My daughter, Kathleen Mita - Summer Stories at 27 Metcalf Rd. in Tolland. CT,.

Kathleen, ca. 2010.  Photo by Dan McGann

     Kathleen Linnea Mita was born on Aug. 2, 1986.  She is the only daughter of June Sundgren Mita and Michael A. Mita.  We are proud to say she graduated from Eastern Connecticut University in 2008, and is a manager for the Gamestop Corp of which Barnes and Noble is one of their subsidiaries.  She currently manages a Gamestop in Tolland, CT.  We cannot say enough how proud we are to have her as our daughter.  She is bright, humorous and we love her dearly.
     Life growing up with Kathleen was always a treat.  We never knew how her mercurial nature would be on any given day.  For our first family installment regarding the life and times of Kathleen, I am adding 3 summer stories from letters I kept for her to give her one day.  Once again, I hope I inspire parents to write letters to their children as things happen, or as they have especially memorable vacations or family gatherings.  If I had not kept these letters, I would have lost these three lovely and sweet events that I can read now with great fondness.

                

                                  The Monarch ca. 1994           

Kathleen ca. 1994.  Photo by June Mita

  The clear chrysalis had come to the Wheelers on a Saturday.  Inside, it held a Monarch butterfly.  By a thin string they hung it from their maple tree.  On Tuesday a storm worth writing about came.  The thunder and lightning crashed louder than fireworks.  The rain was so strong that in five minutes we had five inches of water in the wheelbarrow.  How the chrysalis continued to hang without injury is a miracle.

     The monarch began to stir on Wednesday, turning to a bright blue.  All night the butterfly swung its cocoon back and forth, its visible birthing sac waiting to be breached.  Thursday dawned with bright sun and there was much excitement as Jamie dashed over here to tell Kathleen the butterfly had broken the sac.  Two flushed faces peered with intense concentration as they witnessed the mystery of a butterfly leaving its cocoon.  At last the monarch cleared the sac.   His wings rolled in a tight spiral they dried and opened up while  Kathleen and Jamie watched.

     A new monarch is more beautiful than anything I've ever seen.  The colors are so new and bright.  His under wing had a dull orange color but when he opened them, the brilliant orange vibrated and breathed, etched in the blackest black.  The body had some white spotting.  His legs and antennae looked like black velvet.  They were soft looking with a fuzzy nap to them.

     As he hung from a twig holding on with dear life, he flexed his wings to get used to their feel.  A new monarch does not know right away what to do with the wings.  He rested so long, but Jamie and Kathleen grew anxious and picked him off the twig.  The monarch had wrinkles like veins forming as he continued to dry and flex his wings.

     As time went on, four hours had passed and he still had not flown.  We placed him on a butterfly weed but he seemed too tired and weak to move much.  As morning turned to late afternoon the monarch had still not taken a single flight.  Jamie kept throwing him in the air and like a rocket he dropped to the ground.  I was sick with grief as I began to suspect the butterfly had been injured and would never fly.

Photo by June Mita, ca. 2011

     I did not want the children to touch him but they kept holding him and irritating his wings by rubbing them.  All of us adults lost hope, believing that the butterfly would die in the maple tree where Jamie had put him several hours after plucking him from the butterfly weed.  Such a beautiful creature did not deserve to die.

     With the enthusiasm and undying hope all children have, Jamie and Kathleen would not believe the monarch would never fly.  They kept saying "He will fly.  You'll see."  As dusk came, Jamie and Kathleen went for a bike ride.  When they returned, the monarch was gone.  He had finally learned how to use his wings and flew to the nearest flower.  They were so happy and I said a prayer of thanks that the butterfly persevered and did not give up.

     According to Kathleen, he has visited both our butterfly weed and our beebalm to have the nectar.  I have not seen him in flight, but I shall hope they did indeed see this butterfly and that he is not in some grassy shady place flexing his wings no more.

                                The Night of the Meteor shower. ca. 1995

     August 13, 1995  we spent looking at shooting stars. It was the night of the Perseid meteor shower.  Up on the backyard hill we lay on a blanket, our heads comfortably nestled on pillows.

Kathleen and Jamie, ca. 1988.  Photo by June Mita

     Jamie Wheeler was with us too.  Ah, Jamie.  Her and Kathleen had been together since they were born.  Luz always noted how blond Kathleen's hair was in contrast to Jamies dark brown hair.  Fair be Kathleen and full of laughter, dark and exotic be Jamie and at times sullen.  Still, their friendship to each other worked well.

     We all peered into the blue black of the sky and we picked out the Big Dipper patterned obviously amongst the many stars.  We picked out the north star at the handle of the little dipper, and found Orion.  Then we waited for our first shooting star.

     We all saw it at the same time.  A streak of light which was bright and long, a panther in the sky, as it sped fast across many miles.  Kathleen was so excited.  She yelled out "OH MOMMY!' and hugged me deliciously.  I will always remember that thrill she received from her first shooting star sighting with me and the hug, unhindered, clinging, and oh so strong. 

     Kathleen was strong.  Much stronger than I ever was.  When she was just past a year I took her down to visit Mrs. Thorpe's new house on Tolland Marsh.  She had cannonballs decorating her fireplace and as small as Kathleen was, she picked up those cannonballs and carried them over to Mrs. Thorpe.  One ball must have been at least 10 pounds.  I'll never forget that first real show of how strong she would grow to be. 

     The shooting star search lasted for about 40 minutes with many squeals of delights and oohs and aahs as either Kathleen or Jamie spotted another meteor.  Between all of us we spotted about 15 of them streaking across the sky.  Finally the mosquito bites sent us all indoors to enjoy some lemonade and sugar cookies.

