Time in My Family

my grandfather in his shoe repair shop

TIME IN MY FAMILY

Well, that title might be a bit misleading. I’m really talking about the watches we have had in our family. After my mother passed away, I found a zip-lock bag in her things. It contained a pocket watch with a strap attached. Mother had left a hand-written note in the bag . It said that the watch had belonged to her father and she remembered always seeing it tacked to the wall in his shoe repair shop. She said that she wanted the watch to go to my son—she thought it would look good with his suits when he was a lawyer.

There is another pocket watch that I have and it also involves my son. Years ago—after my paternal grandparents passed away, I was looking at some of the things that had been theirs. There was a box of old pocket watches, most of them were in silver (silver-tone) cases, but the case of one was different. It has a pinkish gold tone to it, not yellowish brass. It didn’t work but my father took it to the jeweler and had it repaired. Unfortunately, the jeweler replaced the button on the winding stem with a yellowish brass one—not really noticeable, but I knew. The watch was the style that had a covering that opened on the front and the back. When my son was little and watched some children’s show on TV where the characters had a “magic” something (I don’t remember exactly what the thing was—I’m just too old to recall something like that), he asked if he could use my pocket watch to play like the characters on the show. I let him and he had a lot of fun with it. By the way, that watch is safely back in my jewelry box.

Another watch that has seen multi-generation use in our family is my daughter’s Mickey Mouse watch. When she was younger (much younger), she got that particular watch for Christmas one year. She has asked for it and wore for some time, then set it aside (actually, she said I could have it, if I wanted it). Once again, I put a watch in my jewelry box (yes, it is a large jewelry box). Three or four months back, I came across the watch and had the battery replaced. I showed it to my granddaughter and told her how her mommy used to wear it. My granddaughter was fascinated by it, not because she could tell time or because it had belonged to her mommy (remember, she’s only three). No, what she really interested her about the watch was the two buttons on the left side of the watch. When you press one of the buttons the song It’s a small World After All plays and when the other button was pressed it plays The Mickey Mouse Song—you know M-I-C-K-E-Y-M-O-U-S-E. Mickey was on the watch face and his arms were the minute and hour hands. When the music played the hands moved faster and in time. When the song ended, the hands reversed and went back to the correct time. My granddaughter played both songs over and over and over and over. Fortunately, the volume on the watch wasn’t very loud.

This are other watches in my jewelry box, but those are the most interesting—at least, to me. Who knows, maybe if I think hard enough (remember, I getting older), I’ll remember more stories about those watches that are just sitting in that dark vastness known as my JEWELRY BOX.

Thanksgiving and Popcorn

my sweet granddaughter

THANKSGIVING AND POPCORN

Thanksgiving is this week and I am so excited!!! I love this time of the year with all its get-togethers, food-eating, and food-preparing. It’s not just excitement about all the “busy things,” no, it’s just that each of those things makes me remember what I’m truly thankful for.

The get-together means that I have family to love and who love me, especially my sweet granddaughter. Last year, she was still getting used to being her with her new family. But this year, she “knows” us—she grins and runs to me when she sees me, she has started bringing books for me to read to her in my office/library, and she even had her pre-school teacher write my name (chest puffing out in pride) on a strip on her “Thankful pumpkin”—in all reality, I probably got a whole strip to myself because nothing else would fit after the teacher printed “Grandmommy.” The pumpkin wasn’t huge, after all. Also, this is the fifth anniversary of my husband’s liver transplant. He’s strong and hearty—well, he’s strong and hearty enough to keep house and do the laundry (seriously, a writer’s got to have time to write, and I am a writer).

The food-eating makes me thankful that God has generously poured out His blessings on us all year long—not only our food, but our home, our marriage, our family, our friends, and so many more blessings. And most especially Jesus and His sacrifice.

The food-preparing means that I’m healthy enough to do the things I love to do. Even though I have RA, diabetes, and a few other thing going on in my body, I can cook (which I love to do), I can write, and I can play with my granddaughter. Being able to do all of those things is due in large part because of the blessing of having wonderful doctors who take care of me.

