Other Stuff at The Antiques Roadshow

People are often surprised when they hear you have to enter a lottery to get tickets for the Antiques Roadshow. The Public Television program, based on the original British version, premiered in 1997.  Currently, the show entertains five million viewers weekly.

At the end of winter, when the producers announce the venues the roadshow will visit in the summer, true fans have been known to enter the lottery and, if their names are drawn, plan entire vacations around the schedule. You can look at it this way:  There are those who willingly stand in long lines for Space Mountain at Disneyworld, but others, like me, are far happier  to wait an hour for Noel Barret to congratulate them for taking such good care of a wind-up Mickey Mouse toy from 1930.  And you have the original box, too?

Antiques Roadshow has taught us not to repaint or refinish Grandma's highboy chest and to move the paintings away from fireplace smoke and sun damage.  The experts have schooled us in the world of reproductions and taught us how to remove a drawer and look for signs of age or fakery.

In the Jane Wheel mysteries I wrote, amateur sleuth and picker Jane pines for the television experts; she longs to dazzle them with a stoneware face jug or an art deco Bakelite bracelet. She and her friend, Tim, fantasize that if they had children together they could name them Patina and Veneer.

I lost count of how many times I entered the lottery for Antiques Roadshow tickets. Surely I'd get tickets in my own town, Chicago. No.  Indiana?  Ohio?  No. No. 

I hesitated to apply for cities beyond a driving distance of 3-4 hours.  Flying to the West Coast wouldn't make sense, would it? Whatever beloved object I brought to the Keno brothers or David Rago would likely not be appraised at an amount that would match the travel expenses I'd accrue chasing down the Roadshow so, pragmatically, I stuck with drive-able venues.

Until last year.

Last winter, AR ( as we true fans call it ) announced it would make a stop at Old Sturbridge Village in Sturbridge, MA, as part of its 2023 tour. My daughter and her family live in New Hampshire.  I texted my son-in-law Adar to ask the driving distance door-to-door.

"About an hour or so," he said.  "Why?"

Adar is my partner in crime. When they lived nearby, he and I spent happy Saturdays standing in line at estate sales and rummage sales.  He loved rugs and art, but could spot the winners in clothes, kitchenware--just about anything.  I could spot good American art pottery across a crowded room. One of my proudest moments in rummage was looking under a table where an out-of-reach box held a jumble of flowerpots and crockery. 

"Adar, can you crawl in and reach that vase--only the rim is showing--there in the back?"

Obliging and limber, Adar crouched under the table and carefully removed what I had pointed out. 

Just glimpsing the rim, I knew it was something.  Sure enough, it was a pink Rookwood pottery vase dated 1923. Not a chip or a fleabite. The young woman behind the counter could hardly hide her smirk when she shrugged and priced it at ten cents.

It wasn't my best find, but it was one of my most remarkable since I had spotted it buried in the junk.  And Adar was my witness. When I retold my picker's tale of glory, when I referenced the incident in one of the mystery novels I wrote, I didn't need to embellish or emphasize that it had really happened.  Adar could back me up.

Adar has skills as well.  He can spot a rug across a crowded room and offer a low price in such a kind and respectful manner that the seller begins by shaking his head but by the end of the conversation, after Adar has assured him that he'll probably get full price because surely it's worth that and thanks him for even considering his offer, the seller is chasing him across the room because he wants Adar, someone who appreciates the rug to have it. At half-price.

All that to say, we make a good team.

"Adar, if I win the lottery for two tickets, will you go with me?  I'll fly in the night before, we'll go, and I'll fly home the next day."

This deal presented no problem to daughter Nora.  She despises the Roadshow.  The first few notes of the theme song sends her running from the room.  She would cross her fingers that I'd get tickets so I could visit, but Adar and I could go off to Sturbridge with our treasures guilt-free, with her blessing.