     I will always be grateful that I could enjoy the wonders of the earth together with my daughter and her friends.  Kathleen always was good company for those treks into the mysteries of our being.  Her wonder and joy  would seep into me and I'd feel the complete abandon and joy she did.  Our star experience was just one of many delights we shared together as she grew into the woman she became, responsible, loving, and caring.  That is the best I could ask.

                                                   The Cricket Incident ca. 1990

    It began as an annoying "chirp, chirp" which reverberated off the cement walls of the basement.  Another cricket had breached the solid cement foundation through their ability to defy all explanation.  Crickets seemed to go with basements.  Ever since I was a little girl I remembered our annual cricket hunt to track down and release the producer of the high-pitched harping which would awaken us in the dead of the night  Often the offender eluded capture and sometime in December the serenade ended.

     To a pre-schooler a cricket in the basement is not something to raise eyebrows and say curses under the breath.  A cricket in the basement becomes a conquest.

     It started in the usual way.  During some very hot, sticky weather at the end of July, I was downstairs doing some laundry when the chirping began, in the same room.  I searched the area where I thought it was coming from, but the elusive creature was not to be found.

Kathleen, Jamie and friends.  Photo by June Mita ca. 1990

     It did not take long for Kathleen, just shy of 4, and her friends to discover there was a coveted prize somewhere in the basement if they could only catch it.  Once again, the cricket led them on a chase, goading them to follow its chirps but staying well hidden.                                                                                                                   Kathleen, Jamie Wheeler, and Erin Beale decided to set traps.

     They went out and pulled up some grass and set about to make little nests all over the carpeted cellar floor.  There was one put under the play sink, another placed beside the freezer, two or three placed in the rec area, and a few other traps placed in places I probably still have not located.  Their reasoning was crickets live in grass so the cricket would find a grass nest and stay in it until they could gather him up and jail the poor creature in a glass home.

     The traps did not work.  They did sight the cricket several times but in the scramble to procure a container, the cricket disappeared under a loose floor tile or behind a register, or where ever crickets go to hide. 

     They never did find the cricket and it stopped chirping a few weeks later.   A month later, Kathleen and Jamie began screaming in the basement.  "Mommy there is a horrible black animal crawling on our toys.  HELP!  It's awful."

     I ran down expecting to see a mouse, but instead it was our elusive cricket laboriously navigating the rug.  He was obviously waning.  When I said, "Why, it's the cricket," Kathleen leaped off the couch and began skipping a dance of triumph.  She then began chanting, "The cricket, the cricket, we've finally caught the cricket." 

     I went into the back room for a canning jar while Kathleen pounced on it and let him climb her arm.  I felt the hair standing up on the back of my neck as I rounded the corner and imagined all those squiggly legs crawling on my arm. 

     Safely in its jar, the cricket was dubbed Hopper.  We layered the jar with some dirt, some grass, some bark, some moss and a rock.  Then I threw in a piece of leftover spinach which Hopper devoured.  He seemed happier in his new home.

     The cricket still didn't chirp, even after condensation began forming in the jar.  I wondered what crickets really ate, so we called a pet store that sold crickets for food to iguanas and I asked what they fed them.  Apparently crickets like gold fish food, so we bought some, and Kathleen and Jamie fed that cricket so much food, that within 3 days he doubled in size.  He then began to chirp.  Kathleen sat for hours watching the cricket, and she would add new things to his jar that she picked up from the yard or the woods.  Each addition just seemed to make him even happier and more chirpier. 

     Though the seasons changed from summer to fall, then winter, and all the crickets outside had long been silenced, we kept a little piece of summer by keeping a happy cricket in our midst.  

Outdoor Kathleen, Michael Mita, and Twinkie, ca. 1990.  Photo by June Mita. 

Winter Outdoors At 28 Ludwig Rd.

The dooryard at our house.  Photo by June Sundgren Mita  ca. 1972

     Winters during the 50's and 60's were spent differently from our modern day mushroom existance.  I say mushroom because so many barely poke their noses out today when snow flies and cold temperatures become the norm.  We were not allowed to spend our entire day inside with T.V's or games.  Our parents made sure life was made utterly miserable if we chose to stay in, setting us up with a ton of chores and other unpleasant activities.  So our answer was to head outside as soon as breakfast was in our bellies.
     We had to have at least 5 sets of mittens, 3 pairs of pants, two jackets, 3 hats, 4 scarves and 3 pairs of boots.  All our extras were kept in the basement until the set we had on got so wet they had to be changed.  Our friends would all troop in when the ice and snow was so encrusted on our mittens that we couldn't even move them.  Then we would all do quick changes, lay the wet clothes on the ping pong table, and go back outside. 

                                                     The Sled Run

  Part of the sled run.  ca.1972.  Photo by June Mita Sundgren

    We were always on the lookout for the best, most dangerous sled run in the neighborhood.  Our house, unlike everyone else's, was built on a huge hill that started by the road and went steeply down toward the woods in the back.  We actually had hills on all sides.  In the front, was the baby hill.  This went down from the driveway to the house.  That was the hill that my sister Melanie used until she was about 4.  It came with its own dangers because if it was too slippery, you could slide too fast and hit the house.