One thing I’m going to TRY and do again this year is something we had done years ago when my children were younger—tell the story of the three grains of corn. I had read that the Pilgrims had a very hard time in the New World. At one point, their daily ration of food was three grains of corn (now, I don’t know if this is really true, but it led to a way of showing what we are thankful for today). I would put three grains of unpopped popcorn on everyone’s plate and before we ate, I would pass a small dish around and everyone would put their popcorn in, telling three things they were thankful for. I love hearing the things. The kids hated doing it. We finally stopped doing it when the kids BEGGED me to stop making them it. But we have added a new generation to our family, SO-O-O-O, I think it’s time to try it again. After all, our granddaughter needs to be reminded to be thankful and needs to hear what others are thankful for. Do you think it will go over any better this time than last? Who knows, but a mother/grandmommy has to try.

Memory Monday: Precious Memories

four generations of our family

PRECIOUS MEMORIES

I was traveling in the car the other day and the song “Precious Memories” came on. The lyrics nestled in my heart. I thought of all of who came before me—the examples they left, the words of wisdom they shared, the stories of perseverance they left behind.

My grandmother raised seven children as she cleaned other people’s houses and took in laundry, while her husband had a shoe repair shop. The thing I remember most about my grandmother was when she was about 95 or so, she needed paint for her house but she insisted that it come with a 25 year guarantee. Oh, and another thing, my mother said Grandma didn’t care what grades her children got in school, as long as they got an A in deportment. She knew how her children acted and treated others was so important. Growing up, the thing I remember most about my grandfather was that he hated to have his picture made, even snapshots—NO PICTURES. That is until their 50^th anniversary—which by the way was when my grandmother got a wedding ring. After that, he seemed to love having his picture taken. I just realized that I have something in common with my grandfather—I hate to have my picture taken, too. Maybe when I have my 50^th wedding anniversary, I won’t mind so much.

My daddy always dreamed of trying to do things to improve his life, from reading to trying to start some type of business, to changing types of jobs. For him, it never seemed to work—BUT HE TRIED. I guess that’s where I got the part of me, where at 60 years old, I published my first three novels. My mother always voiced her acknowledgement of God’s working in her everyday life. When it rained, she would always mention how God had washed her car or watered her flowers and vegetables. Her words still live on in my heart and make me recognize how God is in all the things we do—big things and little.

I hope that my children have precious memories of me that will live in their hearts and minds for years to come, and maybe even be passed down to future generations.

I wonder what memories of me my granddaughter will cherish in years to come. Will those memories help her in trying times? Will they nestle in her heart and help her to be a better woman? Will memories of a loving grandmommy help her when she feels lonely or troubled as she goes through life?

What precious memories do you have of your parents or grandparents that have helped you through life? 

Memory Monday: Halloween Through the Years in Our Family

my son as a gorilla

HALLOWEEN THROUGH THE YEARS IN OUR FAMILY

Growing up, I don’t remember doing a lot for Halloween, but then we lived in the country for a lot of those years. I know that when we did live in town, there was a lot of Trick-or-Treating going. During the early years of our marriage and children, we had lots of kids coming to our door for their treats. But that has changed now. No one comes door-to-door anymore, at least not in our neighborhood. They all go to community activities or church Trunk or Treats. If you aren’t familiar with Trunk or Treat, it’s when the adults gather in the parking lot, decorate the open trunks of their cars, and wait for the little ones—all dressed up, of course—to come by so they can get their treats.

Costumes have changed, too. I have an old black and white picture of my older sister and brother with me. They were wearing scary masks and I was crying (I was only 2 or 3 at the time). Those masks were the thin plastic kind, with a rubber band stapled on each side to hold it on. When the rubber band broke or slipped out from the staples, well, the mask was useless—unless you wanted to hold it up to your face all the time, and who wants to do that. My children dressed up when they were little—usually in “creative” costumes. We never went out and bought full outfits for them. These days, my son buys his own costume. The first one he bought was a gorilla. That’s him pictured above. This year, he got a T-rex inflatable costume which is almost 7-feet tall. He wore that to the church Trunk or Treat and let the little ones hunt for mini-dinosaurs in a portable sandbox (our granddaughter doesn’t know that her sandbox isn’t in our backyard right now).

my son's costume

Speaking of my granddaughter, she went to school as Anna from Frozen. Of course, she was adorable—See how adorable below (naturally, all grandmas think their granddaughters are adorable, no matter what the situation):

she'd rather be playing with cars

What are your memories of Halloween? What was your favorite candy to get? Do little ones still come to your house Trick or Treating?