I'm sure you've figured out by now that, this time, I won the lottery.  Two tickets with an entry time of 1PM.  The tickets emphasized that you had to bring at least one object, but no more than two. 

I chose small treasures to pack in my carryon.  Verve, a French art magazine from the 1930s in mint condition, and a necklace of giant turquoise beads that had belonged to my mother-in-law. Would I meet Kevin Zavian in jewelry?

Adar knew the worth of his rug collection and didn't want to haul anything heavy, so asked his mother for recommendations. She brought him a collection of large silver spoons that had belonged to her grandmother and a hand-carved folk art whistle. Would Ken Farmer be at the folk art table?

The line for "triage," where experts stamp your passport-like brochure with the stations you should visit for your appraisals, snaked along the entrance to Old Sturbridge Village that was, of course, closed to the public. Despite the wait and the heat and getting poked in the eyes with the brims of the large sun hats most of us wore, we were a happy lot.  People shared their treasures, their excitement.  There were those who had been to several Roadshows. 

"Oh yeah, I've traveled to four. I try for tickets every year," one person was telling one of the Roadshow volunteers walking the line. The volunteer admitted she hadn't gotten tickets and so volunteered, just so she could experience the show. 

"Most of us volunteering are lottery losers," she said cheerfully.  "But it's just so wonderful to be here."

I've never been at any event where the volunteers looked happier.

Triage sent us to Silver, Folk Art, Books and Jewelry.  We scouted the lines and stuck together so we could hear each other's appraisals.

We didn't meet any of the big name Roadshow stars.  Not a Keno in sight. But we spent a happy few minutes talking to knowledgeable, enthusiastic experts who admired our objects.  Christopher Barber knew everything about Adar's spoons and identified the makers and years from the marks, dazzling us with the history. Value? Only about $10-$12 per spoon.

"Use them," he said. "They're beautiful. Don't keep them in a drawer.”

The folk art whistle wasn't valuable, but the appraiser thought it was "cool," as did we.

My Verve might be worth $500 at auction since it was Volume 4 and someone might want to complete a collection.

My turquoise necklace, for which I had my mother-in-law's original receipt, was a winner. The gumball-sized beads are statement-making, gorgeous and easily weigh four pounds.

"Your mother-in-law overpaid when she bought them, but you're in good shape," he

said. “Maybe $5000-$6000? Do you wear them?"

I shook my head.  "Too heavy," I said.

"Start working out, build up your neck muscles, and wear them," he said.  "They're stunning.  Don't keep them in a drawer!"

The line for the Feedback Booth, where visitors are filmed holding up their objects and talking about their experiences, clips that may or may not be used when the show is aired, was the longest we'd seen since triage.

We skipped it and headed to the car.  We felt no need to announce to the world it had been a wonderful day.  We announced it to each other.  It was one of those adventures that lived up to its anticipation.  We had spent the day with warm, friendly people who generously shared their passions of history and collecting.  We had worn our big hats and weren't sunburnt.  We had worn comfortable walking shoes, so weren't exhausted. I put on my necklace in the car. All we wanted now was a cold drink and, maybe some ice cream.

We could eat it with silver spoons.

As many of you know, Storied Stuff grew out of an idea generated during "covid times."  At Steve's suggestion, friends with whom we gathered on a weekly zoom brought a treasured object to the screen and told the rest of us how and why this object became important to them.  Even though these were friends who had known each other for years, the stories illuminated personal history that was new to all of us.

What started as a way to change the conversation that had been centering on our concerns, fears and isolation, grew into a special evening of getting to know those we thought we already knew in a whole new and deeper way.

Steve, who never has just one idea, suggested he and I start the Storied Stuff project, issuing an open invitation to people who might be spending a lot more time in their homes, looking at their own treasures, to share their stories. 

As a writer who had created a series of novels around a scavenger/collector who "adopts" the forgotten items of others, I loved the idea, but I had a few reservations.

