The Steps of the Harding House: Celebrating 60 years of Freedom

Thank you to all those who gave their lives so that we could have the liberty and the freedom to safely assemble on stairs and front porches - We remember you... we honor you... we thank you... 

1955

 1957

Left to right Karl Mary Mark (in diapers) Erick Tony  

1960 with Ford Woody in background  

1962   handmade clothes

first row L-R Mary Karin Erick Mark 

Second Row L-R Karl Kurt Dad 

Third row top left Tony top right Kris  

     sidewalk repair 1965 

1973  reenactment of the big accident 

  Swat team and animal control 

Karl, Theresa, Vicky, Vicki, Irma, Mark, Erick

                                         1978 Grandbabies

L-R Tony baby Erika, Mark, Irma, Theresa, Kris, Mary 

 going to the dogs  L-R Bluin Randy

 1979  L-R Uncle Mark. Erika, Tim, Tom, Kurt 

 1980 

L-R mom called "H. Joan" Irma, Kurt, Mr. D, Karl (top) Janet, Mark, Marilyn (top center) Mary, Theresa (second row), Dianna (above Theresa), Kris, Erick and Bill

                                                 Mid 80s   more grandbabies

  1999 foundation and pillar repair 

 2012 

Paint 

2014   Neighborhood Lennon (cousins) 

Kippy, Tommy,  Jeffery, Kevin, Michael

 

DAHLINS 

"The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another’s desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together."~Erma Bombeck

Happy Memorial Day FROM HARDING AVE VENICE CA.  

Sister Godzilla

Hey, I'm the guy in the diaper above. What your missing in the picture is 5 more (not puppies) family members. See those pants the older boys are wearing  - the ones with holes? Yeah those -  they got passed down a few more times before they got to me. That's what I called "hand-me down, down, down, downs." Every now and then I got lucky and got shirts that had most of the buttons still intact.  I always felt a little insecure and a bit self conscience about my clothes. So now I'll give you one more little snippet from my fictional memoir.

 Chapter 1  First day of Fifth Grade (cont)

All I wanted was a fair chance for once, but it was always the same thing. Sister Lucilla had only gotten as far as the “D’s” on her roll call, saw my name and freaked out in front of everybody. I smiled hoping to please my fifth grade teacher.  It didn’t work. She pulled me from my seat, stuck me in the hallway just outside the door and stomped down to the head nun in charge of the Catholic grammar school. 

 "He’s one of them.” she said protesting to Sister Superior. "Those kids are from the Pit of Abomination and I don’t think I could survive one more year. Mother Superior, no disrespect, but as you know, I barely made it through that experience alive.” She pounded her fist on the desk with every one of her last six words. “No! No! No! Absolutely not!” She screamed with angry eyebrows in a tone that sounded more and more like begging ―loud enough for practically everyone in the entire school to hear. 

“Please?” She finished, pitifully as if waving the white flag, pleading that it just wasn’t fair. She felt that she had suffered long enough.  With her left eye twitching, she despaired that one more Dahlin would likely push her into an early grave.

Considering the Dahlins a terminal infestation that had plagued the school for the past 10 years, Sister Superior didn’t even try to argue with her.  Instead she just looked with empathy at the nun (who at 63 ―looked at least 83) and said "life was not fair."

Being excited about the intake of another Dahlin boy was like being excited about ingesting spoiled food, both were sure to trigger a bad case of dysentery, bound to last an entire year. 

Pathetically limping away she was determined to pay me back for all the horrible pranks and crimes my older brothers had committed against her over the past eight years ―especially the pool incident at the beginning of summer.                          MORE ABOUT THAT LATER

“Apocalypse. Apocalypse,” She mumbled in defeat under her breath dragging her weary carcass back down the long corridor.  Pausing in front of a statue of Mary, sister made the sign of the cross and with new resolve, the stout five-foot German tank, pumped her cold boney fist into the air with the grit of a kamikaze pilot looked up at me and shouted,  “Not this year!  Not this time!”