Pinky Rings & Puzzles

When my oldest sister offered me her pinky ring, which I adored, I knew something was up. It was her way of telling me she got engaged.

I was in sixth grade when Priscilla wiggled her finger at me and then switched her arms around to show me her engagement ring from Rick, a man she had known since her childhood days at Byron Bible Camp in South Dakota.

In the late 70s, when they’d started dating, I asked her why she liked him. Her response was always the same. "Because he's a hunk."

My elementary mind needed a definition, and she readily supplied one. Later, I learned there was more substance to her feelings than that, but for a little kid, the answer sufficed.

Their engagement was happy-sad for me. I loved having my Sissy around, and when she started dating Rick, who lived about two hours away, my fun doubled when he would visit. But I knew after they’d get married, she’d be far away.

Pris & Rick: the early years

Rick was an only child, and I was a late comer growing up as though I was one, so we got along pretty well. When he’d visit, it would be for the entire weekend since he was a farmer. He and Sissy enjoyed putting puzzles together. I got in on that too. Come to think of it, I'm sure I crashed in on their date time a lot when they were in the house.

Puzzle work meant sorting the pieces into pans. Edges in one, colors in another, make the border first. The puzzle would remain set up in the living room if it wasn’t completed during that visit.

Puzzle Time. Pris snapped this picture of me on Rick's lap.

I don't remember the first time I met Rick, but I do remember the first time my 10-year-old eyes saw him kiss my sister. I was sneaking around the dining room doorway, and there they were between the kitchen and the living room smooching.

Doorways seemed to be a place Rick liked, for I remember Mom complaining that he'd leave his shoes in the middle of them. Pris said he still does that.

Pris & Rick in 2012 on their 34th wedding anniversary

After 37 years of marriage this past March 25 of 2015, I’d have to say he's taken pretty good care of my Sissy and continues to put up with me, his pesky little sister-in-law. They raised three children, two boys and a girl. The smooches I see now are with their eight grandchildren. Grandparenthood suits them.

Anybody else remember times when an older sibling started dating? Care to share your antics?

Writer’s Note: For more firsts involving my big sister’s life with Rick, click here and read Curlers, a Bra, and an Airplane Ride. 

Hootin' ~n~ Tootin'

I hid in our stairway because my clarinet teacher, Mr. Robert Wiens, showed up at our house one day after school.

No, I did not do anything to get myself in trouble—except turn in my instrument. I quit.

My parents knew it. My piano teacher knew it. But when Mr. Wiens found out, he did not like it. Not one bit. And he drove twelve miles out to our farm to say so.

It wasn't like I didn't have any musical talent, for I could already read music. So how could I make such a decision to quit? I was only in fifth grade. But someone, who shall remain nameless, lead me to believe it was taking time away from my pursuit of piano.

Mr. Wiens, known for producing outstanding marching bands as well as concert performers, respectfully explained to my parents how one instrument would enhance the other.

After Mr. Wiens left and I emerged from my hideout, my parents and I discussed the situation. I decided the lucky rabbit’s foot would go back on the case, and Mom and Dad agreed to purchase the new clarinet for around $150.

A few days later I was at my weekly clarinet lesson with classmate Adele Peterson where Mr. Wiens would sit between us and smoke his cigarette. Yes, the blessed ’70’s. I did not mind, for I knew he cared about me. 

I never did get to march under him though because Mr. Wiens left our school the next year. In fact, for the next seven years, Hitchcock went through three music teachers. Guess he was a tough act to follow.

I played piano much better than I did clarinet, but I enjoyed marching band, pep band, concert band, and particularly our ensembles.

One year at contest, our clarinet quartet experienced a debacle. One of us—probably me, certainly not Debbie Goehring—pulled off the top of the music stand as we prepared to perform. Our music flew all over the floor. We contained our laughter somehow, and I believe we managed a superior.

Whatever happened to the clarinet since it did not go back to the Music Center in Huron ran by the Pepper family? It stayed in the Hofer family. My oldest niece Evelynn used it.

Whatever happened to Mr. Wiens? Ironically, years later he ended up near a family member, my sister Priscilla. He lived in Bridgewater, but I am not sure what he did there. In fact, she gave me some home decor that he made out of wood. Hitchcock people will remember that he was a carpenter of sorts.

Sure would be nice to see Mr. Wiens again. Maybe this post will find him.

Have you ever experienced a teacher like this? One who went out his way for the benefit of your education? If so, share in the comment section below. 

Writer’s Note: for another story about the role of music in my life, read the blog post entitled, Mom’s Pestering Pays Off.