"Let's say we'll do it for one year," I suggested.  I'm not sure why I wanted to put a time limit on this project.  In hindsight, I think--I hoped-- that when the Covid protocols and alarms were over--and they would be over, wouldn't they--we'd go back to being busier with our lives and work.  Maybe we would be traveling, seeing friends and family in person.  Would we want to tie ourselves to maintaining a website, reading and editing submissions?

Steve, who not only has ideas, but has the energy and discipline to make ideas a reality, not only agreed to the year time limit, but—with the help of our webmaster Chris Bomm-- took on the real work of maintaining the storied stuff site.  He also has taken on the lion’s share of responsibility for communicating with the people who submit, promoting the site, and encouraging both writers and non-writers to contribute.  

And contribute they have!  Now, on Storied Stuff's three-year anniversary, we are proud to say we've published well over 300 pieces by well over 100 writers.  This summer, we're posting weekly pairs of pieces--one new and one previously published--that talk to each other in a special way.

Wait.  Did I say three-year anniversary?

As our first year of Storied Stuff ended, we still had pieces in the queue. Why wouldn't we continue to publish them?  At the end of the second year, we might be getting on with our lives and embracing other projects, but why not continue posting the stories of treasures and memories that people were still so generously sharing?  And now, on this third anniversary, Steve continues performing the daily tasks associated with publishing the site, and I contribute by reading incoming pieces and adding an occasional submission of my own. 

Happy Anniversary Storied Stuff contributors who made this happen!  We're celebrating this auspicious occasion this week by posting side-by-side "vintage" pieces from Steve and me. 

Oh and Steve, while I'm thinking about it, how about just one more year?

Since our hope is that everyone is out doing stuff instead of contemplating stuff this summer, we offer you something completely different for your reading pleasure--at least until fall.

The Deadline Cafe is a serialized story written by William Anthony (whose first novel, "Farnsy" was recently published to great acclaim) and us, your storied stuff curators.  We hope this collaboration delights and provokes and keeps you reading until we return in the fall with more stuff and more stories.

If you're packing for a trip or cleaning out the garage and stumble across something with a past, a piece of your history, and are inspired to write a storied stuff or two, be sure to send it --over the summer we'll continue to read, accept and organize pieces for fall.

The Deadline Cafe, you might notice, is not necessarily a summer story.  It takes place in the Midwest winter deep freeze and might seem an unlikely choice for summer reading.  But with a triple digit heat dome moving west to east as we type this, a brisk snowy tale of mystery and romance seems, to us, the very thing we crave. 

After all, even the Hallmark channel programs Christmas in July, and who are we to argue with an entertainment giant?

Read and savorThe Deadline Cafe, and let us know what you think. Post a comment on the storied stuff facebook page or contact us here.

Have some serial with your cereal!  We humbly suggest that our story goes really well with your morning coffee. Hot or iced as the case may be.

S & S

Get out your mood rings, your Ben Casey bracelets, your comic books and baseball cards.  Garbage Pail Kids cards, too.  It's time to assess what you saved from your youth and how it impacted your "adulting."

Wait a minute!  Are you saying what you liked as a child didn't impact your grown up lives?

I'm not claiming that my addiction to Nancy Drew books demanded I write a mystery series and Steve has never claimed that his baseball card collection (stolen, he's certain, by a classmate who shall go unnamed ) accounts for his early sports writing successes, but surely many of our youthful interests grew into passions and fed our careers.

Just for fun, think about a collection you might have treasured as a child.  Maybe those rocks and shells didn't lead you into the life of a geology professor, but maybe you did become a builder or a "rock solid" member of your community.  Sorry--couldn't help myself.  At least I didn't say "rock star."

Seriously though, our early likes and dislikes have played a part in our lives.  Maybe we even saved a few trinkets--or articles of clothing--that remind us of our own hippie happy days.