The west hill.  Melanie on the rock.  ca. 1970  Photo by June Sundgren Mita

     When Melanie got around 5 she graduated
to the west hill.  This hill was on the porch side of the house and ran toward the back.  The hill was not all that steep and gave her a run of about 70 feet.  The best hill, though, was the one every kid in the neighborhood came by to use.  That was on the east side of the house.  Melanie did not use that hill until she was about 8.  The reason was because not only could the hill be fast, but it was also treacherous, made more so by the boys creativity.
     The boys, primarily my brother Craig and Bill Darling, would go out at night when the temperature was around 15, and they would bring out buckets of water from the basement.  They would spend a good 2 or 3 hours pouring water on the snow to freeze it into ice.  They would also pile the snow into hills, like ski moguls. to make ramps along the run.
     It started straight, but midway in the backyard, there would be a sharp curve that the boys would bank up, mimicking a bobsled run.  Then it would redirect the sled toward the woods.  The boys had actually cleared a trail through the woods, which turned so sharply to avoid the brook that it was what we called the wipeout zone.  The curve had small trees growing right where it turned.  If you didn't guide the sled correctly at that point, you would either hit the trees with your hip, or you would bullet over the snow bank and land right in the brook, getting completely soaked if it wasn't frozen.  I can attest to the fact that I hit those trees on numerous occasions, and it may have actually damaged my pelvis so that one side is shorter than the other.
     The run would end at the Horhorouny's house.  They had built a huge pond at the end of the run.  There was a large hill that went up at the end of the run, and if you were going fast enough you would jump over the hill, sail across space, then land on the pond.  If the pond was not frozen, when you got to the end of the run, you would have to flip the sled, so that you were either off of it or on your back, in order to prevent yourself from landing in the water.  Once Mr. Horhorouny realized we were using the pond as part of the run, he forbid us to land on it any longer.  So when we got to the end, if we couldn't hang on to the sled when we flipped off of it, the sleds would go over the small hill and go spinning across the ice, empty of its occupants, at which time we would still have to go onto the pond to fetch the sled. 
    That run ran perhaps 1/4 mile from the top of our hill to the Horhorouny's pond.  There was no run like it anywhere.  Most of the kids were used to going through an open field, but with our dangers, from trees to brooks to ponds, it was a challenge to get it right.  Of course we added even more fastness to the run by taking wax and rubbing it on the blades of our sleds.  We would also spend a good 1/2 hour to get any rust off the blades with steel wool  Whatever we could do to make the run as fast as we could, we did. 
     The other place we often sledded on was right on the road.  Our house was at the top of the second hill of Ludwig Rd.  The hill to get on the road from Rt. 140 was very steep, and when it snowed nobody could drive up it until it was plowed.  So we would take our sleds and ride them down the road to the Horhorouny's again.  As soon as the plow trucks came we had to stop, but it was a good place to slide in a pinch before the road became passable by cars. 

                           
                                               Of Snow Forts and Tunnels

     My brother Craig always seemed to have a battle streak in him.  He was very competitive and always wanted to get the better of anyone who challenged him.  He had a way, though, of persuading his sisters to go along with his battle plan, calling it fun.  He had many ways of competing, from chess matches to arm wrestling to races on bicycles.  However in the winter, his favorite form of competition was the old fashioned snow ball fight.
     We would call the boys and the girls in the neighborhood and convince them to come to our house to build snow forts.  We had a flat area directly in back of the house that was about 300 feet wide.  That is where we would build our battle plain.  It would take the better part of 3 hours to build a fort worthy of a snow ball fight.  The girls, primarily Kathi Horhorouny, Brenda Moneypenny, Sheryl Darling, and me,  would start making our snow walls.  We would roll the snow into balls and then try to build them up into a wall.  We were not the best construction workers.
     The boys would take much longer.  They would smooth the balls into a solid flat wall, and they would add side walls as well.  On occasion when the snow was really deep, they would build a lookout of snow behind the wall and climb up into it to see behind our fort.  They would painstakingly create peep holes in the wall that allowed them to see when we were ready to throw a snow ball.  Of course they also liked to dip their snowballs into water, and let them freeze into icy balls that were meant to break down our fort walls when thrown.  
     I can tell you that I would get bopped in the head or shoulder with one of those icy snowballs.  It would be slowed from hitting my fort wall, but it would hurt pretty bad.
     When the fight commenced, we would be flinging snowballs at the other fort like a pitching machine.  We would usually start with at least 100 snowballs.  We learned quickly how to duck behind our walls when the boys threw the snowballs at us.  The battles would ordinarily end with us girls giving up.  We would be out of snowballs, and couldn't make new ones because the boys always seemed to have extras to throw.  If we were caught trying to get new buckets of snow to make into more ammo, we would get pummeled with a flurry of them being thrown by Craig, Bill Darling or Bill Srodulski.  So we would just fly the white flag, tell the boys to battle between themselves, and go in for steaming cups of hot chocolate.  The boys would shortly follow, strutting like proud peacocks that they had once again defeated us.  Of course, we let them win.
     Another building activity we all liked to do was extremely dangerous, but nothing ever happened to us despite many warnings from our parents.  We liked to build tunnels at the side of the roads, in the mounds of snowbanks left by the plow trucks.  We would start by using a shovel to gouge a hole into the semi frozen road edges.  Once we hit soft snow, we would go into the tunnel and dig out the snow.  These tunnels could sometimes be 20 feet long.  We would always construct back doors toward the wooded side of the road just in case we were in the process of building a tunnel and we heard the telltale rumble of a plow truck coming up the road. After we had dug the tunnel as far as we wanted, we would dig out a second entrance to the road, once again using the shovel to get through the frozen tundra of snowbanks. 
     I do remember once building one of the tunnels and I hadn't gotten the back door dug out.  I heard the truck coming up the hill, and I was about 10 feet into the building of the tunnel.  I had very little time to get out of the tunnel.  I ended up pushing up and breaking the ceiling of the tunnel.  Just as the truck was nearly on me, I was able to pop out of the ceiling and run into the woods.  That trucks blade was within 6 feet of me.  If I hadn't been able to break the ceiling, I wouldn't be here today writing this. 
     Snow angels were always dotting our yards during the winter.  We made angel after angel, then trounced down the snow between them to connect them with trails through the snow.  One time when I was around 5, which would have been 1962, the snow was so deep that we could barely get out of the basement.  We had a covered porch area at the back door to the basement, and when we opened the door, we had to walk up the snowbank to get into the yard.  The snow angels that year were made just on the top of the snow.  No matter how much we swung our legs and arms, there was no grass to be seen in the impressions of the angels that year.
      Our family seemed made for winter.  We could figure out any problem, such as getting a dead car battery to start without jumper cables.  My dad would push the car onto the road, my mother would be driving, and with Craig's and my help, we would all push the car fast down the hill.  From the momentum, my mother would turn the ignition key on, and the car would start.
     We were also quite good at getting cars and trucks out of snowbanks.  Dad was extremely creative.  The one thing he always made sure he had was a barrel of ice melt, a barrel of sand, and a barrel of cat litter.  Between the three of them, if a car skidded into a snow bank on its own accord, because my mother would never say it was her poor driving skills that caused it to happen, dad would dig, melt, and add traction and the car never stayed stuck for long.

