The parental example

What life lessons did your parents teach you? We had a question like that in a group exercise at the women's club this week. I wrote a blog about this in 2007, and it's a good thing because by 2022 I would draw a blank.

Thirteen Little Things

When we are children we learn life time lessons from our parents, some by their words, others by actions. Today I'm jotting down 13 habits, techniques, behaviors, attitudes, etc. learned from my parents that are still with me, some without thinking about them, some throw aways, in no particular order. Chime in with a few of yours.

1. If you are with someone, always open the door and let your friend(s) walk through first.

2. Make a square, military corner on the bottom sheet (when I was a little girl there were no fitted sheets) to keep it from pulling loose. Stop to admire your effort. Although I don't do this now, the principle of doing something right the first time and taking pleasure in it is a good one.

3. Always wear an apron in the kitchen. Aprons certainly aren't what they used to be, and it seems to me food splashes more, so when I put one on, I often think of my dad who always reminded me, even as an adult.

4. Turn housework into a game (usually against the clock). My mother was big at trying to make "work" into "fun." This usually got an eye roll from me and a whine.

5. Respect others with your appearance. Both my parents would "fix up" for the other after their work day, and we always ate as a family with properly set table, pleasant conversation.

6. Clean up the kitchen after the meal; never leave dirty dishes on the counter or in the sink. I often fail with this one--maybe this would be a good New Year's resolution.

7. Start the week right with church attendance.

8. A gentleman always comes to the door to pick up a lady for a date. First timers meet the parents.

9. Sit like a lady (this was back in the days when girls and women usually wore skirts or dresses). Corollary: don't slouch.

10. The proper way to answer the phone. We often had to take orders for my dad, so this greeting I no longer use. However, I still keep paper and pencil by the phone, and I try not to mumble. I also overheard how dad spoke to his customers and even today I expect this from business people.

11. "A soft answer turns away wrath." This is my mother's from Proverbs 15:1. Never quite grasped this one, but it worked for my mother, who lived it and often quoted it. I can't remember her ever raising her voice (but she had a look in her eye that could stop you in your tracks).

12. The person who feeds the puppy is the one who will be loved by it. Usually this was Mom, because despite all our promises to care for it, she's the one who usually took pity on the poor thing. When I was growing up the dogs and cats lived outside. If it got bitterly cold, they could stay on the porch or in the basement.

13. In your lifetime you will probably have three really good friends. I'm still thinking about this one. Life has different stages--friendships vary--but the number seems pretty accurate.

Father’s Day June 16

I saw this today. "The greatest gift my father has ever given me was his time."

That's not the kind of dad I had. He worked 12 hours a day. I treasure the few memories I have like that because they were so few. Like riding in his truck listening to him sing. Or the Sunday afternoons he drove my girl friends and me to the skating rink. Or his carrying my 11 year old sister in his arms to take her to the hospital when the doctor said she had polio. Or when all six of us would drive to Rockford to see a movie--I even remember the names of the movies! King Solomon’s Mines.  African Queen. What do I remember? How he treated my mother. Like she was the most important person in the world. How he treated his own mother, stopping by to visit her almost every day. That's how to make a little girl feel special and safe.

Monday Memories--Letter from Dad, June 18, 2001

A letter from Dad.  He always left the correspondence up to Mom, but I did have a few notes from him after her death in January 2000, and found this one recently.  I had been writing him frequently, maybe once a week.

Monday, June 18, 2001
Dear Norma,
As I promised I’m going to write you a letter, so you can tell all your friends.  I’m going to go from Sunday backwards, instead of starting a week ago and go forward like you do.

Church 9 a.m.   June 17
Home at 10:45
Over to 408 Sunset at 12 noon.  Drove to Byron, but before getting out of the car, Ruth said, “This is on me.  I’m filling in for Norma and Joanne.  They would pay if they were here.” Back to Mt. Morris by 2 p.m.
At 3:00 Ruth and I went to the Baptist Church dedication.  The old one burned 2 years ago and they have been worshiping in the Leaf River Grade School since.  I don’t know why the Baptists have all the good speakers and we have none.
Back at 408 by 6 p.m.  Home by 7:30.

Saturday June 16
Went to Rockford to see J. Groenewold. Then to K’s Merchandise to buy electric razor 10 a.m. Home by 12. Nothing except weeds and napping rest of the day.

Friday, June 15
Took Gene and Betty to VFW in Oregon for Fish Fry. I’m sure they liked it.  They have a meal every Friday night as a fund raiser.
Tomorrow night Ruth and I are going to “Good Samaritan” supper as a fund raiser for Pinecrest.  Tickets on Ruth $100.00.

Thanks for all you and Bob have done to make my life at 11 West 1st the joy that it has become. You two were a great help in my adjusting to life without Olive.  I still miss her every day.
Love, Dad

The exclusiveness of being Norma

There are no men named Norma. There are no similar or even fairly similar names to Norma for either men or women. But there are a small number of men named Annie. And a huge number of similar names to Annie for both men (Ernie, Ananias) and women (Alexandrea, Ginny). You're probably thinking, What about Norman, but there are actually some women named Norman; but no men named Norma. So, I'm special.

The popularity of my name peaked in 1931, long before I was born. I think there were some movie stars named Norma (Shearer, Talmadge and the fictional Desmond) and for some reason, mommies want to name their babies after people who can't put three words together unless someone else has written it down for them. Marilyn Monroe didn't like her name and changed it. Maybe she didn't know about those other famous stars named Norma.