Or maybe we have our early homage to a great American novelist. Perhaps "It was a dark and stormy night," tapped out by Snoopy moved you to tell your own stories?

Enjoy this week's stories shared by writers who appreciate their youthful treasures.  Maybe you'll decide to rummage through a few drawers and closets and jewelry cases to find your own early influences. We'd love to read about them.

As for me, I lost track of my Ben Casey charm bracelet although I can still remember the gold-tone dangling symbols. Man. Woman. Birth. Death. Infinity. 

Who knows?  Maybe the loss of that bracelet is why I'm tapping this out on my laptop instead of saving lives as the doctor I might have been meant to be?

Alas...not my bracelet...

Sharon

You may or may not claim any winter holiday as your own, but even if you do not don a Christmas sweater, light a menorah or celebrate the seven principles of Kwanzaa, when the temperature drops and the days grow short, you must feel the urge ( or pressure) to give someone in your life a gift.

According to Steve, I over-gift at the holidays.  He's right.  I do.  So did my mother before me.  My parents, Don and Nellie, worked long hard hours at The E Z Way Inn and when Nellie and I went downtown on Saturdays (after completely cleaning the house in the morning of course--no housekeeping help even for working mom Nellie in those days), we shopped like pros, zig-zagging all over town, from Schuyler to Court Street and back again.

Nellie wore a simple dress with an apron when she cooked and tended bar, but that weekday uniform belied her fashion sense. Nellie had excellent--and expensive--taste.  She only bought "good" clothes because, as she repeated often, "good clothes" never go out of style. 

One of her favorite stores in downtown Kankakee was LeCeurs.  (I'm afraid I'm misspelling that name, but it's long gone, as is Samuel's and Hecht's and Roger's Dress Shop). On our Saturday jaunts, we bought whatever caught our fancy.  There was always a stop at the Kankakee Bookstore and Matt's Toy and Hobby for me, and some clothes shopping for Nellie and maybe we'd stop in at Plant-Kergers to pick up something for my dad and brother, Emory.

At the end of our shopping, we'd stop in at Walgreens for a snack, usually pie or maybe a sundae, and also pick up some candy at Carolyn's next to the movie theater. We'd then pile into a cab (Nellie didn't drive) and head home with our loot.

If my dad raised an eyebrow at the number of bags we carried in, Nellie would look him in the eye and say,"I don't smoke, I don't drink and I don't get paid. I shop.  So what?" 

My dad always shrugged and smiled and winked at me. He knew he had a bargain with Nellie as his chief unpaid employee.  To replace her would mean hiring at least three others, none of whom would work as hard or efficiently. He knew Nellie was priceless, worth so much more than charges racked up on a Saturday afternoon in downtown Kankakee.

And at Christmas?  Nellie made sure there were tons of presents under our tree. Things to wear, things to play with, things to read--whatever we asked for and more. The psychology of the 1950's and 60's might say that Nellie compensated for not being at home with her children, but I would disagree. I think Nellie just liked to shop.  She appreciated nice things.  And the glitter and bounty of Christmas only made the shopping trips more fun.

What gift do I remember most?  The shopping trip itself, of course.  The time spent, the lessons imparted (look at the hems and seams, how the inside looks before you buy a dress), the conversation over pie. The nellieness of Nellie is what I remember best.  The story of Nellie. The character of Nellie for the novels I've written.

That's the gift I never outgrew.

Stylish Nellie before marriage and kids.

Giving Thanks--Again?

I say thank you all the time.  When I receive a gift, when I am passed the salt, when I am served in a store, and even at the end of a phone call when I have agreed to something and the caller should be thanking me, I end the conversation with a chipper, "Thank you!"

It's how I was raised.  My father, a saloon-keeper, swore like a sailor, but ended every transaction I witnessed with a gentlemanly thanks. My mother, who could outgrinch the grinch, almost always added a grudging thank you after interactions with customers at the E Z Way Inn.

