Well, hello, and welcome to the latest exhibit in the Museum of Me. This month’s exhibit is inspired by the season and we are showcasing a favorite family vacation.

My family did not have a lot of money and any vacations we took were a car ride (never a plane ride) away. The place we went to most consistently was Cape Cod and for many years, 1970 to 1975 or so, my Nana rented a cottage for all of us for the month of July at a place called Mashnee Village. If you’re familiar with Cape Cod, this area was over the Bourne Bridge and immediately to the right, across the causeway from Pocasset.

The cottage we had was right on the water, you just walked down a little path of wildflowers and there was the beach. In those days, all the cottages in the village were the same. A living room in the middle, a kitchen to the right, and two bedrooms and a bathroom to the left. My Nana and Bumpa, my mother and I, and my brother Donald were always there. My dad came on the weekends and my oldest brother, who was 18 by then, rarely came because he was too cool for family vacations at that time in his life.

I have so many wonderful memories of our time there.

There was a family of skunks that would come every night and my mom would put out our leftovers in a tin pie plate and they would eat them. I would sit in my grandfather’s lap in the twilight and watch them with awe and a little bit of fear.

There was a village clubhouse and they had happy hour for the grown ups every afternoon. On Tuesday nights they had weenie roasts. There was also a pool (which in my youthful stupidity I preferred over the ocean) and when it rained they showed movies. I remember one very rainy and windy afternoon, I went with my brother to the movies and it was Godzilla. I was terrified but my brother wouldn’t leave because he loved it so I was stuck until it was over. I can still see my mom walking down the road to come and get us with a gigantic beach umbrella to protect us all from the rain.

One summer, probably 1971 or 1972, my mom took a bad fall off of her bike while we were out for a ride. It had something to do with the maintenance guy mowing the lawn and him not seeing my mom because a car was coming and she swerved to get out of the way and went over the handlebars. The road was macadam and my mom’s knees, hands, and elbows were hurt badly. We had to take my brother to Boy Scout camp and I remember the Scoutmaster asking her, with a sideways glance at my dad, if everything was okay at home.

It was all pretty idyllic. The days felt so long and I loved being there with everyone, including our first Siamese cat, Simba, who followed my mom around like a dog and would sleep under her chaise lounge when she was at the beach. It was actually at that cottage that my nana first attempted to teach me to knit. I never got the hang of it then (probably because she assumed I’d knit left handed and I don’t but I still consider it my first foray into knitting.) I remember eating lots of fresh striper and steamers, local corn on the cob and tomatoes, and blueberry pies that my mom would make from berries we picked.

Mashnee Village is still there . . . in a way. The houses are no longer owned by the corporation but by individuals. The clubhouse is long gone, of course. But in 2015 we visited friends who were staying at a house there. I was reminiscing about my summers there and wondered if I could find the cottage that we rented. We set out for a walk, knowing that many many of those cottages have now been converted to fancier houses, but I remembered my way around and as we came down a street I said, it’s going to be right up here around the bend if it’s still there. And guess what?

Yep. That’s the same place. I cried when I saw it and felt so grateful for all of the memories of those summers at Mashnee Village.

This month’s Museum of Me exhibit is to showcase my favorite outside game as a kid. Friends. I had to think long and hard to come up with something for this exhibit. You see, my mom always said that we (she and I) were fans of indoor sports . . . meaning reading, sewing, and other handicrafts. Not meaning . . . tag and softball and red rover, etc. The impact of that philosophy is something I have struggled to unpack for years. Really, being raised with that attitude, is it any wonder I have a hard time finding joy in moving my body? But that’s a story for another day.

For this exhibit, I take you back to Carole at 10ish. My stepdad was a huge sports fan, he loved basketball and hockey and golf, but his biggest love was for baseball. And when I was around 10, he and I would go out in the yard after dinner and he would pitch to me and I would bat. He always joked that I missed the slow balls every time but when he threw me a fastball I would hit it out of the yard. I loved those times with him. I loved that hitting the ball felt good and sounded great (there’s nothing like the crack of a bat connecting with a ball) and that it made my dad so proud of me. He would laugh and smile and congratulate me every time I hit that silly ball.

