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: 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: Coffee in Our Family Part 1

my father and grandfather - they both loved their coffee

COFFEE IN OUR FAMILY—Part 1

I didn’t start drinking coffee until after I graduated high school, but I remember my parents and grandparents drinking it. My grandfather had a special cup that he used. It was oversized and part of a set of light yellow and brown plaid dishes that my grandparents always used. Every morning at the breakfast table, he would pour his coffee from his cup into his equally-large saucer, then sip it. As a child, I thought that odd, but later learned that was how many of his generation (and those before him) drank their coffee. My dad always had at least one cup of coffee before he got out of bed. My grandmother-in-law would only pour an inch of coffee into her cup at a time—she liked it really hot.

Today, my husband has a metal insulated mug that he fills in the morning and drinks from it all day. I, on the other hand, have several large glasses that I use to make iced coffee year round. I fill one of the glasses full with ice cubes, at a bit of fat-free half & half or heavy cream (depending on which diet I am currently on), a good splash of flavored syrup (sugar-free since I’m diabetic), then give it a good stir. This is the way I drink my coffee year round.

On the other hand, our husband and daughter always drinks their black and unsweetened whether it is from their Keurig, their French press, cold-brew container, or the local coffee place. (A side note—a couple of those coffee devises were lost when a tornado passed by their home.)

It doesn’t matter how we drink our coffee—hot, cold, black, sweet, unsweetened, or (as my husband says of mine) not real coffee, we love it.

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: Photos in Our Family

PHOTOS IN OUR FAMILY

My mother always loved pictures—having her own taken and taking pictures of her family. I remember how she would take us kids outside—in the bright sunlight, and then tell us to open our eyes so she could take our picture. (Later, by the time her grandchildren came along, she had a camera with a flash, so all those lovely darlings didn’t have to go outside and open their eyes wide.) Through the years when money was tight, she would save up until she could afford to send off several rolls of film and get prints made. When she passed away, I found a lot of pictures of Mother from her teens forward. Even after my father passed away, she kept getting her picture made every couple of years at our Walmart photo studio. I also found all those envelopes with strips of negatives from the rolls of film she sent off to get printed from the fifties through the eighties or nineties.

Well, I never was interested in taking pictures, but my husband was. Which is fortunate for our children, otherwise we wouldn’t have any pictures to display when we had a celebration for our son’s Eagle Scout ceremony or a video to show of our daughter growing up for her wedding.

Recently, my husband got a new camera—his first in years. He’s still learning how to use it. He did get an interesting picture of our granddaughter. It’s the one shown above. By the way, she is wearing the glasses from the Potato Head toys that my children played with. And she insists on wearing them upside down. Ahh, young ones—when they set their minds on something, you can’t change them.

While I’m not interested in taking photos, I am so thankful that there are others in our family who do. This way the generations to come will have faces to put with names as they look back at those who came before them.

Memory Monday: Cooking, Mother, and Tempura

My Mother

COOKING, MOTHER, AND TEMPURA

The way my mother cooked and the way I cook are different. There are a few of her recipes that I still make, like Swiss steak and beef stew—although, I have altered both as far as seasonings go, as well as beef enchiladas–which you can only make the right way with Morton’s chili blend. From me, she learned to make rump roast in a way that it is so tender that it falls apart.

But this weekend, my cooking abilities were stretched to almost breaking (at least, for a while). Here is the short version.

Yesterday, we celebrated my son-in-law’s birthday and Father’s Day—my husband’s thirty-fifth and my son-in-law’s first. In our family, the person whose special day we are celebrating gets to choose what we will have for our family dinner. In the past with things being equal (birthday vs Father’s Day), our son-in-law usually got to choose and we often had fried catfish. This year, he decided to pick Papa Murphy’s Pizza (my husband’s favorite), but he also requested tempura vegetables (one of his favorites and something I had tried making recently with a mix I found at Homeland).