St. Patrick's Elementary School encouraged/enforced politeness.  At Bishop McNamara High School, "Thank you, Sister," was a reflex even if accepting a demerit for a plaid pleated skirt rolled up at the waistband exposing one's knees.

Say 'thank you' we teach our children from the time they can babble.  Even if a relative they don't know has gifted them a lint-covered butterscotch pulled from a pocket--an ancient hard candy that we will snatch away as soon as we are safely out of sight--we instruct our toddler to “thank auntie.”

We thank people in uniform for their service, we thank waiters for refilling our water glass, we thank drivers who wave us through at a four-way stop. We thank a god we may or may not believe in when we escape danger.

Then, on a Thursday in late November, Americans share a story about an early harvest celebration that is, if not a complete lie, a dangerously embellished tale meant to encourage family togetherness and, of course, thankfulness.

I admit to "thanking" too often, too automatically, and too randomly.  This year, starting with this Thanksgiving holiday, I am going to try to change that and make an effort to thank honestly. 

I will thank the people in my life who have helped me and gifted me with their friendship and generosity.  I will thank those who have loved me when I am at my most unlovable. 

And I will thank those that share their stories, the stories that get me through every day. Stories that teach, that remember, that appreciate--those stories are the breath of everyday life. And you who participate in our virtual community here at Storied Stuff?  You who write and read and browse and share--and who have done so since we opened our virtual doors in May of 2020?  You are among the most "thankworthy" of all.

Thank You.

Sharon

Oh, the things we've saved!

The baseballs preserved in Lucite cubes, the china wrapped in cotton wool, the photographs folded into acid-free tissue.  What's precious to us is made all the more precious by how we tuck it away amid all our treasures. Pay attention family! Our heirs will know to keep these objects safe--they might be worth money!  Take those dishes to the antique road show, not the Goodwill store.

But what about the other objects, the ones that are a bit careworn and, perhaps, a little ragtag--their worth known only to us?

Who will know their value unless we tell their story?

This week, Jim Tauber shares his childhood rendering of the Baby Moses.  Saved not because he's an artist who showed the world his early promise, but instead because he liked it—the simple, colorful way it showed confidence and verve.  And, for him, it holds the memory of its making. And because the drawing makes his daughters smile, which, in turn, makes him smile, too.

Our other contributor, Susan Stone, also saved what at first glance might be mistaken for an old laundry tag.  But the story it tells is of another baby born--not Moses tucked into a basket by the river, but very likely a much-loved baby who might have had a nap or two in a laundry basket at the family business.

Go ahead and wrap up the china and bag the silver, but take care, too, with the torn matchbook and the stained T-shirt.  Tell their stories so those who come after you will know their value, their glory! Send them to us at Storied Stuff.  We are all listening.

4-leaf clover, found by Sharon's mother, Nellie, affixed by Nellie to cardstock with scotch tape. Do not mistake this poorly preserved scrap of paper for trash--it is pure good luck!

After a year in which it was difficult to celebrate--or even mark--milestones, Storied Stuff is making up for lost(ish) time.

This week is the one-year anniversary of our first post.

In Spring 2020, it was our intention to provide a place where people could connect, entertain, amuse, witness, commiserate, recognize, share and remember.

In this year of upside down, we've posted over 260 stories from over 100 contributors. And as long as we're speaking numerically, we're also delighted to announce we've had over 86,000 page views.

Here at SS headquarters, we like to celebrate with a meal, and certainly a special dessert.  This week, we're featuring some special saved recipes--and the even-more-special stories that go with them.

We also gave ourselves an anniversary gift, thanks to Chris and Kate, our tech specialists.  You can now find any piece you're looking for listed by the author's last name. Tell your friends how to find your story when they visit storied-stuff.com.

I bet you thought a one-year anniversary was Paper--but now you know-- it's "Index."