Dad and daughters June and Melanie, ca. 1966.  Photo by Naoma Sundgren

    

The Unexplained - Tales of the Weird and Strange at 28 Ludwig Rd.

Halloween Craig at the Welch's ca. 2006

      Halloween has always been a well celebrated holiday with the  family.  Perhaps it was because Melanie was born on Oct. 25.  We always enjoyed dressing up and going out for candy.  Even now, we love to decorate with ghosts, witches, fog machines and creepy music for the night of all nights for the scary and weird.
     As kids growing up on Ludwig Rd., we would take our pillow cases from house to house and hope for a windfall when it came to candy.  We never really ever got much, but the point was to be out with the neighbors like the Darling's, the Srodulski's, the Horhorouny's and the Adam's family.  We ran in groups as we went from house to house knocking on doors and holding our bags out.  I believe the last Halloween Craig and I actually went out for was in 1974.  I would have been 17 and Craig would have been 18. It was just before he left for bootcamp in the Navy.  Melanie would have been 9.  I dressed up as a doll, Craig donned his normal bum, complete with torn sweatshirt, pants that had pieces of rags hanging off of them, a knit hat, and lots of brown shoe polish on his face.  We actually got a lot of candy that year for some reason.  By that time there were many more people living up on Ludwig Rd and area, so there were plenty of houses to stop at.

Halloween 1997 at The Welch's

     One costume that I remember Craig doing was one he made out of boxes.  He must have been around 13 at the time.  He took a bunch of boxes, cut holes for his legs, arms, and head, and put them on.  He covered his body with them to become a robot.  He had spray painted the boxes in silver paint, made a hat out of cardboard covered with aluminum foil, and he painted his face and hands with some kind of silver paint.  It was made from Noxzema skin cream that he mixed Testors silver enamel paint into it.  We were very creative when there was very little available to purchase, as there is today.  Now we have face paint.  Back when we were teens, we had to make our own.
     It wasn't always on Halloween that we had some really strange things happen up on the hill.  It was a bit secluded when we moved in around 1958.  We had the street almost entirely to ourselves.  Perhaps some of these things that happened were dreams, or just an overactive imagination, but even today I cannot understand how they happened.  This entry is dedicated to all who appreciate Halloween, and believe there is much more unseen in this world than we ever thought.

                                                    1967 - Visitation   
     To this day, this incident that happened to me still leaves me undecided if it was a dream or real.  It occurred when it was winter.  There was a moon that night.  I always slept with a nightlight because I had such night fears.  On this particular night, I was awakened by a tapping on my window.  My room was its normal configuration, and the night light was burning.  I was drawn to the window by some kind of force.  As I looked out, I saw three figures floating outside.  This window was very high up because it overlooked our sledding hill.  The figures were small beings in a robe of some kind, and they had no hair.  Their eyes were slanted and their mouths were barely visible.  Their skin was very light and glowed in the moonlight.  I found myself opening up the window and letting them float in.
     They seemed to create a table and lights out of thin air.  It just suddenly appeared, and I went to lay on it.  I remember them saying in my mind to not be afraid.  I wasn't, which is very strange.  I would have considered this a nightmare, but I was not scared.  I remember a light in my eyes, then I remember them putting something into my head on the front of my forehead.  It was like a needle, but I did not feel anything but a little pressure.  Then I do not remember anything more until I awoke the next morning.  
     The spot where they placed the needle has an indentation in it even now.  I can always find the spot on my forehead.  It is nearly in the center of my forehead, just below the hairline.  
     

                                           Generational Visitation?

