November 22, 1963

(just my thoughts)

I was 11 years old and in the 6^th grade at Nathaniel Hawthorne Elementary School in Dallas, Texas.  That day I was home from school with a stomach virus.  Yuk.  For most of the morning I had been lying on the floor in front of the TV watching sitcom reruns such as I Love Lucy, Our Miss Brooks, and Pete and Gladys.  It was around noon and the news was about to come on the channel that I had been watching.  Who wanted to see that?  I got up (yes, at that time there was no remote) and punched the off button, and went off to find Mom.

Mom was a stay-at-home Mom and was not a daytime TV watcher.  Dad would be home for lunch that day.  He was a Texas State Law Enforcement Officer and would come home for lunch some days; this happen to be one of those days.  I was looking forwarded to my Dad’s hug and kiss.  Those were always welcomed, but especially so when I was not feeling well.

About 12:30 p.m. my aunt (Mom’s sister) called.  She knew Mom wouldn’t have the TV or radio on during the day, and she felt the need to report the news bulletin she had just seen on the TV.  JFK had just been shot in downtown Dallas.  Mom told me to turn the TV back on, and just about that time, Dad walked through the front door.  He had not heard the news at that moment.  We were all in shock.

Dealy Plaza looks almost the same today as it did in 1963.

Dad called his office to see if he was needed and, at that point, no one had contacted his office for assistance/support.  He ate quickly and headed back to the office.

Routines were not the same for days - at least not for 10/11 year old kids.  My best neighborhood friend, Karla, and I did understand what had happened, and, yet, didn’t really know what to expect.  We had visions (fears) of foreign attacks and/or other officials being killed.  Our imaginations plus all the "stuff" that was coming across the TV waves in the form of opinions when no one really knew the what, why, and how specifics of the events that had just taken place.  We sorely missed Saturday morning TV.  All stations went to assassination coverage 24/7.  We longed for a sense of “normal.”

On Sunday, Mom wanted me to stay home from church even though I was feeling lots better.  So, Dad was home with me and she and my older sister went to church.  Dad had been watching the Sunday morning news coverage and perusing the morning newspaper.  He knew that Oswald would be transferred from the Dallas City Jail to the County Jail (probably a 5 mile drive, even if that).

Dad’s office for many years had been in the City building where the City jail was housed.  For years, Dad parked in the basement where Oswald was being led out.  I had been in that elevator and through that door so many times.  Dad used it every day.  It was just so familiar.  The dad of one of my schoolmate’s was one of the officers leading Oswald out.  He was not the one with the light colored suit that so many remember; he was on Oswald’s left side.  And then Jack Ruby’s shot rang out.  Once again, history was in the making.

Jack Ruby steps out of the crowd.

When I saw Karla later that afternoon, we wondered whether life would ever be “normal” again, and we wondered what could happen next.  Would Dallas be attacked by our own fellow Americans in the days that followed?  Dallas was getting so much bad press, but it wasn’t our fault – we hadn’t done anything.  That was somewhat disheartening for both of us. 

50 years later and I vividly remember that Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  I still remember some of those feelings that Karla and I shared.  As time has passed I had hoped that all the truth would be known, but that has not been the case.  I won’t go into my individual thoughts on all the theories that exist; I’ll just leave it at, in my opinion, the whole story will likely never be known.  One thing I do know – for an 11 year old, it was a bit of a traumatic, confusing time.

Hats - More Hats

Still no real sewing going on here.  I know, you’ve heard that before.  I keep hoping the major mojo will return.  I know, you’ve heard that before, too. 

I have been doing a few creative things.  Knit hats have been produced.  The four of these are Christmas gifts.  It’s OK.  These folks are not blog readers so there is no danger of them being seen by the recipients.  Three of these are going to avid hunters/outdoorsmen, and, hopefully, will provide wool warmth to those as they sit in deer stands or wander the woods. 

This one will go to the one of the recipient's girlfriend; his is the camo above.  Her's is camo with a bit of feminine.

Working on some scarves also.  Maybe I can get photos and show them soon.

And then, I was inspired by the wonderful hats made by Gayle Ortiz.  I thought that I might be able to create something similar as a chemo hat.  I pulled out some polar fleece scraps this afternoon (in between pulling clothes from the washer and tossing in the dryer) and came up with this.  It was fun!  I found a pattern that had the circle for the top.  It measured 7.5” in diameter.  I cut that out and made up the rest from there.  I measured and wanted the hat to be about 21-22” to fit my head.  I cut sections to make up that size.  I started out with wider (in height) sections that I needed and cut down as I put the hat together. then I just began to manipulate the fabric as I saw fit -- flipping up here, taking a tuck there, ziz-zagging around where it felt right, and *sew* on.

The decoration is silk from a blouse picked up at the thrift store months ago.  I plan to make a tank top from the large sections of the blouse but cut off the sleeve cuffs and used those scraps to gather and manipulate.  Buttons are some left over from a long ago E-bay purchase of a vintage button box.

Oh, and I used the covered button from blouse cuff.

I won’t plan to put this type hat into big production as they are time consuming compared to most of the others I sew.  I do, however, think I’ll make some of these along as they are fun for me and, hopefully, well
received by some of the patients. Plus it uses up scraps that otherwise would be tossed.