I sliced and diced the veggies he requested—green beans, carrots, taro root, asparagus, and daikon radish. All set—right? Wrong! I went back to the store where I got the tempura mix (I only had a half of a box left), and they didn’t have ANY—not even a place on the shelf where it had sold out. I checked other stores, same thing. By the way, this was on Saturday and everyone was coming for Sunday Dinner. So, I got googled “recipes tempura” and got a ton of sites. I started checking them out and decided on a couple that I would try. Sunday while the pizzas were baking, I mixed up the half package and started frying a few of each kind of veggies. By the time, I had finished using the half box of tempura mix, the pizzas were ready. I decided we had enough veggies prepared and closed my laptop without using any of those recipes I had researched so frantically. It turned out that I had fixed plenty. There were even a few leftovers.

I wonder if Mother would ever make tempura veggies if she had ever tried them. Somehow, I think not. They just don’t go with the meat and potato meals that she always seemed to make for her family.

Now, my daughter is a different matter. She makes so many different things. Maybe someday when she takes over doing the special family dinners, she will introduce us to a new set of recipes.

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: My Mother-in-Law

My Mother-in-Law

MY MOTHER-IN-LAW

I had a wonderful mother-in-law and I can truthfully say that I was her daughter. When my husband was born (he was a big, big baby and his mother was a small woman), the doctor told my in-laws that any other children they had would have to be delivered by c-section. My father-in-law didn’t want to take a chance on anything happening to his wife (remember this was back in the 1940s and c-sections weren’t as common as they are today). He said that they wouldn’t have any more children. My mother-in-law told him that she wanted to give him a daughter. He told her that when their son married that they would have their daughter.

Fast forward a number of years. I married that boy and got a wonderful second set of parents. The way they loved and treated me, I was truly their daughter. (Actually, when I was going with my future husband, my mother said that if we married, I would have the most wonderful mother-in-law in the world. And as we all know, mothers are always right, well almost always.)

Even though she has been gone for a number of years, I want to honor her this Mother’s Day and share a couple of her favorite recipes.

AUNT EMMALEE’S BROCCOLI CASSEROLE

2 (16 oz. each) pkgs. frozen chopped broccoli

1 stick margarine

1 can sliced water chestnuts

1 pkg. onion soup mix

½ cup chopped pecans

2 cup Rice Krispies

Prepare broccoli according to directions, drain. Mix in other ingredients, reserving ½ of cereal. Pour into an ovenproof casserole dish. Slightly crush remaining Rice Krispies and place on top of mixture.

Bake for 30 minutes at 350 degrees.

(Emmalee was my mother-in-law’s aunt. Recently we learned the recipe was originally from Emmalee’s daughter, Gail. But since we have been calling this recipe Aunt Emmalee’s Broccoli Casserole for more than 40 years, the name of the recipe stuck.)

DOWN SOUTH BARS

2 T. butter or margarine

2 eggs

1 cup brown sugar

5 T. flour

1/8 t. soda

1 cup chopped nuts

1 t. vanilla

Powdered sugar

Melt butter in an 8”x8” pan. Beat eggs, combine brown sugar, flour, soda and nuts. Stir mixture into eggs. Add vanilla. Pour over butter. Do not stir. Bake 20 minutes at 350 degrees. Let cool slightly. Cut into bars and sprinkle with powdered sugar.

Makes about 18 bars.

(These were my husband’s favorite growing up and I still have the recipe on my fridge.)

Do you have any favorite recipes handed down from your mother-in-law?

Memory Monday: A LOT is Happening in February

My Parents-in-Law

A LOT IS HAPPENING IN FEBRUARY

Valentine’s Day is this week, but my husband and I usually don’t do anything special that day—we save our celebration for our anniversary. But that isn’t to say that there isn’t a lot to celebrate this month. As I have said in another post recently, February 15^th is a very special day in our family—today and in the past. My parents-in-law were married on that day 76 years ago. Sadly, they only had 38 years together.

