Memorable Mother's Day 1976 Excerpt

Hello and welcome to the Focused on Story Blog!
This Sunday, May 12, we celebrate Mothers, always the second Sunday in May. It's a special day to honor our mothers or the person who was so important in a child's life.

When we were in the flower business, Mother's Day was the biggest day of the year. I bet you thought it would be Valentine's Day or Christmas. But no. I was surprised when we bought the shop and the owner told me how crazy busy this day would be. And she was right!

I'm writing a memoir about that first year in business, so I thought I'd give you a glimpse of what my first Mother's Day in 1976 was like. You can imagine being a newbie in the flower industry and being thrown into this whirl of activity.

Memorable Mother's Day 1976 by J.Q. Rose--Excerpt

Boxes of special Mother’s Day containers for the wired flowers service like Teleflora arrived. We didn't really receive wires, like a telegraph line. The orders were phoned in. Of course, there were no emails since the internet wasn't even on the horizon in 1976.

Like a kid at Christmas time, I reveled in unboxing the lovely vases that only Teleflora members could offer to their customers.

We were also members of Redbook and Florafax. I was a bit fearful of having so many wire services opening us up to delivering flowers from people all over the country. But they also allowed us to send flowers through florists located throughout the country. We kept a percentage of the sale and charged a service fee for the flower service.

The week of Mother’s Day, we had even more buckets of fresh flowers in the cooler than for any previous holiday in order to make arrangements for the anticipated sales. Colorful sweetheart roses and orchids for corsages also took up space. The cymbidium orchids created elegant corsages which could be made several days in advance because they held up so well out of water. 

Cymbidium orchids for Mom's corsage
Image by Takashi Murakami from Pixabay 

I quickly learned how to put an orchid corsage together by covering the wire with floral tape, forming a hoop with the covered wire  and  placing it behind the orchid to protect the fragile petals rather than piercing the stem with the wire. 

Other flowers made into eye-catching corsages kept the secret that the poor flower was pierced and wrapped and twisted into that lovely balanced shape, but all the wicked piercings and twistings were covered with floral tape and leaves, so no one saw the behind-the-scenes torturing of the flowers that went into the design to become a delicate corsage.

In 1976 there were no big box stores selling corsages or plants and fresh flowers. No grocery stores or gas stations on the corner sold flowers. Florists were kings in the domain of supplying moms with a gift of flowers. Flowers were what you bought mom. Not a new Keurig coffee pot or Ninja blender. Not even jewelry. So you can imagine how that one day was so important to florists in order to make their money for the year because it was even bigger than the Christmas season.

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Needless to say, I was overwhelmed as we went through Mother’s Day week and the piles of orders for delivery in time for Mother’s Day tested the strength of the clips. Yes, clips, not just one clip for the day. We had to grab several clips to hold all of the orders.

I separated the floral orders into separate piles-- potted flowering plants and hanging baskets, planters, fresh arrangements, and corsages. Bringing order to the piles soothed my ragged nerves a bit, and I felt I was contributing to helping with moving the order-filling along. Although we had worked nights before Saturday to try and get ahead of the orders, the work on the design table on the Saturday before Mother’s Day was daunting. I’d get the pile trimmed down, but Winifred kept taking orders! I remembered my floral design instructor’s words—“No matter if you have $50 worth of orders on your table or $500 worth, you’ll have them done by the end of the day.” I hoped he was right!

This memoir is not completed. I am looking for a title. Any ideas? Please leave a title or comment below. Thank you.

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I hope you have a wonderful Mother's Day, and even if you don't celebrate the day on Sunday, you can always say, "Thanks, Mom" any day. 

My Mom in 1956
Thanks, Mom. Have a Heavenly Mother's Day!

To all Moms and those who were like a Mom to a child, have a relaxing Happy Mother's Day!

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Writing a Memoir: Memories are Tricky, Excerpt

Memories fade over time.

Hello and welcome to the Focused on Story blog. Today, I'm excited to share an excerpt from my WIP (Work in Progress) Looking Through Rose-colored Glasses. I would appreciate feedback from the story. Please leave your comments below.

Memories are Tricky by J.Q. Rose

Memoirs are factual stories about someone's life. 'Memoir' is from the French word mémoire, which means 'reminiscence' or 'memory.' They are a part of the nonfiction literary genre—from study.com, Instructor Anne Casano

I bumped into a bit of a memory problem while writing my account of our trip from our home in Illinois to our new home in Michigan in 1975. Granted, that was a long time ago, so I wanted to get the story of our move correct. Afterall, as it says in the definition, the memoir is a “factual story”. But what if the facts are a bit murky and the people you ask about the scene have a different memory from your own? Memories fade over time.

This weekend we visited with my brother Jim and my sister-in-law, Sandy reminiscing about this move because they drove two packed cars in the caravan of four vehicles on that long drive north to Michigan.

Jim and Sandy followed me and I followed Gardener Ted. No surprise, along the route, we became separated from him. That was a problem since I had never driven the roads to Fremont by myself. You can imagine my anxiety without Ted ahead of me. I prayed we would meet together so we could re group.