So, while it’s a small exhibit this month, it’s full of poignant memories, and also some frustration due to the conflicting messages I received about playing outdoors and games and sports. Valuable lessons in all of it, for sure.

A new exhibit has been installed at the Museum of Me and it couldn’t be more . . . perfect . . . for me because it’s about my favorite book as a kid. Let’s take a trip back to 10 year old Carole. The future librarian. Her favorite book was actually a series of books written by Laura Ingalls Wilder and called, affectionately, The Little House Books.

I’m not sure exactly how old I was when I read Little House in the Big Woods for the first time. The suggested age level is 8-12, but I was a pretty advanced reader and I’m fairly certain I read this in 2nd grade. And once I read that one, I couldn’t wait to read all of the others. Of course, as Laura matured, so did the nature of the books and I know my mother held me back some before she’d let me read the later ones, but I do know that by the time I finished elementary school I had read them all. Multiple times.

I loved that Laura was so real. I loved that Ma and Pa had a loving relationship (and we shan’t discuss the fantasy that probably was.) I loved that the books were historical and set during a time I wish I could have experienced myself. I loved that they traveled by covered wagon and grew their own food and struggled and persisted and triumphed. I loved the illustrations by Garth Williams and the romance that blossomed between Laura and Almanzo when she was a young lady. I loved that Laura became a teacher and then a wife with a husband and child and home of her own. I think my favorite, of all of the books, was Little Town On the Prairie, but it’s very hard to actually choose.

You know what I did not love? That they turned my favorite books into a television series. And, in doing so, they completely abandoned the real things that happened for sensationalized stories and 60 minute plots. Now, that’s not to say that I didn’t watch it, because I did. And I wanted Michael Landon to be my father in the worst way. But this was also my first (and certainly not last) realization that the book is always, always better than the television show or movie.

Thanks for joining us in the library . . . I mean exhibit hall . . . this month. Check back in on the 3rd Monday of June for a exhibit in the Museum of Me. And shout out to Kym for this really fun monthly blog prompt!

Last month, Kym introduced a new feature on her blog that she named The Museum of Me. It came from a bit of introspection about blogging and I can relate to that completely, as I sometimes contemplate the role the blog plays in my life. The bottom line, for me, is that it’s an incredible online diary of my life, going all the way back to January 2005. Aside from the satisfaction I get from writing, it’s also super useful when it comes to remembering when things happened. For instance, the other day I needed to know when I had Lyme. I knew it was the summer that Dixie died so I searched that on the blog and there it was, August 2014. Not to mention all the big things like weddings and vacations, births and birthdays and deaths, and all the stuff in between for all these years.

So, I’m tagging along with this Museum of Me thing, but in my own way, using Kym’s ideas as a starting point and then putting my own riff on them. Kym’s first exhibit was the oldest thing from her childhood still in her possession. I gave that some thought and I’d have to say it’s probably the Christmas ornaments my brothers made when they were little, back in the late 1950s and early 1960s. They are invaluable to me and I put them on the tree with so much care and love every year. They are also currently in a box in the attic and, as much as I’m committed to this blog, I’m not dragging that box out to take a photo today. Instead, I’m sharing a photo of something from my childhood that is currently on display in my home.

These ceramic Siamese cats were my moms and I clearly remember them being on a side table in our living room. I don’t know where they came from or when she got them but I can’t remember a time they weren’t there. The house I grew up in was a sort of modified cape and the living room was to the right of the front door and it was 100% my mom’s room. It’s where she went to relax and have a moment of peace and my brothers and I were not allowed to play in that room, although we did walk by it every time we went up and down the stairs. Honestly, I only remember being in that room for extended periods of time on Sunday afternoons, holidays, and when I practiced the piano. And sometimes, if I asked and was very careful, I was allowed to move these cats from the side table to the piano and I would play concerts for them. Eventually the piano became their permanent home and I spent a lot of time playing for them. Which is maybe weird . . . but still true.

They have been in various places in our house for many years and right now they are on the tall dresser in our bedroom. They make me think of all the Siamese kitties I have had over the years. And of playing the piano for them.