Memory Monday: Identifying Family in Old Photos

IDENTIFYING FAMILY IN OLD PHOTOS

Sometimes, I have a hard time looking at an old photo and recognizing who someone is. Other times, it is fairly easy to identify someone, even though the person has aged through the decades. I came across the picture above in a file of my husband’s family. These are three siblings—a brother and his sisters. Their names are Oval, Ira, and Vera. Obviously, I know which one is Oval, since he is the brother. The sisters are twins named Ira and Vera (and one of them was my husband’s grandmother). But who is who? I knew they weren’t identical twins. Both of these women have passed, so I can’t ask them. When I looked at a more recent picture of the two:

I know that the sister in red is my husband’s grandmother. The other one is her sister. When I look at the “old” photo, I can see the difference in the two women. Look at their chins in each picture, one has a more rounded chin, the other one has a more squared chin. Now, I know that the lady sitting in the black and white pic is my husband’s grandmother.

Then like I said earlier, I an old family photo of someone and can’t identify him in a second photo.

Here is a picture of my great-grandfather in his later years:

And here is a school picture of him:

Now, can you pick out which of these boys would be my great-grandfather? I can’t, so I just say this is a picture of him when he was in school in the 1860s—he was born in 1851.

How have you identified people in old photos? Have you ever been wrong? How did you go about figuring out who was who?

Memory Monday: Dirty Diapers in Our Family

four generations of our family

DIRTY DIAPERS IN OUR FAMILY

Several years ago, my mother noticed that (at church) many of the fathers were the ones who took their little ones out of the service because the child was acting up, crying, or (if the dad was carrying a diaper bag) to change the baby’s diaper. That observation really amazed her. But when you think back about when she raised her children (starting in the late 1940s), most women were “stay-at-home” moms and care of the children was just part of what they were responsible for.

I don’t think my dad ever changed a diaper—wet or dirty--in his life. Now move forward to when my husband and I had children. He will tell you that he changed a couple of wet diapers, but never a dirty one. I got all that “fun.” But then, like my mother, I was a full-time at-home mom. Last year while we watched our new granddaughter during the day while both of her parents worked, my husband didn’t want me to go anywhere and leave him alone with our granddaughter for fear that she might have a dirty diaper. Now that she is potty-trained, he’s fine with me going on a few errands and leaving him alone with her.

The other day, my daughter and I were talking. She mentioned that the father of one of their friends wouldn’t change his grandchild’s dirty diaper. I told her about her father’s aversion to the same thing last year. She shook her head and said, “Men of my generation are different from that.” And I agree with her. I’ve seen her husband change his daughter’s dirty diapers.

All I can say is that my husband is happy that our granddaughter has passed the dirty diaper stage and hasn’t reached the “boy” stage yet.

Memory Monday: The Beginning of Another Generation Passing

THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER GENERATION PASSING

For both my husband and me, all of our grandparents (Grandma, Grandpa, Papaw, Mamaw, Mawmaw, Granddaddy, Grandmother, and a grandfather who died before my husband was born) have passed away. We have precious memories of time spent in their homes. Our children knew some of their grandparents (Grandma, Granddaddy, PawPaw who passed away before our son was born, and Granny who passed away before we had children). Fortunately, our children were old enough when my husband’s father and my mother passed that they also have a wealth of memories of them.

But life moves on. Our granddaughter has lost her first grandparent. Appa (her paternal grandfather) passed away over the weekend. At three, she may not have formed many of those precious memories that we have of our grandparents. But maybe, as we (and our family) did with our children, she will learn about him from those who are still here.

Memory Monday: Could It Be?

my sister in front of my grandmother's house

COULD IT BE?

