When I was in the 8th grade at Ingleside Elementary School, I had my first experience with a home ec class. My teacher's name was Mrs. Welker. She was a big woman (not overweight, just boxy). She had light hair and glasses and was older than my mother.
We learned sewing from her, hence the little gingham waist apron with ties and a contrasting pocket. She also told us a story that will haunt me forever, about her room mate in school that got down on her hands and knees to look for a fallen hat pin and ended up stabbing it right into her knee when she went down. (Maybe it wasn't a hat pin, but the story was so graphic, I only imagined "big"!.) I still think of that poor girl every time I'm tempted to get on my knees for a pin or needle hunt.
We learned how to entertain, using proper etiquette, the Mrs. Welker way.
And at Christmas time, we learned how to make and preserve pyracantha jelly, using our own collected pyracantha berries. My Grandma Ruth was especially impressed. I think she made the little jar last for a long time. She always had toast.
And I'll never forget the day
Mrs. Welker taught us how to make eclairs. It was a tedious project and we took great care. After making and baking, we were ready for the rich cream filling. I held up the fluffy long john so carefully to see the air in between. Then, aiming just right I continued to carefully squeeze the cream inside. My aim was pretty good, except for the little yellow blob that plopped right down my front. I was wearing a navy blue wool-like jumper. It had buttons going down the long waisted bodice on each side. Then there was a belt. That's where it landed; right on the silver buckle, against the fabric. Goop into every nook and cranny of the buckle. It couldn't be washed out easily. So, I rubbed it the best I could and spent the rest of the day looking down at the yellow smudge that permanently marked my front. . . Don't ask me where my apron was!
It's funny what I remember about life back then. That was the year I also gained another little brother, who I knew would be a girl. Such vivid memories. Life was good. Smeared cream filling and all!
We learned sewing from her, hence the little gingham waist apron with ties and a contrasting pocket. She also told us a story that will haunt me forever, about her room mate in school that got down on her hands and knees to look for a fallen hat pin and ended up stabbing it right into her knee when she went down. (Maybe it wasn't a hat pin, but the story was so graphic, I only imagined "big"!.) I still think of that poor girl every time I'm tempted to get on my knees for a pin or needle hunt.
We learned how to entertain, using proper etiquette, the Mrs. Welker way.
And at Christmas time, we learned how to make and preserve pyracantha jelly, using our own collected pyracantha berries. My Grandma Ruth was especially impressed. I think she made the little jar last for a long time. She always had toast.
And I'll never forget the day
Mrs. Welker taught us how to make eclairs. It was a tedious project and we took great care. After making and baking, we were ready for the rich cream filling. I held up the fluffy long john so carefully to see the air in between. Then, aiming just right I continued to carefully squeeze the cream inside. My aim was pretty good, except for the little yellow blob that plopped right down my front. I was wearing a navy blue wool-like jumper. It had buttons going down the long waisted bodice on each side. Then there was a belt. That's where it landed; right on the silver buckle, against the fabric. Goop into every nook and cranny of the buckle. It couldn't be washed out easily. So, I rubbed it the best I could and spent the rest of the day looking down at the yellow smudge that permanently marked my front. . . Don't ask me where my apron was!It's funny what I remember about life back then. That was the year I also gained another little brother, who I knew would be a girl. Such vivid memories. Life was good. Smeared cream filling and all!
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