Thank you to all who have joined us here in these pages, as contributors and readers. And if you're new to Storied Stuff or want to celebrate with the whole gang, head over to Instagram https://www.instagram.com/storiedstuff/ where it's easy to browse the gallery, click around and connect with the whole Storied Stuff crowd. Welcome to the party!

Spring has sprung.  For some that means planting a garden, for others who can now safely travel, a visit with family and for many others, Spring  means only one thing.

Baseball.

Maybe you caught a foul ball, hauled in a homer, held on to a scorecard, or scored an autograph from your hero--whatever--baseball seems to go with tangible memories of good old days and good days in general. Storied stuff indeed.

You might not be one of the few in the stands this spring as baseball and, fingers crossed, regular life makes its return, but you can still catch a game on TV.  Or read about those springtime memories right here.  This week, next week, and over the last few weeks.

It's time to revive and blossom and bloom.

Play ball.

So many of the stories here share a common thread.  Whether it's a celebration of a grandmother's casserole dish or a father's pocket watch or a 60-year old note saved from a best friend, the story is almost always about love, in one form or another.

And what better time of year is there to present even more stories about love?

Please be our valentine--and feel free to share our storied-stuff.com with all the loves and likes in your life.

Other Stuff 2/5 (posted by Sharon Fiffer)

What launches a Sunday football game into the "super" realm?  The best teams?  Legendary quarterbacks?  Record-breaking runs?  Expensive commercials?  Blockbuster half-time shows? A party of watchers huddled around a bowl of 7-layer dip?

This Sunday's Super Bowl LV promises a few of these attributes, but not all.  This year, few fans will be holding parties.  Even fewer want to smear cream cheese on a cracker from a communal basket, hesitating to define a super spreader event in a whole new way.

Here at Storied-Stuff headquarters, we hope our football-adjacent stories help fill in the gaps for those of you longing to engage in a traditional Super Bowl Sunday.

Where do we first meet football greats?  College arenas, of course, and Charles Salzberg shares the story of his football education as a college student at Syracuse, seeing and rubbing elbows with (and typing papers for) future NFL greats.

Judy Cummings offers more of a half-time show perspective in her poignant story of loss. As a follow-up, click on the link to watch her jaw-dropping television performance. 

In Judy Cumming's own words:

I was on the Ted Mack Show, led the Rose Bowl Parade, performed at the Hollywood Palladium and also worked at Radio City Music Hall for two shows... but -- this story really isn't about any of that.  Rather it is about the love that I had for my father. When I stop to think about it - that is all life really is about.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVgKFrovWH4

What happened with the Ted Mack Show?  Mr. Mack was the most lovely man.  He and his wife never had children of their own.  Instead, they decided to magnify the talents of other people's children.  I was one of these. 

On the Mack show, the winner was determined by the number of postcards received.  I believe that the week my performance ran there was also a large tap-dancing troupe -- with about 25-30 little girls squeezed into pink tutus.   The parents of these children - plus their teachers, aunts, uncles, grandparents and great-grandparents - managed to send in far more postcards than my relatives did.  So, while I didn't officially win --  I DID officially win because a few years later, when I was beginning my sophomore year at OSU, the producers of Radio City Music Hall were scouting for a baton twirler.  They asked to review all the kinescopes of the Ted Mack Show and chose me to be their guest performer.  

Mr. Mack knew my mother was a widow and a waitress.  He observed that although I was a bright student, we struggled to make college tuition.  To help, he reached into his own pocket and offered  $500 to put toward my college education.  It may not seem like much today - but it went a long way back in 1968.

So--we invite you to Super Bowl Weekend, storied-stuff-style! By the way, did you catch which Football legend links these two pieces?  Congrats!  And look on the bright side of the "no watch party"  All 7 layers of dip are for you!

Words and pictures.  Pictures and words.  That's what Storied Stuff is about.