Two nieces also have their birthdays on February 15^th, and I want to hope they have wonderful birthdays filled with love and happiness.

For our immediate family, we will celebrate our granddaughter’s 3^rd birthday on the 15^th. (Sh-h-h, we’re giving her a sandbox at our house and at her parent’s home, plus a few other presents.) As I think of the wonderful parents-in-law that I have been blessed with, I can’t help but think how much they would have loved and treasured their great-granddaughter.

What special memories do you have of Valentine’s Day? Is there anything special in your family that is celebrated in February?

Throwback Thursday: Woman and Her Baby

From my "Old and Known" File

You decide: Is the house tilting? OR Is the house standing straight and the original picture was tilting?

Memory Monday: My Mother, the Seamstress

My mother in 1947

MY MOTHER, THE SEAMSTRESS OF THE FAMILY

As long as I can remember, my mother sewed. She had an old treadle Singer sewing machine when I was growing up. Later, she got an electric one. She made a lot of her children’s clothes—after all, there were four girls in the family. She sewed my wedding dress, as well as my brides’ maids dresses. Even after I married, she made many things for me. One time when she and my father came for a visit, she brought me 10 pantsuits (OK, that happened in the 70s), all with coordinating shells that she had also sewn. After my father passed away, she moved to the same town where my family lived. After that, “Grandma will fix it” became a common saying around our house if you had a button come off or a seam rip. She sewed all the patches on my daughter’s Girl Scout uniforms, as well as my son’s Boy Scout patches—and that was a lot since he became an Eagle Scout.

Well, the years have passed and my mother’s gone. And the mantle had to eventually move from one generation to another. I knew how to sew—I took Home Ec for three years and made a very pretty green suit. After I married, I even made my husband an unlined suit—he wore it often. But I never really liked sewing. No, that’s not true—I hate sewing!!!

I was thrilled when our daughter wanted a sewing machine. So for her birthday a while back, we got her one. I figured out it operated and planned to teach her. I also asked if I could keep it for a little bit to repair something (I can’t remember what that was now since this happened a couple of years ago. But that’s another story.) Since I had the machine, she asked me if I could repair her husband’s pants. She brought a couple of pairs to my house and it only took me two years to get them fixed. He has his pants back as of last week, and maybe, my daughter will learn to sew this summer.

If not, I may have to wait until my two-year-old granddaughter gets old enough to sew and then the saying will be “Sophie can fix it.” 

Memory Monday: The Tradition of the Christmas Present Ornaments

THE TRADITION OF THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT ORNAMENTS

When my husband was five years old, he wanted a watch. His parents told him that he had to learn to tell time before they would get him one, so he went to his grandmother and she taught him. At Christmas, he had a package under the tree with a red, loopy ribbon bow on it. As you probably already guessed, the package contained a watch. But there is more to the story—something that affects what my family does today. His mother saved that red, loopy ribbon bow and put it on his “main” Christmas present the next year, and the year after, and the year after, for as long as she lived.

My husband and I dated for two years before we married. During that time, they put a blue package ornament on my present from them and continued to do so as long as my mother-in-law lived.

After her death, my father-in-law gave us their Christmas decorations and he just used the 12-inch ceramic Christmas tree that his mother had given his wife. That red, loopy ribbon bow and the blue package ornament were among the things he gave us. We kept up the tradition of using those package ornaments through the years.

We were married about ten years when our daughter was born. We bought her a Holly Hobby package decoration to keep the tradition going. When our son was born, we got a green and white stick horse for his “main” present.

My husband was five when the red, loopy ribbon bow first appeared on his present, so it has seen about 65 Christmases. We’ve been married for 44 years, so my blue ornament has been used about 45 times. Holly Hobby and the stick horse have been on presents for more than 30 years each. When our daughter married over 10 years ago, we got her husband a snowman for his package decoration. It has been on his packages ever since.