Last week as I was in the middle of re-posting my Thursday blog to several locations, something in the picture caught my eye. As I looked at the house in the background, something clicked. That house looked familiar in an odd way. You have to understand that that  photo had nothing written on the back of it to identify who was in the picture—I had just liked the look on the face of the woman. But the more that I looked at the house, the more I thought that I recognized it as my grandparents’.  The “bones” were the same—front door placement, windows placement, the height of the steps. The outside of the house was different. The posts were different. But my grandfather had bought the house sometime in the 1910s so it only make sense that some changes had been made in the sixty or so years that he owned it. I found a picture of the house (on Google Maps) as it looks now. It has siding covering it, as well as a metal handrail up the middle of the steps—the house was sold to an older couple years ago.

I remember the outside covered in a faux brick with concrete steps from a sidewalk up to the porch. The picture above was taken about 1949. Other than a block walkway and wooden (I think) steps, this is the way I remember the front of the house—even to the concrete planter on the concrete post on the porch by the steps.

All this led me to take a closer look at the woman in the picture from last week. Who was she? I enlarged the face as much as I could. The eyes look a lot like my grandmother who passed away when my father was nine years old. I compared her wedding picture (the only one we have of her as an adult) to the lady with the baby.  The lady with the baby has a fuller face. But if this is my grandmother, she would have been about twelve years (and two children, if the child she is holding is my aunt) older. My daughter and husband both looked at the picture and couldn’t decide if it was the same woman, but we all agree that it might be her mother. Unfortunately, the only picture I have of my great grandmother (She died in 1927, a year after her daughter.) is below and I don’t think that it is her in the picture with the baby:

So this still leaves me with my question—Is the woman with the baby the same woman who posed for her wedding picture twelve years earlier? Do I have a “new” picture of my grandmother? Below are the two pictures I have been comparing:

This was taken from her wedding photo:

AND

The above is an enlargement of the picture below:

Do you think these are the same woman?

Memory Monday: What Would You Save?

my husband, his grandmother, and our daughter

WHAT WOULD YOU SAVE?

The other evening, my husband and I were watching a movie on TV. A question was asked during that move that has had me thinking ever since—If your house were burning down and you could grab one thing to save, what would it be?

Now you notice, the question didn’t ask who would you save, so I guess that I’m the only one in the house. So what one THING would I grab? We don’t have any expensive artwork or anything like. There are lots of family “treasures” in our home. But for the most part, those things are only treasures because I have personal memories of them. As I have said before, most of those things aren’t things my children will want. Then there are lots and lots of photo albums, but I can only take ONE item. Which one of those books of pictures, would I choose—the one of our wedding, the one containing pictures of our daughter’s first year, our son’s? Or one of the several others that contain photos of our families (my husband’s and mine) through the years?

I have decided what the one thing is that I would grab—my external hard drive. It contains all of the stories I have ever written (some of which I might revise and publish one day), as well as much documentation for different things. It also contains a lot of our family pictures—especially those from several generations back. I know I need to scan more photos into that drive (from all those photo albums), but what I have now would be a good selection to pass down to our children.

If you had to choose ONE ITEM to grab from your burning house (and yes, assuming you had the time), what would it be?

Memory Monday: Treasures to Trash through the Generations

My grandfather and step-grandmother

TREASURES TO TRASH THROUGH THE GENERATIONS

My paternal grandfather lived in his house from the early 1910s until he moved into a nursing home in the late 1970s. There were so many “treasures” in that house, and I inherited three of them— the crystal stemware with matching plates, a bedroom suite, and a gold-upholstered chair. I used to stand next to the china cabinet at my grandparents’ house and make up stories about those dishes (with a family containing five small children, we never had crystal stemware). I was never allowed to open the cabinet and touch anything inside, but I loved it. After my step-grandmother passed away and my grandfather moved in with my parents, my grandfather gave me the crystal. The bedroom suite was always in my grandparents’ bedroom, although it was really the “everything” room since that was where everyone gathered to visit. Kitchen hairs were brought in so the adults had a place to sit while the children sat on the floor or played outside. The bed had tall, slender posts on the corners and all the grandkids swung on them. The dresser was one of those old-fashioned kind (as far as today goes) with the center lower than the drawers on the sides. It had three arched mirrors at the back—two of them hinged to the center one. After my grandfather passed away, my father said I could have that bedroom suite one day.  There was a wing-backed chair in the parlor of my grandparents’ house and my younger sister and I would take turns playing princess with that chair and the sit-down dresser in the front (guest) bedroom. It made for a lot of fun memories.