Usually the image we publish is that of a treasure or the object conjuring a memory, but occasionally the image is the object.  This week, contributors share their written words and those of others, marveling at the connections letters can bring--letters and letters.

And photos, those captured moments that transport us into the lives of others, are often the very passports we need to activate our history, to visit the lives of our families and friends.

And to collectors of the random and the unknown it is often the photos of complete strangers whose images and handwriting suggest stories as real and magical and meaningful as any we know to be true.

Other stuff indeed.

When we created Storied Stuff last spring, we invited you to become part of a community. We asked that you share something special, in words and pictures, and by so doing, connect with others, enjoy a moment of another's life and experience, and take a break from the news of the day--the covid maps, the cautions, the warnings, the cancellations, the losses.

You accepted the invitation and we are so grateful.  We have delighted in posting your stories of childhood treasures and special memories—almost 200 of them.

This week we have a new invitation.

Please come to our holiday party! 

When?  Every Monday and Friday, from now through December 25!

Where? On every screen, at storied-stuff.com

Time? 24/7

Dress?  Holiday casual!

 Bring your friends--the more the merrier!    Happy Holidays!

Sharon and Steve

Why are we serving cake and champagne on storied stuff today, Monday September 14? 

Because of writers and readers like you!  Today marks our 100th post of a "storied stuff," and we couldn't be more pleased.

What began as a way to have a meaningful Zoom conversation during socially isolated times has blossomed into a way of making connections with the wider world.  Everyone has stuff, everyone has stories, and, it appears that almost 12,000 visitors to the storied stuff website since we began on May 25th agree that exchanging our stories and sharing our memories is a worthwhile activity!

Just realized that there actually is one way in which we could be more pleased.  If every contributor and reader shares storied stuff--today and every day--and encourages more show and tell--we could share more and more of your stories. More connections, more memories, more show and tell, more community.

More cake and champagne for everyone!

Art Week

When we began our call for submissions on Storied Stuff, we anticipated receiving insightful and specific memories linked to treasured objects.  What we did not fully anticipate were the recurring themes that emerged in many of the pieces. Organizing and sorting through these heartfelt pieces has been a joy and privilege. The fun of seeing a theme emerge is an added delight.

The six pieces posted this week explore a range of art experience.  There are words from the artists we admire, art we make ourselves, the art gifted by those we love, and the discovery or rediscovery of the artist within. There is art that illustrates who we were and who we might become.

Welcome to the gallery.

It's back to school week!  Or is it?

We're never quite sure what to say about seasons and seasonal markers in these Covid days. In the fall of 2020, "back to school" might mean that you're expanding your wireless service so that virtual learning is uninterrupted, or you're picking up a Chromebook from the school district office for home use, or it might mean you're brushing up on your own 6th grade math skills so you can become both parent and teacher to your middle-schooler. Wherever you live, whatever your particular situation, this year back to school means a mad scramble to make things work.

Yet, when the evenings cool off and I can hear my mother's voice in my head announce that, "It'll be good sleeping weather tonight," I think about what fall used to signal. New pencils and notebooks, and for me, a former Catholic school girl, new knee socks to go with my plaid skirt and blazer. Did anyone else get their Bass Weejuns in August to break them in before the first day of school? Does anyone remember Bass Weejuns?

On Storied Stuff this week, we present six people who share their school memories from a kindergarten handprint to actual handwriting; from a graduation diploma to a meaningful graduation gift; from a field trip talisman to an attempt to understand a mythical school tradition.

We also depart from our six-stories-a-week routine. On Thursday, we'll be posting pieces by middle-schoolers, Mazzie and Molly, who won the Civic Leadership Foundation (CLF) Storied Stuff essay contest.  Although their charming pieces are not about school items or experiences per se, we're delighted to include actual school-goers in our week of sharing. Congratulations, Mazzie and Molly.  Welcome to Storied Stuff.

