Back to ordinary blogging soon

Since I've been experiencing some "writer's gap" lately, it's really been nice having my dear departed mother blogging for me. Thanks, Mother! You have one more day of telling your story.

Meesha asked if my mom kept a diary; he wondered how she remembered all those dates.

She kept diaries from 1930 to 1932, the years when she worked as a hired girl away from home. Those diaries were intact through the 1960's, because I remember looking at them then; but what with one move and another, and being stored in not-so-perfect places, all I have are bits and pieces of them now. She also kept a lard-can full of letters that no doubt helped jog her memory on some of the details of her life.

Mother bought a record book in the fifties with pages to enter important dates, job records, and so forth. She filled out many details there.

So, she had the resources to come up with dates and places.

My cousin Pauline found many of my mom's letters invaluable in gathering material for our family tree information at Ancestry.com. She took a lot of them home with her, and when she brought them back, she had encased them in separate plastic sleeves to protect them. They'll last longer that way, in case a future generation wants them. I told her to keep any letters her dad (my Uncle Paul) had written.

Mother kept letters from two crucial periods in her life: 1938 and 1939, the times when she lost a baby full term and then lost her dad; and 1943 and 1944, times when she had a brother and a future son-in-law stationed in Germany, and when she finally gave birth to a living baby... me.

There's one sympathy letter my mom received from a friend, after she lost the baby boy; it was written in ink, and you could see where Mother's tears had fallen on the letter, blurring some of the words. I probably would never have noticed this, but my mom pointed it out to me when I was growing up. I periodically went through all this stuff from the time I learned to read, poring over the details and asking my mom to explain things.

I've mentioned before that my mother and I butted heads all our lives. She only wanted the best for me, and she got a stubborn, hard-headed child who hated being manipulated. I'll give you an example:

Teenage years are difficult at best, but one thing my mom never had to worry about was what I was doing when I was away from home; because except for going to school, I never went anywhere without my parents. I didn't date; I didn't go to the Senior Prom (nor did I want to; I couldn't dance anyhow, it was against my parents' religion). I was that much a loner.

Around the time I was sixteen years old, I guess my mom got worried that I was never going to meet any boys, and she'd be stuck with me forever. So she decided to get me together with a cousin of some guys she worked with, a "good church boy" named Bill. She even had them set me up to go with him on a double date with his married cousin and his wife, all this without asking me what I thought, or if I wanted to go. We went to some movie and that was that... except Bill kept showing up at our house in the evening. I usually went to my room to get away from him, poor guy.

Then, my mom invited him to go to the family Thanksgiving dinner, two hours away at Grandma's house. There I was, stuck with him sitting with me in the back seat. And with all the family, I suppose, thinking I finally had a boy friend. It was one of the longest days of my life, and I believe it was the last time I ever saw Bill. Thank goodness! His last name was Pickle anyway, and can you imagine me as Donna Pickle? (I sure hope this doesn't get back to the Pickle family... they're nice folks, and I don't want them thinking I'm badmouthing them or their name.)

I was asked out by a couple of different guys while I was going to high school, but I turned them down. I was afraid I wouldn't know what to do or say on a date, I guess.

I was twenty years old before I ever dated or had a boy friend, and twenty-one when I married. My husband says one thing he liked about me was my oddness and my eccentricities.

Cliff would tell you I still hate for someone to attempt to manipulate me. He gave up trying years ago.

Haaaa!!!!

I was poking through the many pictures my cousin has added to our family tree site and came upon this one, a photo I had never seen. I'm glad I now have it, because it reminds me of all the years I milked cows.

It must have been taken in 1991 when Pauline, her husband, and their youngest daughter visited us. That's my mom's pickup truck parked in front of the mobile home in which she lived (our renters live there now).

For years I milked by hand, but by the time this picture was taken I was using bucket milkers. Cliff built that cart for me to transport all my stuff to the barn.

I never, ever wore shoes at home. The only reason I wear shoes these days is the curse of plantar fasciitis.

Yep, that's the real me. In 1991.

Thanks for the laugh, Pauline. When Cliff gets up, he's going to love this!

Random stuff

There are things in the woods that I'd never see if it weren't for hunting for mushrooms. And yes, I am still finding morels. Above, you'll see that the Sweet Williams' are really doing their thing.

Must be all the rain and cool temperatures making them thrive.

OK, you saw it here first: Almost every weekday after lunch, my dog and I watch "Law and Order" reruns... with our eyes closed. Cliff sneaked around and took this picture. Yes, Sadie is too big to be a lap dog. Please don't tell her, you'll hurt her feelings.

Happy Birthday to my first-born, my only son, Jim. Make it a good one, Son! Wish you were here shooting bull with your dad and your uncle.

Wordless Wednesday: Me and the ghost conductor at Union Station

I love Union Station!

Selfish me

I had no sooner finished with the previous entry when I saw a problem with my sentiments: It's all about me, me, me.

At my age, with eternity looking me right in the eye, I should be thinking, "My time is limited; what can I do to make the world a better place?" Or, "What can I do for my fellow man?"

Oh no, not me! I'm just concerned with having all the fun I possibly can before I die. Must be a result of being my mother's only birth-child, or the baby of the family.

Hmmm, I'll have to think on this awhile.

Added later: OK, I've pondered awhile. Nothing changed. Sorry.

about me

I think people get the impression that they know me well after they've read my journals for awhile; I suppose in many ways, they do.

But there's an aspect of my personality that doesn't often show through in my blogging life that I'm going to share now:

I'm totally a hermit at heart. I could spend the rest of my life without seeing or talking to another person except Cliff, and I'd get by just fine. The main thing I have against where I live is the total lack of privacy. Even back in the woods where my cabin is, you never know when somebody is liable to show up. (Especially during morel season.) Wasn't it Greta Garbo who was famous for saying, "I vant to be alone"?

My sentiments exactly. And it seems to get worse, the older I get.

Cliff has often said I don't need people around, and I'd say that's pretty much right, except that I do need him (he's not always so sure about that point, but it's true... and no, not just for his money-making abilities).

Because of my solitary ways, I suppose the second thing goes without saying: I am very self-centered. I'm not as compassionate as I ought to be; I have to work at empathy; it doesn't come naturally.

All this may go back to my childhood, because I was the only child in our household after my sister got married when I was two years old. We lived in various country places without a lot of neighbors around, and I learned early on to make my own entertainment and play make-believe alone. Daddy once told me that when I was small, I liked to have other kids come to visit, but I was glad to see them leave, too.

That hasn't changed.

So now you know.