The years have moved on. The crystal is in its own special cabinet in my kitchen and I will hand it down to my daughter when she get a house. The bedroom suite stayed with my mother after my father died. When she passed, it came to me. My daughter has some memories of it in my mother’s house—she slept in it when she would spend the night there. She wants it for her daughter when she gets old enough to sleep in a full-size bed. That gold “princess” chair was willed to my older sister, but she didn’t care for it, so it stayed at my house. Neither one of my children want it, so I’m not sure what will happen to it after I’m gone.

The lesson I’ve learned from all this is that family “treasures” might only be treasures if there are memories connected to them. I can’t pass my memories to my children, so I can’t expect them to love the things I treasured. But that is only as it should be. They will create new memories and will treasure other things. Hopefully, the things they don’t want will become treasures to others who will create memories of their own and those things will become treasures again in another family.

Memory Monday: Sometimes Things from the Past Are the Best

SOMETIMES THINGS FROM THE PAST ARE THE BEST

Lately when my husband and I babysit our granddaughter, we’ve noticed that she loves to play with a certain toy—a plush tomato from Veggie Tales. It was our daughter’s when she was much younger. I understand my granddaughter being attracted to that certain toy because she has started eating tomatoes, but only the small, yellow ones. Still, they are tomatoes, or “tatoes” as she calls them. By the way, this can get a little confusing—I’m not sure if she is asking for tomatoes or potatoes.

But I am most surprised by the TV show that she asks to see. We have cable, Netflix, and Amazon Prime, but the show she wants to see the most is from 1956—GUMBY. There is only one season on Amazon, so we have watched it and re-watched it. When other shows come on, she plays with her toys as she watches Little Einsteins, Paw Patrol, Sesame Street, or Thomas the Train. But with Gumby, she pulls up a chair and sits there fascinated by the show.

So, that’s something from my daughter’s childhood that she loves and one thing from my childhood. And as a very loving (but never an indulgent) Grandmommy, I ordered our granddaughter poseable Gumby and Pokey figures from Amazon this morning. They should be here the day after tomorrow—just in time for her to play with them for one day before she starts her first day of Preschool Three. Who knows, maybe those dolls will be passed down to the next generation to be played with as my great-grandchild watches Gumby on whatever will be used to show ancient shows to children.

Memory Monday: Children and Their Hair

my daughter in a bonnet that hid her almost bald head

CHILDREN AND THEIR HAIR

From the time our daughter was born until she was in elementary school, she never had her hair cut. It wasn’t because we were against getting her hair cut (although my husband loved long hair on girls). When she was born, she had a nice covering of brown hair. Everything changed when she was about five months old. We had stopped at the grocery store for an item or two—not enough to get a cart or anything. While the checker rang up my purchase, I laid my daughter on the end of the counter and pulled back her blanket so she wouldn’t get too hot. I was shocked when I pulled the sides of that blanket away from her head—most of the hair from the sides of her head stayed with the blanket. Basically, all she had left was the strip on top of her head and to long tufts above each ear. I was able to twist the two tufts above her ears into pin curls which held those plastic blow clips. And I loved dresses that had matching bonnets, like the one in the picture above. Her hair grew back slowly and when her hair was long enough, I put her hair up in pigtails—so no need for a haircut for years.