     This incident has significance because I told my mom about the dream after my daughter, Kathleen was born.  My mother told me she remembered a similar incident happening to her up on Ludwig Rd.  She also said her mother told her about a ghostly visit from some entity when they lived near Cedar Mountain in Newington.  Of course, Ludwig Rd is a hill, and is actually almost a foothill to Soapstone Mountain.  So was I actually visited by an alien race?  Well, let me continue one more piece to this story.
     When my daughter was very little, she had many incidents where she would be sleeping but would begin to cry and scream and lash her feet and arms.  One day when she was 3, her father and I happened to be watching a documentary on UFO's.  Kathleen was on the floor playing.  She happened to look up just as a sketch of one representation of an alien flashed on the t.v.  She began screaming and ran down the hall, crying "The Masks, The Masks."  We had never exposed her to anything regarding space or UFO's.  I had never told her my story.  She just recognized them.  She was very afraid of these "masks."  
      A few years later she told me about her trips at night that she took with a friend from another planet.  He took her to his planet and showed her things.  She was afraid of him, but she couldn't stop the trips.  He would come and take her away, and she would have no other choice but to go.  It was a desert place she would go to, with twilight like lighting.  She always found herself back in bed the next morning.  
     One time, Michael and I were dating, and we took a dirt road called Parker Rd. in Ellington up to Soapstone Mountain.  We were looking for a place to park, frankly, and this was a dirt road and I knew it would end up heading to Soapstone and come out near the McIntires house on Webster Rd.  As Michael and I drove carefully on the road, both of us felt a strange tingling sensation, and it was as if the hair on our heads began to stand on end.  Something was going on.  We looked through the woods to the left, and saw numerous lights deep in the woods.  We thought we heard a strange whirring sound as well.  We were so scared, but couldn't turn around so we kept on going.  Thankfully, the car did not conk out.  We finally got to Webster, zipped down it as fast as we could, then went back to Ludwig Rd.  

Looking west from Soapstone Mountain, Somers, CT.

     The area around Soapstone Mountain has had a few reports of extraterrestrial activity.  So why did my grandmother talk about a visitation,near Cedar Mountain and why did my daughter tell me about her friend, here in Tolland?  Well, it is generally thought that if there really are aliens amongst us, they prefer connecting to a certain family and following them through the generations.  Well, it could be all just dreams, but the more I hear, the more I am convinced we are sharing our space with other beings, and that part of the mystery regarding them has to do with following one particular ancestry line.  Perhaps they are our family ancestors that walk still in an evolved state.  It is a curiosity that just might find actual proof in our lifetime.
    
                    The Mystery of The Horse Oil Painting - ca. 1974

     My father used to buy paint by number sets.  He painted a lovely set of geisha's once, and also painted Blue Boy by Thomas Gainsborough.  I also wanted to try my hand at paint by numbers, so I bought a set of horse portraits.  I spent many hours trying to get the details just right.  The horse was a ghostly gray/white horse with a gray mane.  It was an oval, or perhaps it was a rectangle but I cut it into an oval.  
     I decided to hang one of the finished paintings on my bedroom wall.  Melanie was around 9 at the time.  I was quite proud of the painting and it hung on my wall for quite awhile.  One day the two of us were either listening to the radio, or playing instruments.  Suddenly, we heard something drop.  I looked at the wall, and where the horse was supposed to be hanging, there was nothing but the tack in the wall that had been holding it.  Melanie and I looked at each other with big eyes.  "Do you see that.?"  Neither of us could believe that the tack was still so securely in the wall.  I figured that perhaps the painting had only been held in the wall by the edge of the tack; that the tack had never actually been through the painting.
     I dived behind the bed to get the painting.  As I held it up in the light of the window, I looked at it and saw that indeed the painting board actually did have a tack hole in it.  You could see the impression of the edge of the tack forming a ring around the hole.  I looked closer, expecting to see a slit in the painting board, figuring that maybe the split had caused the painting to slip.  There was no slit.  There was only a well defined tack hole with a ring around it.  
     I am fairly certain I still have the painting somewhere in the house today because I did hang it up for a while when we first moved into 27 Metcalf Rd in Tolland.  My sister always remembered the time the painting fell out of the wall and left the tack in the wall.  Both of us could never explain how it happened, just that it did.  Whenever Melanie saw the painting she would always say "Do you remember the time that painting fell off the wall?'  We believe it was spirited off the wall by some kind of invisible force, perhaps our alien ancestors that experimented with me in 1967.  

                                                            Ouija - ca. 1973
   
       I ask you, what child is not curious about a Ouija board.  My friend, Kathi Horhorouny, had one.  We used to pull it out at her house and play the game by asking questions and letting the pointer spell out the answer.  It always seemed strange things would happen whenever we did bring out the board.  I was quite surprised that Kathi even had one.  I did not like using the Ouija board because I truly thought it was possessed by spirits, and I was convinced one was going to take me over, just like what happened in the movie "The Exorcist."
     My sister Melanie also feared the Ouija board, too, and my mother never would let us have one.  However, that does not stop others from bringing a board with them  That is just what happened when Melanie had a sleepover birthday party when she turned 8 I think.  She had all her friends sleeping in the basement.  The boys, lead by our brother Craig, dressed up in weird clothes, painted their faces with shoe polish and while the girls were bowed over a Ouija board that one had brought, the boys gathered outside around the large window and began turning flashlights on and off under their chins while they made ugly, scary faces.  The girls were scared out of their minds, and the board was thrown against the wall.  They did not realize it was Craig and his friends, which included Dusty Darling and Bill Srodulski.  Of course they thought it was funny as heck, but the young girls in the basement were not so amused.
     Melanie had been asleep and when all the ruckus started she woke up, screamed at the ugly faces she saw in her half sleep/wake state, and then realized someone had brought a Ouija board and did not want them using it anymore. She also figured out pretty quickly that the people in the window was the neighborhood boys trying to scare the girls. 
     A few nights later, Melanie was sleeping in her bed.  One of the windows in the room was very high and overlooked the backyard.  It was pretty much a second story window.  She was awakened by a noise.  As she looked out the window, she saw ghosts floating outside of it.  She began to scream and called "Mom."  Well, my parents bedroom was next to mine.  I heard Melanie screaming.  You couldn't miss it, it was so loud.  I figured mom would go because she was a very light sleeper, but neither her or dad woke up.  I ran to Melanie's bedroom, and she was petrified as she tried covering her head with the blankets.  I turned on the light, and she was fully awake and when I sat on the bed and uncovered her, she heaved and cried in hysterics.  Finally I got out of her that she had seen ghostly faces in her window.   She swore she had been awake.  She swore that it was not a dream.  It couldn't have been the boys again, because there was no way they could reach the window without a ladder.  There was no ladder leaning up against the house.  She was as sure she saw real ghosts that had been generated from the sudden scare the girls had received while in the act of using the Ouija board, as I was that I had seen real  aliens at my window in 1967.  
     As we grew older and had our own children, Melanie still insisted that she had seen spirits floating outside the window when she was 8 and living at 28 Ludwig Rd.  