We should add that despite the uncertainties of the school year, CLF continues its wonderful work—partnering with schools and organizations in communities impacted by violence and poverty to teach young people critical lifelong leadership skills, preparing them for college, career, and positive engagement in their communities.  To learn more visit: https://www.civicleadershipfoundation.org

If we weren't still hunkering down, we'd be on vacation right now.  The plan was to rent a big house where our children and their children would join us.  Beach days, picnics, trips into town for ice cream cones, and in the evening, all of us cooking big meals before the kiddies went to bed and grown-ups stayed up to play cut-throat monopoly.

We did this last year and it was perfect.  And, fingers crossed, we will do it next year and it will once again be a perfect week.  This year?  Not so perfect.  But just because we're not physically going anywhere doesn't mean Storied Stuff can't celebrate an August vacation.

Welcome to "gone fishin'" week.  Starting Monday, contributing writers will regale you with stories of fishing, friendship, a once in a lifetime catch, and, of course, the ones that got away.

Hope you enjoy the virtual getaway this week and be sure to cast a line our way and share a storied stuff of your own.  Check out "How To Submit" and join us.

Remember summer reading?  Maybe it was the beat up copy of a classic you selected from a shelf in the summer rental that you weren't afraid to carry around from picnic to boat ride.  It looked like it had fallen overboard more than once already.  And what about that sappy sentimental romance or ice-cold thriller that reviewers dubbed the perfect page-turning beach read?  

In 2020 (yes, it's still 2020) summer reading, like so many other activities we've always taken for granted, just might need a new expanded definition.

After all, a traditional beach read is hard to wrap your head and hands around if you're not allowed to lounge on the sand.  

So in the spirit of new traditions, Storied-Stuff offers Book Week.  Here, six writers share the cherished books that informed them, thrilled them, taught them, shaped them--books that have stayed with them, literally, their entire lives. 

So curl up with Storied-Stuff and meet a few readers who, this week, are writing about reading. 

And if you have your own story about a cherished book that you still have, send it to us along with a photo.  There can never be too many Book Weeks.

Two new pieces appear today about strong, no-nonsense women.  Allen Saxon introduces his Aunt Bess, a nurse who handled the toughest of patients with competence.  The other woman whose story appears today, a spiritual sister to Aunt Bess, is my mother, Nellie Schmidt.

My older brother, Emory, keeper of the E Z Way Inn kitchen knife (I have the soup kettle) tells the tale. 

We have, of course, the newspaper report to remind us of that day, and as Emory tells it, without the newspaper, he might not have ever been informed!

I, too learned about the robbery from the Kankakee Daily Journal. While I was unlocking the front door to let myself in after a long day of seventh grade, our paper boy came running down the street waving the front page and yelling, "Extra, extra," as if he were announcing a gangland slaying in the 1920's.

There on the front page, I saw my parents.  As soon as I got inside, I called the tavern.  Nellie answered.  Flustered,  I asked if it was true.

"Of course it's true, it's in the paper isn't it?" my mother said. 

I could hear the Friday-after-work Roper Stove crowd in the background. My mom, handling her own work with competence and professionalism, yelled at someone to just hold his horses.

Back to me on the phone, my mother battled any post-traumatic stress by saying what she always said when I phoned her too soon after arriving home from school.

"Listen, honey, call me later.  It's rush hour."

As you know, Sunday, June 21, is Father’s Day.  Accordingly, we are featuring six stories that share memories of dads.  

Our six contributors share those memories by doing what all the storied-stuff contributors do--reflect on treasures from the past. This week, through a vast array of objects--a fishing lure, a Kiddush cup, playing cards, books and a letter, we go on family trips, we sit at family tables, we are educated in the ways of the world, given confidence and given choices. On Friday, we remember our own fathers.  Sharon previewed her story during this past Friday when we had the opportunity to talk about storied-stuff on WGN-TV's Morning News. In case you missed the interview, please visit WGN-TV's web page by clicking here to see this six minute clip.