The next generation has come along with our granddaughter. Last year—her first Christmas with us, we got her a pink heart to attach to her present. We will be using it again this year.

Oh, there is one more thing about the present ornaments. We never put names on these presents. Everyone knows by the ornament who gets the present and everyone knows that the present came from us.

One of these days, we will have to pass down these package decorations to the next generation. I have every faith that our children will keep the tradition going.

Memory Monday: A Typical Wednesday and What We Eat

My Grandparents on Their Wedding Day

A TYPICAL WEDNESDAY AND WHAT WE EAT

Wednesday mornings are busy times at our house. My husband and I always go grocery shopping together—that is, after he’s had breakfast out with some of the people from his Sunday School Class. (I sleep in and am usually just about to have breakfast when he returns home. My favorite breakfast—Breakfast tacos, store-bought, of course.)

Well, with breakfast taken care of, we go and get our groceries. On the way home, we often stop by Subway (or some other favorite place) and get lunch to take home.

For supper, my husband usually has cereal from a box (since he didn’t have it for breakfast. I look around the fridge or cabinet and find something to nuke in the microwave. AHH, the joys of fixing food from my family.

It was so-o-o-o different years ago (like in the early years of my grandparents’ marriage. They married in 1910). No wonder the women didn’t work outside the home then—they didn’t have the time. Just look at what a cook book has for the menu for a typical Wednesday. This is from Five Cent Meals, copyright 1914.

BREAKFAST

RICE GRIDDLE CAKES
FETED BACON STRIPS
BANANAS
COFFEE—MILK

Rice Griddle Cakes

34 cup boiled rice 2 tablespoons drippings

2 cups flour 5 teaspoons baking powder

1¼ cup liquid 1 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons sugar

Mix the dry ingredients. Add rice to the liquid ingredients. An egg may be added. Combine with the dry and beat well. Cook by tablespoonfuls the same as other griddle cakes.

Preparing the Meal

Make griddle cakes and start the first griddle full to cooking. Make the coffee, slice and fry the bacon, and set the table, attending to the cooking of the cakes at the same time, and when they are finished serve the breakfast.

Extra Baking

Before starting to cook the noon meal mix the bread and set it to rise. It will be ready for the second kneading soon after lunch, and can be baked before time for the evening meal. Make cinnamon rolls as well as bread. If coal or wood fire is used, plan to keep the top of the stove full while fire is going. Leave no empty space in the oven while it is hot.

LUNCH

SPLIT PEA LOAF

SLICED TOMATOES

BREAD WITH OLEO

TEA—MILK

Split Pea Loaf

4 cups split peas, cooked 1 beaten egg

2 cups bread crumbs 1 teaspoon minced onion

1 tablespoon minced parsley, celery, or other flavoring as

desired. Salt and pepper to taste.

Mix all the ingredients together. If too soft to hold its shape add more bread crumbs. If too dry, add milk, water or another egg. Form into loaf. Brown in oven.

Preparing the Meal

Use split peas cooked on Tuesday. A half hour before meal time, make loaf and put in oven to brown. Slice the tomatoes. Set the table and make the tea.

DINNER

Wednesday

BAKED CROQUETTES

BAKED POTATOES

HOT CINNAMON ROLLS

BANANAS WITH LEMON JUICE
LEMONADE

Baked Croquettes

3 cups chopped meat 1 teaspoon onion juice

3 cups bread crumbs 1 teaspoon salt

2 cups thick white sauce Pepper to taste

Make a white sauce by stirring ½ cup flour into ¼ cup melted fat, cook till frothy, then add slowly 2 cups milk or water, or the two mixed, stirring all the time, and cook again till thick, stirring till smooth.

Add cooked meat—beef, mutton, veal or pork—and bread crumbs. Mix well, form into croquettes about 3 inches long, lay them in greased pan, and set in hot oven to brown.

Bananas with Lemon Juice

Slice 4 bananas, sprinkle with brown sugar and lemon

juice.