                                           

 
       

Life at 28 Ludwig Rd. with my sister - Melanie Sundgren Welch

                                                                                                        Melanie, ca.2005.  Photo by June Mita

     Melanie Lee Sundgren came into this world on October 25, 1965.  I know I was very excited to have a baby coming into the family.  For me, I was around 8, and still was into dolls and trying to be a mommy.  So I did spend a lot of time pampering her, holding her, and telling all my little friends about her.  Of course, the reality is that babies are not dolls.  They cry, they poop, they need baths, and they can't be left in a corner, forgotten for the moment.  The only thing I enjoyed doing after about a month was feeding her a bottle, because that was like feeding a doll.
     Our brother, Craig was 9 and he also liked taking care of little Melanie, at least for a little while.  Then he began to make himself scarce, choosing to be with friends over Melanie.  So it went for most of her childhood.  We being the older brother and sister were always trying to lose her to be free of any responsibility, and she was always trying to tag along with whatever we were doing at the time.
     I don't remember too many funny stories about Melanie's childhood.  I am sure there were plenty of funny things that happened to her, but they aren't something I took much notice of, so I will try to tell a few of the things I remember.  These stories are mostly for Melanie's children, Marc, Amy, Ryan and Sarah.  They may already know them, but for the sake of history, I will repeat them.  Melanie was daddy's little girl when she was small.  She said when he died in 2013 that the worse day for her was when she couldn't crawl up beside him and lay on the couch because she was too big.

                                                 Funny Photos - Long Gone ca. 1967

     My grandfather, Ralph Harlow, had a strange sense of humor.  He smoked these smelly, kind of bumpy dark cigars that were thin.  They may have even been a cigarette.  When Melanie was around 2 1/2, he decided to let her have a taste.  He gave her the cigar, told her to pretend she was sucking a straw, then blow out.  Well, we had a picture of her blowing smoke out of her mouth, holding the cigar in her two hands while it was still in her mouth.  Her cheeks were puffed out and she was surrounded by a fog of smoke.  The picture is long gone, but I remember it because we looked at it so often and laughed.
     I remember another photo of her.  She was around 14 months.  She had on only a sagging diaper with rubber panties.  She had on a red knit stocking hat of Craigs, one of dad's ties wrapped around her neck and practically touching the floor and a pair of dad's slippers on her feet.  Her head was turned away from the camera as she walked past.  We always got a kick out of that one, too.  She always did like to play dress-up using mom's heels or dad's big shoes.  He was a size 11.  She was so tiny, though, that I was surprised she could even move her legs to walk.  That was another photo that didn't survive all our moves.

                                 Surviving on Peanut Butter and Bread ca. 1968

     Melanie was a terribly finicky eater  She hated most foods.  She would drink milk, eat bread, have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and eat cereal, because we always ate cereals like Lucky Charms, Captain Crunch or Count Chocula.  I think she ate pastas as well, like macaroni and cheese, beefaroni and ChefBoyArDee ravioli.  Mom used to buy Tree Tavern frozen pizza and she also got a make
your own pizza called Appian Way.  Melanie would eat those later on but not until she was around 7.   

                                                                    Mel, ca. 1970 Photo by June Mita
     Many suppers, Melanie would drop broccoli or spinach under the table and of course the dog would eat it.   She never really seemed to get in trouble for not eating.  I guess by the time she came along, mom and dad were not as anxious about kids getting enough food.  They had already been through it with Craig and I.  Of course, all that lack of interest in food caused Melanie to be so skinny it made me angry.  Craig and I were solid, big kids.  We ate everything it seemed.  But not Melanie.  She was a light weight through most of her childhood.

                                    Cute Didn't Work This Time ca. 1969
                                                                                                                              Naoma Harlow, ca. 1952
     Melanie was used to getting away with stuff.  One time, though, she did a very wicked thing.  She was perhaps 3, maybe 4, and my mom must have wanted her to do something.  It made Melanie really mad at her, so she took mom's most favorite photo and put a mustache on it and scribbled a little.  Melanie saw how mad mom was and ran under my white iron bed in the furthest corner she could.  Mom went diving under, but couldn't reach her so Melanie just looked at her, put her two index fingers in front of her face and said to mom, while shaking her head, "No,No, No, No."  Mom started laughing so hard and Melanie began to smile and said "Your laughing.  You won't spank me."  So she came out and mom grabbed her and spanked her really good.  From that point on, Melanie realized even if mom and dad laughed or smiled, if she was going to get spanked, she would.
     Years later, Melanie made good her angry pen by bringing the picture to a restorer, who was able to redo the picture to its original beauty.  When mom got it for her birthday around 1992, she cried because it was the best photo she had ever had taken of her.

                                             Industrious Melanie ca. 1971

     Mel was always industrious.  She didn't have any girls her age nearby, so she had to find ways to keep herself busy.  My dad had a roofing business and brought a lot of envelopes, paper, pens and pencils home.  Behind the bookcase was a large area that was supposed to be the stairs to the basement.  Dad had put a floor in when we rented the upstairs to a family named Champ.  He never removed it when we moved back upstairs so he used it for a mini office.