Now, our son was a different matter. He was born with a full head of black hair and never lost any of it like his sister had. I still remember how my husband gently held down that poor screaming baby (he was only about 5 months old) and told me to trim his hair—my husband didn’t like long hair on boys. Well, I cut my son’s hair as his face turned red from screaming. But after that day, I made it a point to take a snip here and a snip there whenever I had him playing with this bath toys. I don’t think he ever caught on. But eventually that didn’t work because I wasn’t very good at shaping his hair properly. So I took him to a barber shop. Only problem was that the place scared the little three-year-old. I tried to talk him into sitting in the chair, but he cried and the female barber said that she wouldn’t cut his hair with him so upset. In defeat, we went home, but amazingly, a few minutes later as we were watching Sesame Street, the skit with the haircut song came on. We sang with the characters and I got my son to agree to go back and get his hair cut. This time the barber was able to make my baby look like a little boy.

As a new generation has come to our family, our daughter took my granddaughter to get her first haircut. At the children’s hair salon, they have a TV for the children, there is a play area, and when the hair cut was over, the hair stylist sprinkled glitter in my granddaughter’s hair and took a picture of her “first hair cut.” No fuss. No crying.

My, how things have changed! 

Memory Monday: My Daughter Had Another Birthday

my daughter eating her first birthday cake

MY DAUGHTER HAD ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

Years have come and gone since my daughter had her first birthday. We celebrated that one with her granddaddy and her step-grandmother at their home in Texas. My husband and I decorated the cake (I had planned it with a cupcake on top to give to her). We make a brown sugar bear on it because we had called her “Becky Bear” since the day she was born (just to let you know—we don’t call her that anymore). Here’s a picture of that cake:

After she blew out the candle—with help from her parents, we gave her the cupcake on top and let her have fun. As you can see in the first picture, we put newspaper underneath her to catch the mess. We had a lot of fun and memories from that day. As a side note, it was on her first birthday that she took her first steps by herself.

A few days ago, I was watching my granddaughter and I told her that in two days’ we would be having her mommy’s birthday. She said, “Birthday cake.” I told her that Mommy would blow out the candles. She said that she and her mommy would blow out the candles. I didn’t make a big deal out of it, after all, who would win in a fight like that with a three-year-old.

After the family dinner of manicotti, salad, and garlic bread (all my daughter’s choices), I brought out the birthday cake with candles. And as my granddaughter had said, she helped her mommy blow out the candles. By the way, my daughter’s birthday cake this year was tiramisu (again, her choice) and there were no bears anywhere around.

Memory Monday: My Daddy's 100th Birthday

My Daddy in 1917

Casper Office Phone Number

MY DADDY’S 100^th BIRTHDAY

I have been waiting for this month since last year when I was looking at my family tree on Ancestry. Daddy (yes, that’s what I still call him) was born in 1917. He was a baby during the First World War, a soldier in the Second World War,  a husband and father of two and a-half-children during the Korean War (I was born in the middle of that war), and went on to have three more children. He suffered through the death of his last child, who only lived overnight. Later, he saw his children married and loved seven grandchildren, but passed away before his last two were born.

Daddy lived through the loss of his beloved mother when he was only nine, was a protective older brother to his much-loved sister, and learned to live with a step-mother with whom he never had a close relationship.

During the Depression, there were nine people living in his family’s two-bedroom house (it did have a screen-in porch) when his father took in his first wife’s brother and his family. One of my daddy’s chores during that time at night was to cut out cardboard insoles to cover the holes in his father’s shoes so his father could walk to work at a grocery store.

My daddy wanted so much to get a college degree. After high school, he would work 40 hours a week or more, then take a college class at night. He tried doing this over the next eleven years—although WWII did come in the middle of that—but was never able to get enough credits to graduate.

He so wanted to make a success of himself. He tried many different ways to better his and his family’s life. But looking back over what I know of my Daddy, I can see how it never seemed to work out--he was an academically-minded man (think college English professor) trying to become a business success. It never worked out for him.

The thing I remember most about Daddy was his faith in God. At times, he was a weak man. At times, his temper took hold. At times, he said and did things he was ashamed of afterward. But he loved God and was a Christian. After he had a major heart attack and was able to attend church again, people said his prayer brought tears to their eyes.

Yes, Daddy was a man who lived in his time with its wisdom and attitudes—many of which are different in today’s world. He was flawed, but he loved his family. I learned a lot from him. And I love him and he is still very much a part of my life, even though he passed away over thirty years ago.

HAPPY 100^th BIRTHDAY, DADDY. 