In my memory, we met at the rest stop on 94 just over the Michigan border, but Ted remembered meeting at his favorite restaurant, Bill Knapp’s in Benton Harbor, MI. So after much discussion and fun trying to recall the trip, Jim and Sandy convinced me we actually met at the restaurant and not the rest area. I do have a memory of the restaurant, so I conceded to change my story.

My brother Jim chuckled when he said, “I think you should’ve told this story sooner so we could remember all the details.”

I’m sharing an excerpt of that story today—not the complete trip and definitely not the final draft as I work through the manuscript.

I just want you memoirists to check with folks who are involved in your stories and listen to their memories to see if you agree or not. Their recounting of the situation may spark even more memories for you and shed light on a situation.

You have the final say as how the story goes because, afterall, YOU are the author of your own life. Nobody can tell it better than you.

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Chapter 5--Moving North to Michigan

We traveled to our new home in West Michigan.

Gripping the steering wheel of our dark green 1970 Ford Torino, I felt anxious about the responsibility of driving the eight hour trip to Fremont. I would have my daughter and mother-in-law in the car with me. Would we get lost? Would we get in a wreck? Would the weather turn into a blizzard? After all, we were headed to snow country.

My stomach was in knots as I drove one of the four vehicles loaded to the max in our moving cavalcade, feeling like the Clampett family from the ‘60’s Beverly Hillbillies TV series. In 1975, we had no access to cell phones, GPS, personal walkie-talkies, or radios to keep us in touch as we motored along the highways. I had traveled to Fremont three times, but I had never driven the entire route. I was kicking myself for not paying better attention to the various highways and turns on the previous trips. The route was a puzzle for me.

I thanked God Ted’s mother, Mildred, could accompany me. Mildred took delight in entertaining and caring for one-year-old baby Sara and she even loved to change diapers!  I had no worries about our daughter making the trip with Grandma Glaser with us.

Children’s car seats were not used and seat belt laws didn’t exist in 1975 in our part of the country. So Mildred held Sara in her lap for the trip or laid her in the back seat for a nap. Today’s parents probably can’t imagine that.

 “Are they still behind us?” I asked her an hour into the drive. Mildred sat in the passenger seat entertaining Sara with some plastic toys on a ring. She hung on to Sara and turned her bulky frame to look out the side window.

Of course, she couldn’t see the rest of our caravan any better than I could with a big semi-truck in the way. I tried to swallow away the panic I felt after losing sight of my brother Jim following me in our 1969 Chevrolet Impala. My sister-in-law Sandy with her toddler daughter, Melissa, trailed Jim in their car. Ted led the parade in a BIG U-Haul truck pulling a trailer crammed with furniture and all our earthly belongings.

Jim and Sandy had never made the trip, so I depended on following Ted and they depended on following me to our destination. You would think I wouldn’t lose sight of a big truck, right? But that was not the case.

About two hours into the trip, we hit Chicago traffic. I tried to keep behind Ted, but that wasn’t possible. He disappeared in the sea of cars and trucks. So I just kept driving the route we were on and looking for signs for the next turn-off.  I knew if I hit I-94 I’d be on the right road and would eventually make it to Benton Harbor just about 20 miles over the Michigan border. We had made plans to stop at the Bill Knapp Restaurant, his favorite place to eat on the route to Fremont. I was pretty sure he would remember since it meant a good meal awaited us.

I finally loosened my grip on the steering wheel when I pulled into the restaurant with Jim and Sandy who had caught up with me after we passed through Chicago’s traffic. I spotted the big truck parked there and my heart quieted a bit. We were nearly halfway to our new home!

Ted’s smiling face and sparkling eyes revealed his relief and excitement when he greeted us as we opened the car doors. “I didn’t know how long to wait because I didn’t know if you were ahead or behind me.” I was worrying so much about my making the drive, I never thought how he must have felt with all the responsibility of driving a rented truck and the safety of all of us.

We were delighted to have some time together to discuss the trip so far and to relax over the tasty fried chicken dinners made famous by Bill Knapp. We headed north again and stayed together for awhile until we came to Holland, Michigan. I thought I knew the way. “I thought I knew the way” are the salient words here. I realized I didn’t when the turn-off I took routed us through downtown Holland instead of bypassing the city. Jim and Sandy followed right along behind me. My heart bounced when I spotted the signs that pointed back to US 31. I finally breathed again because I knew Fremont was only an hour north and I would actually have a sign on 31 that pointed to the road to take us to Fremont!

My eyes searched the highway roadside as we approached Fremont. When the Fairview Floral sign loomed ahead,  I startled Mildred when I shouted, “There it is!” with the same excitement as if I’d opened a brand new Christmas gift. We all followed Ted into the parking lot of the flower shop. Everyone exited their cars and gathered together to take in the site of the chalet style building and its greenhouses. Finally, we could share our new life with part of our family. 

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Have you moved everything you own to a new location? 

How did you feel? How was your trip to your new home?

Please share your experience in the comments below. 

Thanks for stopping in today.