I still have the table.  Here it is, 55 years years later.  Photo by June Mita

     Mom had set up a table for Melanie while she worked on dad's business.  The table was built by my Uncle Walter for Craig and I when we were very little.  It was about 20 inches by 30 inches.  He had it painted with Pennsylvania Dutch designs.  The table became Melanie's "office." She would spend hours organizing papers and envelopes and writing pictures or doodles into a paper pad.  She would carefully fold the papers and put them in envelopes and then put them into a cardboard box that became the 'out' box.
     Mom had extra ledgers and receipt pads as well, which Melanie made out for pretend customers.  We always knew where to look for her when we needed her.  She was usually behind the bookcase.

                                                         Blankie ca. 1966

     Melanie had a blanket she carried around with her for many years.  Mom couldn't ever wash it without Melanie going into hysterics over that blanket.  I  am never certain it ever got washed unless mom did it while Mel was asleep.  That was very difficult because Mel would have her hand so tight on that blanket, if you tried to undo her hand she would wake up.  Yep, she always had her thumb in her mouth and her blanket held up to her cheek.  Dad called her Linus, from the Peanuts comic strip.  She used to pull the fuzz off the blanket too and put it up to her nose, so it was pretty threadbare by the time she went to school.
     Mom had a heck of a time separating Melanie from that blanket when she had to go to school.  There was lots of temper tantrums from Melanie when she couldn't find her blankie.  I don't know when she stopped carrying around the darn thing, but it was pretty soon after she started going to school. 

                                      The Bicycle Incident ca. 1975

     Melanie had a lesson taught to her one day when she was about 10.  She had a nice speed bike that let her get to her friends houses very far away.  One time she went about 2 miles to visit her friend. As industrious as she was with schoolwork and business forms, she was rather careless when it came to taking care of her things.
     She left the bike on the side of the road where her friend lived, and the two went walking somewhere.  For some reason, dad needed to find her so he went to the friends as well.  Melanie was not about anywhere, but he did see the bike parked right on the street, so he took it.  He hid it in one of our sheds, and waited for Mel to stroll home.
     Melanie came home and didn't say a word.  She watched t.v., played with the cats, and dived into a book.  Dad watched her carefully, but Mel never gave any indication anything was wrong.
      Finally near supper he looked aat her and said "So, Mel, are you missing something?"  She looked back and with a complete stone face said no.  He said "Are you sure?"  She shook her head yes, she was sure.  In his way he said "Come here, I want to show you something."  He took her to the shed and said "Open it."  Well, there inside was her bike.
     She was grounded for a week because of the lie and dad said "If I ever see that bike on the side of the road again, you won't get it back."  She took great care of her bike after that. 

                            1973 - Of Weather, Horses, and Chicken Shows
   School Photo ca. 1973                                      

       1973 was a big year for our family.  Lots happened that year.  Right around Craig's 17th birthday in April, Melanie had a terrible accident.  We had a horse named Bucky.  He was more of a pony and had been a barrel racer.  Melanie wanted a horse, so dad got her one.
     Bucky was very good at jumping fences so he would often jump over his yard fence and run down the street to the Ludwig's farm.  They had lots of fields, and Bucky had a taste for fresh grass.  Because he was so nimble and stubborn, he wasn't always the best riding horse.
     It was early April and mom was walking next to Bucky while Melanie tried using rein commands.  Well, I believe a car came down the road and spooked Bucky because of the unsure rider Melanie was.  He reared up a little and Melanie fell off.  She hit her head so bad it started bleeding.
     Mom picked Mel up and carried her home while leading Bucky.  Mel was incoherent all the way home.  Mom was afraid that the fall had smashed Mel's brain somehow.
     I remember dad putting Mel on my bed and making the room dark.  He took a flashlight and flicked it on and off in Mel's eyes.  The pupils were responding to the sudden flashes of light but because she made no sense, he said they had to get Mel to the hospital.
     They had to keep her awake all night.  She had suffered a concussion and was in the hospital for a few days.  I thought she was going to die and cried all night the first night.  She missed Craig's birthday on Apr. 8, but when she came home we had cake for 2 occasions, her coming home and Craig's belated birthday.
     Not two weeks later, we were in York, PA. for the biggest chicken show on the east coast.  Melanie was still feeling the affects of the concussion when mom had a car accident going into the parking lot of the motel.  Thankfully our Chrysler Newport cushioned any force of the blow, and none of us were phased at all by the car that crashed into us.  Follow the link for the whole story on this incident.
     On December 16, we were under one of the worse storms damage wise for Connecticut.  It was a mix of rain, ice and snow.

Glistening ice from the December 17, 1973 ice storm in Connecticut.  This photo was taken from the cemetary off North Eagleville Road at UConn.  Photo submitted by Wayne Norman Shpow listener Dave Doiron of Mansfield.

When we were sent home early from school the bus couldn't get up our double hill on Ludwig Rd.  Melanie was totally wild with worry about our dad because he wasn't coming home.  Finally he showed up around 5:00 in his truck.  He barely made it home.
     We lost power for the first time around 6:30 p.m.  Melanie was in her element.  We could not go anywhere and we all had to stay in the living room where we had a fire going in the fireplace.  Since there was no t.v., no lights and no in and out of the refrigerator, we took to playing board games by candle light.  It was the happiest childhood memory Melanie had.
     With me at 16 and Craig at 17, and Mel only 8, we did not spend any time with her.  She was just a kid.  We were teenagers and were constantly with our friends.  During that storm, though, she had our undivided attention.  That was all she wanted occasionally, just us spending even a few minutes with her, which we hardly ever did.
    The storm knocked our power out but we happened to have a CL&P worker who lived in the neighborhood.  Mr Darling lived on Newell Hill Rd, and restored our neighborhood for about 13 hours.  Then it went out again for about 9 hours and he came back to restore it for all of us.  There were many shivering out the storm for days, but Mr. Darling, who was a darling, made sure we were all okay.