Memory Monday: Father's Day

My Son-in-Law and Granddaughter

FATHER’S DAY

I love the months of May and June because I love Mother’s Day and Father’s Day! I love the family get-togethers and dinners. And I love the presents, especially since I’m the mother now. What can I say—I love getting presents. But more than the presents (well, kinda), it is wonderful to see the next generation getting to share in the celebration—not as children honoring their parents, but as the ones being honored for the role they have taken on as parents. There is no way a child can understand the responsibilities (and worry, fear, joy, and hopes) of a mother or father until he or she becomes one. And only parents who see their children become parents can appreciate what their children are going through as they raise another generation (even though, the grandparents may wonder sometimes about what their children are thinking or doing).

This year is special with my granddaughter here now. I was privileged to share Mother’s Day with my daughter. In the same way, my husband will share Father’s Day with our son-in-law next week.

I want to say something to my father and father-in-law who have already passed on (as well as all the greats and grandfathers who came before them) as well as to my husband and son-in-law (and all those fathers who come after us): Thank you for the care you took to provide for your children, the examples you set, and the love you poured out on your families.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!!!

Memory Monday: The Day I Became My Mother

Me with my mother and daughter

THE DAY I BECAME MY MOTHER

I remember the day very well. I was sitting in a recliner in our living room, watching my children in the hall as they examined and discussed our new cell phone. Now you need to understand that this was a number of years ago. My daughter had recently turned sixteen and we had given her permission to date (yes, I know that my husband and I are old-fashioned). We decided to break down and get one of those contraptions—after all, we never knew what situations she might get into out with a boy and all.

Anyway, back to that day. As I sat in that chair, I realized that I had become my mother. Often when my brother and his family came to visit Mother, we had a family dinner. It could always be counted on that sometime while we were eating, or just after, there would be a discussion about computers. At that time, we had Apple ones—not the fancy ones of today. No, we both had the kind that didn’t have hard drives, just floppy discs. We discussed the pros and cons of the different styles.

I remember glancing over at Mother at these times while she stared off into space—not that she didn’t want us all there nor did she have any kind of medical problem. She loved her family and always welcomed them to her home. No, the problem was that she just had no idea of what we were talking about.

That was how I felt that day as I sat in my chair, listening to my children discussing something that I had no understanding about—how you set this or how this feature works or, or, or. It was all just beyond me.

Separated by time, Mother and I had become one while our children discussed new things that are and things that were to come.

Mother never had a computer, but I do have one of those new fancy cell phones (which I hardly ever carry). My son gave me his old one when he purchased a new one—now I can take pictures as well as make phone calls (if I remember to take it with me). Everything else about that iPhone is just beyond me (don’t even get me started on texting).

I now better understand that faraway gaze Mother used to have in her eyes when we jabbered away about computers. I wonder what new invention will cause my daughter to realize that she has become me one day.

Memory Monday: Missing My ParentsM

My parents in 1959

MISSING MY PARENTS

Early last month, I asked a friend what he and his wife planned for Christmas. Were they going to visit their kids and grandson? He said no. They were going to visit their parents. This stirred something in me that I haven’t felt in long, long time.

My father has been gone for more than 30 years, and my mother passed away over 12 years ago. Ever since that conversation with my friend, I have had an intense longing to talk to my parents—stronger than I have ever felt before. Now, often during the day, I catch myself thinking of something and wondering what one of my parents would have said about it. I miss my parents more now than at any time since they died.

For now (and for as long as God allows me to live here on Earth), I have a lot to look forward to with my family—more years with my husband, the shared love of our children, the wonder of our granddaughter and hopefully seeing her into adulthood, and maybe more books of mine published.

But something has shifted. I now look forward with a longing to that time when I will be with those who have gone before me. At that time, I won’t be concerned about how they survived in the Great Depression, the differences between the way I make ice cream and the way my mother did, or even “boasting” about how many books I published. No, at that time, it will be a time of reunion—marvelous reunion with those I love and haven’t seen in years.

Even though I’m in my mid-60s, I have a better understanding of “old” folks when they say they are ready to “pass over.” There is just something comforting in knowing that there are others “on the other side” just waiting for us.