Preparing the Meal

Put six potatoes for dinner and four for tomorrow's lunch in oven one hour before meal time, while bread is still baking. Croquettes and cinnamon rolls (see page 16) may be baked together about ½ hour before meal time. Set the table, prepare the bananas and lemonade.

The exciting part of this menu is that the next day for breakfast is that FARINA MUSH WITH TOP MILK is at the top of the menu. YUM!!! Really, please let me go shopping again tomorrow and have a McDonald’s Egg White Delight with sausage instead of Canadian Bacon and an caramel iced coffee.

Memory Monday: Child's Chair

Little Blue Chair

A Child's Chair with a History and Maybe a Future

I won’t say our family members are hoarders, but some of the things we keep are used for generations. My husband was an only child, and his mother saved a number of things from his childhood—his story books, his metal trucks, his small record player with records, his little cowboy boots (which no one after him ever wore), his porcelain potty (not the chair, just the bowl), as well as several other things, including the chair above.

Now my mother didn’t save as much, but then there were four of us girls. I still have my last doll which my daughter played with when she was a little girl (see post about the LAST DOLL), a few books that I got through a Weekly Readers Book Club subscription, and a stuffed Jolly Green doll (well, this last one I finally threw away a couple of years ago because it was literally falling apart, maybe because it was over fifty years old).

I guess I have passed on the saving/hoarding gene to my daughter. It showed up in her at an early age. Once when I told her to clean her room, she hauled a large trash bag into the living room filled with books, toys, and trash. When I asked if it needed to go to the dumpster or put with what we would sell in a garage sale, she let me know it was neither—it was what she was saving for her children. Now you have to understand that at the time she was probably only in the second or third grade, so I figure she had heard me say the same thing “way too many times” about something I was saving for my grandchildren.

But there are some things that have been saved (and used) across the generations. The chair pictured above is one of those things. My husband used it about sixty-five years ago when he was a little boy, only it was a deep rose red then. Years later, our two children (who are both in their thirties now) used it. We have discussed the different colors of the chair lately, but neither one of use can remember when it was repainted blue (there is a layer of white between the red and the blue—how patriotic).

The chair is in use again for the newest generation. Our little two-year-old granddaughter sits on it while she plays in our living room. It is just the right size for her. And as well-built as it is, it should be available for the next generation in about another twenty or twenty-five years (and maybe several more generations after that).

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: How to Dress for Housework

My mother's paternal grandmother

HOW TO DRESS FOR HOUSEWORK—HAVE WE BEEN DOING IT WRONG ALL THESE YEARS?

After reading this article in the book Putnam's Household Handbook by Mae Savell Croy, published in 1916, I realize that I haven’t been wearing the right clothes for doing housework all these years. But that will all change now. Read the article and think of my great-grandmother above. Think she would want to exchange her long skirts and long-sleeved blouses for the gymnasium suit—she was married about 20 years when this book came out. See if you think you will change the way you do housework.

HOUSEWORK WITH THE AID OF A GYMNASIUM SUIT

A gymnasium suit worn during the morning hours when sweeping, dusting, cleaning, washing, or in fact, when doing any work where exercise of the body is practiced, will leave the wearer far less fatigued after her duties than when wearing a clumsy dress or heavy skirt, as is usually worn by housewives.

One is always nearly exhausted after a hard day's work on the day set aside for cleaning, but the adoption of this method of dress for doing housework enables the worker to do the work in less time and hardly feel the strain when the day is over. There is a certain amount of freedom felt in the gymnasium suit. If this is questioned let the reader visit a gymnasium class for adults and see the light-heartedness and care-free manner of the members while at their exercises. It makes one feel almost a child again. A heavy skirt is a handicap and is constantly in the way if one must climb up for dusting pictures or cleaning windows.

Too, it gathers much dust and grime and no skirt worn constantly for housework looks tidy very long. A light weight cotton union suit is all that is necessary for wearing under the suit. It is easy to get out of this costume into the tub when the work is finished and the wearer, instead of feeling tired and worn, is refreshed and brightened simply through having effected a change in dress.