                             Sibling Antics And Jealousies - Barbizon Girl

Family portrait, ca. 1969.  Photo by William C. Sundgren, Jr.

     Our attention toward Melanie as siblings was generally harassment.  She was the baby who got away with everything it seemed and she got to do things that Craig and I never got to do.  Craig was the biggest trail to Melanie.  He used to coax her under a blanket or sleeping bag because she was always cold.  Then he would wrap the blanket around her very tightly and either hold it down or sit on her.  We pig piled on her regularly.
     Melanie always screamed she had to go to the bathroom, so we would let her go.  Well, it was her way of getting away.  Once, though, she had cried wolf too many times so Craig wouldn't let her go, and she really did pee inside the blanket.  Craig stopped harassing her at that point, but we probably did long term damage to not only her pride, but her bladder. 
     Melanie was a girl scout, just like I was.  She
collected many more badges than I ever did.  She was rewarded by my mom and dad by being able to attend girl scout camp every year for 2 weeks.  I never got to go, and I used to get so mad that she could have all that fun while I had to sweat through humid, hot days with no relief from lakes like she had.  Of course, when I finally discovered what they actually did, between bugs, wild animals and hiking, I was glad that I didn't have to go after all.

Barbizon Girl, ca. 1979  Photo by Richard Sundgren

     Another point of contention between sisters was when she got to attend Barbizon School of Modeling.  I think it was around 1979-80.  I was married by then but there was still a bit of a sting when I found out once again she got something I never did.  She learned things about posture, walking, and hair care.  Of course, the biggie was learning how to use and apply make-up, something I never learned very well.  Dad was so pleased at this beautiful daughter of his that he shot a ton of photos and showed them to all his cronies from roofing and at cafes and taverns.
     I am not certain Melanie ever appreciated that kind of attention. She had no aspirations to be a model.  It may have been our mom's way of getting her out of her introverted shell to socialize more and have fun.  Melanie had always been more academic and serious, unlike her very flighty, rebellious , artistically bent older sister.  
     I was terribly jealous of all the perks Melanie got growing up, but she was always envious of my abilities with poetry, music composition, sewing, drawing, photography and painting.  She was also sad because she didn't have any sibling close in age like Craig and I.  We were 14 months apart and could always use the other for a playmate when our friends were away.  

                                                    Auction Block ca. 1978

Very Last Christmas, 1977 at 28 Ludwig Rd.  Photo by Naoma Sundgren

     Melanie did endure many more upheavals than Craig and I.  The worse was when the town of Ellington came by in October of 1977 and nailed a sign on our big ash tree next to the road at 28 Ludwig Rd.  I had just gotten married in June, and I went to visit one November day and there was an auction sign.  Dad hadn't been able to pay the property taxes so the town seized the house and told the rest of the family they had only until March of 1978 to either pay the taxes or move all their things out.
     Melanie was 12 at the time.  I sat with her for many hours between November and March as she cried about losing the only home she had ever known.  Nothing could be done.  Michael and I couldn't pay the large tax bill, which was over $10,000.  Neither could we bid on the house.  We had no money to help.  I think the selling bid was around $28,000 for an oversize ranch with two complete houses (upstairs and downstairs), 4.5 acres, and a corral and several outbuildings that had housed our large chicken population. 
     They moved to Hoffman Rd., down in the valley in Ellington and rented half of a duplex.  It wasn't a bad place really.  Mel quickly got used to it and even liked it more than Ludwig Rd.
     Then she had to live through the mounting arguments between our parents until they finally split up.  Mom worked hard to pay the rent and they stayed there until around 1984.  

                                                      School Days

Melanie in EHS marching band, ca. 1983.  Photo by June Mita

      Mel seemed to be interested in music.  She didn't really sing, but she did begin taking banjo lessons at around 12.  She wanted to learn to play the theme from the movie Deliverance.  I played the guitar and within a few months we were playing the duet.  She learned the song much better than I did.  She would start going really fast and I would give up because I couldn't keep up with her.  She also learned to play the clarinet and played with the Ellington High School marching band for most of her 4 years there.
     One memory that I have was when Mel was in 1st or 2nd. grade at Crystal Lake School.  I was very sentimental at 15.  The class was doing a Christmas concert and the class sang "It's A Small World" so sweetly it made me cry.  Melanie had this other worldly look on her face, one of rapture and uplift as she sang.  Normally I hate that song, but when she sang it with her class, for that one moment I wished they could continue singing forever.
     In her adult life she also learned to play the piano only because she wanted to be able to play the piece from A Charlie Brown Christmas.  She learned it.  Whatever she set her mind to to learn, she did.
     If Melanie got into any funny scrapes, I don't know any.  She was always very controlled and stayed out of trouble.  She was brainy and was 4th in her graduating high school class of 1984.  She won a Pell grant for her grades as well as a few scholarships.  She went into the ROTC Air Force at UConn to study engineering.  Because of her accident with Bucky, the Air Force wouldn't let her stay in the program.  A traumatic brain injury or concussions are considered placing the pilot and plane at risk, so after a year she had to leave the program.  She studied Economics instead.