of the dominant German genetic, I did not realize that in first grade. We were all-American in every sense of the word. I grew up in a 1960s suburban ranch home. We ate jello salads with our dinner and cheeseburger upside down pie made with Bisquick. My dad drove a station wagon with wooden sides, and we had a swing set in the back yard. The problem came when my first grade teacher asked each of us to prepare and bring in one of our family’s traditional ethnic dishes. Confused, I looked to see what my other friends would do. Ji

Vintage Chicago Dining

  Step inside the doorways of these charming Chicago restaurants, and you will be transported back in time. This was Chicago before north Michigan Avenue was magnificent and the John Hancock was dwarfed by other skyscrapers. Many of Chicago’s original restaurants have disappeared, but a few remain operational. Walk by those chain venues that you can find in any city and visit one of our original Chicago icons. The Italian Village has been in Chicago since 1927, and their website claims they are the oldest continual operating restaurant in the city. This place is pure charm – I have loved it since I was a little girl. When you enter, walk up the narrow steep staircase to the Village (one of the the buildings three restaurants). The Village – perched at the very top – is decorated to resemble a little outdoor Italian city with the fake facades of buildings and twinkling lights that are strung crisscrossed around the room. Old school male waiters might scold you if y

On the Eve of my 48th Birthday: 48 Things I Know

  1. Buying a new mattress can change your world. 2. Taking a long walk is a sure cure for a foul mood. 3. Never send an angry email without waiting one day. 4. Guys say a lot of things they don’t mean when they are trying to meet women. 5. I should drink more water, but I don’t like it. 6. You really shouldn’t keep every childhood memento. 7. Memorizing the Bible works better when you are young. 8. Sweet potatoes are horrible. 9. Getting a dog is a major responsibility. 10. It is fine to go to bed angry when you need time to think and calm down. 11. Most situations look better in the morning. 12. Handwritten birthday cards should never go out of style. 13. Hugs are the best medicine. 14. Prayer changes us. 15. Raising a child is both exhausting and rewarding. 16. Raising a teenager has moments of sheer joy and unexpected friendship. 17. It is better if you wash dishes the same day you use them. 18. Not all stains come out.

Mystery Date

When I was about 10 years old, in the 1970s, my favorite board game was called “Mystery Date.” The game was centered around two things that fascinated me: creating outfits and dating. Each player was given a little cardboard cut-out of a girl dressed in a pastel nightgown that she would move around the board. Each token had long, straight hair, 70s style, nicely parted in the middle. Her hair color varied, as didthe color of her night gown. The gowns were pink, purple, pale blue, and yellow. I always chose the girl in the purple nightgown with dark brown hair. During the game, the players move their pastel-garbed girl around the board in search of the perfect date outfit, and, ultimately, the perfect date. You would pick up and discard cards that pictured parts of four different dating outfits: prom, beach, picnic/biking and skiing. Since I am not at all outdoorsy – I always wanted to be the prom girl. Plus, her outfit included long, elbow-length gloves and pearls. When

The Frustration of Failing Eyesight

I am one of those people who likes, maybe even needs , to see everything clearly. I  like my future planned out neatly before me. When I was younger, I had my future planned out. I was going to be a writer. I was going to get married and have a child or two. Before I married, I wanted to have an apartment of my own in Chicago. I wanted to go to Europe, specifically Paris. I wanted to earn my graduate degree. And, I did most of those things. But, as I walk through middle age, things are not quite as clear as they once were. My eyesight, for one, is shot. Things began to appear significantly fuzzier in my early 40s. I remember eating out in a dimly-lit restaurant and not being able to read the menu. I fumbled for the tiny key-chain flashlight in my purse and muttered, “Why do they print things so tiny!?” When the flashlight didn’t appear, I held the candle inches from the print and squinted. My husband Milt remembers one night when, due to my failing eyesight, I o

Meeting the Man in Black

I had the privilege of meeting Johnny Cash many years ago. My dad had always been a big fan of the Man in Black. So, when I heard he was in Chicago, signing copies of his book Man in White at the downtown Kroch’s and Brentano’s, I stood in a long line to get his autograph. He seemed bigger and more weathered in person. Johnny was wearing his signature black and signing book after book. When my turn came, I mustered up my courage and asked if he could address it to my dad. “Could you write, ‘To Neil: Another great musician?’” Johnny looked up at me, and he grinned. The second time I saw Johnny was at a concert at Chicago’s Cubby Bear venue. The place was packed with an odd assortment of people: punks, little old ladies, hard-core motorcycle dudes, and assorted country people wearing cowboy hats. Standing room only. My dad pushed to the front of the stage to see the man he so admired. I stood a bit back with my mom where it was less claustrophobic. The crowd began to ch

A Thank You to Teachers

  I come from a long line of school teachers. My grandmother, Elsie Benson Storms, taught in a one-room country schoolhouse in Iowa. She continued teaching well into her late 30s, which delayed her marriage to my grandfather. In the early part of the 1900s teachers signed contracts that required them to abide by the following set of strict rules: You will not marry during the term of your contract. You are not to keep company with men. You must be home between the hours of 8 p.m. and 6 a.m. unless attending a school function. You may not loiter downtown in any ice cream stores. You may not travel beyond the city limits unless you have the permission of the chairman of the board. You may not smoke cigarettes. You may not under any circumstances dye your hair. You may not dress in bright colors. You may not ride in a carriage or automobile with any man unless he is your father or brother. You must wear at least two petticoats. Your dresses must not be any shorter tha