The gymnasium suit gives free play to the muscles that are otherwise bound down by tight bodice and sleeves, and the weight removed from the body and lower limbs enables the wearer to move with rapidity and ease and to get the full benefit of the exercise taken in a very easy and comfortable way.

While it is really better to wear the suit without corsets, as is done in gymnasiums, if the wearer does not care to leave her corsets off, the suit is still far preferable to the old form of dress.

Aside from the freedom of the muscles and the light weight of the costume as compared to the dress and petticoats, it is a much more economical apparel than the dress. The suit can be made from five yards of fifty-cent serge, and two such suits will last with good hard wear a couple of years. They are easy to wash and iron and a great saving will be experienced in the laundry. The serge should be thoroughly sponged before being made up, in order to save the wearer the discomfort of the suit becoming too tight after being washed.

An outer skirt should be kept conveniently near to slip on over the gymnasium suit when the door bell rings or when tradespeople call, and a much neater appearance will be presented than to go to the door with a soiled cotton dress on, or a heavy shirt bearing spots from cooking.

As a last and very important argument in favor of the gymnasium suit, the disposition of the wearer will be immensely improved, for nothing will so quickly cause a woman who does her own work to become irritable and nervous as to be in a half exhausted condition while having to face the annoying little problems that come up daily in her home life.

Wait!!!! I just remember—I don’t do housework. My husband said he would do it so I could have time to write. Now, I wonder if he wants me to get him a gymnasium suit so he can feel refreshed after he finishes all the housework. Nope, I don’t think I’ll even ask him. I know he’ll prefer his jeans and tees. Which is fine with me as long as he keeps cleaning.

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?

Memory Monday: Facial Hair in My Family

Me, my husband, and our son

FACIAL HAIR IN MY FAMILY

One year after my husband went with our son to Boy Scout summer camp for a week, he came home with a beard, which he thought would make me fuss and cry out when he tried to snuggle with my neck. What he hadn’t realized was that the hair on his face had grown long enough that it wasn’t scratchy any more. I loved it!!! I loved the look. I loved the feel of it. So he kept it—for twenty years!

As I looked through our family pictures, I noticed something. A lot of my ancestors had facial hair, too. Here are some of their pictures.

One of my paternal great-grandfathers

My other paternal great-grandfather

One of my maternal great-grandfathers

My other maternal great-grandfather

Now, I have to admit that I never saw my father, my father-in-law, and neither of my grandfathers with facial hair. As a matter of fact, I remember quite well talking to my father-in-law (who loved his son very deeply) about it one day years ago. He said he would never trust a man with facial hair (actually, I think he said a man with a mustache). I looked at him and asked what if his son had a mustache, and he said he would never trust him either (and my father-in-law wasn’t smiling).

What are your feelings about facial hair? Do you love it or do you hate it?

Memory Monday: The Bookcase and What's On It Now!

My daughter (years ago) and the bookcase my mother made 

THE BOOKCASE AND WHAT’S ON IT NOW!!!

A long time ago, my mother built a bookcase to hold all my father’s books. As we moved from town to town, it always went with us. I don’t ever remember it not being in my parents’ house. After Daddy died, Mother moved to the same town in which I lived, and she brought it with her.

After she passed away, several years ago, my husband took the book case apart and stored the wood in our garage. After I started writing (and collecting so-o-o-o many books), he took part of the wood and made me shelves above my computer.

The bookshelves my husband built

 And now I have to cull out some of the books because I have something new to put on those shelves—MY BOOKS!!!

Don’t my girls look pretty? And don’t you think they will look good sitting on my shelves?

If you like inspirational historical romance, I invite you to get the first one (it’s free as an e-book), and lose yourself in a time 150 years ago in the Colorado Territory. Then I hope you'll get them all. Happy reading.