Memory Monday: Pictures of Family Connected by History

My Great-Grandfather

PICTURES OF FAMILY CONNECTED BY HISTORY

Sometimes as I go through the old family pictures, I tend to lose touch with the people in the pictures. I know who they are, after all, their names are written (sometimes) on the back of the pictures. But after a while of going through them all, they just become photos. I lose the connection to the family unless I have personally known them.

One of the things that has helped me is to try to connect these people with events in history or in the lives of the family members I have known. The man pictured above is my mother’s grandfather on her father’s side of the family. While he was born in Russia in 1872, he came to America in 1892, then settled and married in 1895 while living in Kansas. Now I don’t know what Russia was like in 1872, but I have done enough historical research to know what life was like in Kansas at that time. I can imagine him, his wife (who also migrated from Russia), and their children living and farming on the flat plains of Kansas. I now can get a sense of my great-grandparents, and maybe a little of what my maternal grandmother’s life was like as a small child.

This great-grandfather passed away in 1944—toward the end of the Second World War (and well before I was born). My father and father-in-law both served in that war. I have heard stories from both of these men about growing up in Texas and what life was like at that time. That also helps me to “see” my great-grandfather and the way he might have lived.

While I will never have the connections to people before my grandparents’ generation that I have with the people I have known, talked to, and loved, I can still get a sense of those who came before and maybe, just maybe, be able to pass that on to the generations that come after me.

Memory Monday: Our Ancestors, Us, and a Poem

My husband and I shortly after our honeymoon

OUR ANCESTORS, US, AND A POEM

The other day, I was talking to a clerk at the store where we were shopping. Something came up about marriage. I said we had been married a little over 44 years. The clerk said her parents had been married just over 19 years.

This got me thinking about how many years my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents had been married—which for many of them was a long, long time. These thoughts, in turn, caused me to remember a favorite poem of mine, even though my husband’s name is not John Anderson (see how my mind works).

I’d like to share the poem with you, but first I need to define a few words: jo is sweetheart, brent is smooth or unwrinkled, beld is bald, pow (Scottish, N. England) means head, snaw is snow and canty means cheerful. The poem was written by Robert Burns. He died in 1796, which was years before my grandfather’s great-grandfather was born.

John Anderson my jo, John
John Anderson my jo, John, 

      When we were first acquent,
    Your locks were like the raven, 

      Your bonie brow was brent; 

     But now your brow is beld, John, 

      Your locks are like the snaw, 

     But blessings on your frosty pow, 

      John Anderson, my jo! 

    John Anderson my jo, John, 

      We clamb the hill thegither, 

    And monie a cantie day, John, 

      We've had wi' ane anither; 

    Now we maun totter down, John, 

      And hand in hand we'll go, 

     And sleep thegither at the foot, 

      John Anderson, my jo! 

     I love you, my husband. May God grant us many more years tottering down together.

Memory Monday: My Grandparents' Marriage

My grandparents' 50th Anniversary

MY GRANDPARENTS’ MARRIAGE

My husband and I have recently celebrated 44^th wedding anniversary. This is longer than either of our parents’ marriages. Both of those marriages last about 38 years, and they only ended because my mother-in-law died of cancer and my father was killed in a vehicular accident.

My maternal grandparents’ marriage lasted over 56 years. I remember their 50^th anniversary. Before then, my grandfather was well-known for hating to have his picture taken, even a casual snapshot. After all the hoop-la and picture-taking at the party, he changed and loved to have his picture taken. Also (and something I didn’t realize before, being a kid and all), my grandmother never had a wedding ring all those years. But that anniversary, she got one and (as far as I know) wore it the rest of her life. Oh, and one more interesting tidbit, although it was not about their anniversary, but rather about their marriage—my grandmother said one of the reasons she married my grandfather was that she thought he would give her beautiful children. And he did—all seven of them.

By the way, for our 50^th anniversary, we are thinking of going on an Alaskan cruise.

How many years have you been married? What interesting tidbits have you heard about your parents’ or grandparents’ weddings/marriages/anniversaries?