I was named by my father, a story my mother often told me when Dad was out of the room and mad at me for something. Apparently, with his third child he decided to try the daddy thing and was bouncing me around when I was an infant, tossed me in the air, and I hit my head on the ceiling light fixture. It was a long time before he picked up a baby again. By the time the great-granddaughters came along, he was getting pretty good at it, although I don't think he ever changed a diaper.

If you are choosing a baby's name and you wish the child to totally confuse future employers and the draft board, pick either Byrd or Kendall, the top two sexually ambiguous names. But if you want your daughter to stand out in a crowd, name her Norma.The special one
To check out your own name, try The Name Playground.

Friday Family Photo

My parents wedding photo.



This is when the Scots-Irish side and the German-Swiss-English side of my family got together after about eight or nine generations of pretty much sticking with their own kind. For many years I had thought myself an 8th generation American, but when more information on genealogy became so accessible via the internet, and I joined the Church of the Brethren listserv finding distant relatives, I added a few more generations. Many of them started out in Pennsylvania--I suppose if the roads had been better or if they had spoken the same languages, they might have bumped into each other. However, in the early 1700s, these ethnic groups had little or no social interaction and rarely married outside their own fellowships or neighborhoods. Moving west and south in the 1800s changed that somewhat, and by the 20th century many couldn't have even told you who their grandparents were.

My parents met on a "blind date" the summer before they started college in 1930 because a guy my dad knew was dating a girl in Franklin Grove (a girl friend of my mother) and didn't have a car. So dad drove, and both young men found a wife.

3357 Are you from Podunk?

For you non-USA'ns, "Podunk" is a synonym for the town from nowhere--too small to matter. Except to the people who live there. I grew up in two lovely Podunks, Forreston and Mt. Morris in Ogle County, Illinois, in the northern part of the state, close enough to Wisconsin and Iowa that we sometimes took Sunday afternoon drives to those states. Here is a website that's lots of fun, called epodunk.com where you can search out information about your little town. There are also Podunk sites for Canada and Ireland.

It appears to me now in 2007 that Forreston is the more attractive of the two, but when I was living there (1946-1951), Mt. Morris was twice the size and had the better business district, nicer homes, paved streets and more advanced schools. In those days Mt. Morris had a thriving publishing and magazine distribution industry--actually they are still there--but experienced a devastating strike in the 1970s, and the town has been slipping since. Even today, many libraries have subscriptions addressed to Mt. Morris. Statistically, the 2000 census still shows Mt. Morris with the higher median income and home values, but it essentially no longer has a school system, which really gutted the town of community spirit. Meanwhile, Forreston has diversified with small businesses, rallied its voters for bond issues, made itself a wonderful place to buy real estate and settle down, and has moved on. Both towns have housing stock with median range far below the national average.

The funny little picture on the Mt. Morris epodunk site is actually a post card of Pine Creek, IL where my dad grew up. It is closer to Dixon (home of Pres. Reagan) than Mt. Morris. Not sure how they select the graphics.

Friday Family Photo

Home on Hannah Avenue
My parents owned this home in Mt. Morris, IL from 1951-1958, then moved to Lincoln Street until 1996 when they moved to the Pinecrest Apartments. However, it was the third house Dad bought in Mt. Morris that year. It was his habit to buy a home for his family sight unseen by my mother. I think she got tired of remodeling old clunkers, and said NO to the nice new home on the east side of town because she thought it was too small. So then he bought a new two story on the east end of Lincoln Street, but it was too small also. So he traded that home for this lovely big old house on Hannah Avenue. It also had room for Dad's truck since it had a large barn/garage, a full basement, full attic, 4 bedrooms, and a den/office that doubled as a music room.


My brother and the barn on HannahThis was a great "kid" house. Within two blocks of us lived many children and it had an extra acre in the back yard. It had a tree in the front yard (not in photo) that was perfect for climbing, and I staked my horse in the back. Mom had a huge garden (although that wasn't so great for kids because we had to help) and for awhile we even had chickens (loose zoning). For slumber parties, I took over the living room and Dad's office/music room, and my sister Carol had hers in the attic which had a high pitch and windows on 3 sides. I could have the whole CBYF church group (probably 20 kids or so) on the front porch. When a girl friend moved to Florida after our junior year, I had all the girls from our class in the living room for a good-bye party. Different groups and classes from school used our barn for floats.

Although I wasn't around the summer the decision was made to sell this, my favorite house, it was sold after Mother remodeled everything! The next house, which they lived in for 38 years was cramped, small, had no style and only one bathroom. However, she spent about 1/3 of the value of the home just remodeling the kitchen, and Dad didn't sell it until they were ready to go to a retirement apartment! She used every clipping she'd been saving for years on this kitchen and had a carpenter custom make all the cabinetry because she was short. I call it her payback kitchen.

Monday Memories Honoring our Veterans

For all who have served, thank you for our freedoms. May we honor you by not abandoning them.
Dad and his brother in 1944

"From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli
We fight our country's battles
In the air on land and sea.
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to bear the title
Of United States Marines."
The Marine Hymn

"After the Marines participated in the capture and occupation of Mexico City and the Castle of Chapultepec, otherwise known as the "Halls of Montezuma," the words on the Colors were changed to read: "From the Shores of Tripoli to the Halls of Montezuma." Following the close of the Mexican War came the first verse of the Marines' Hymn, written, according to tradition, by a Marine on duty in Mexico. For the sake of euphony, the unknown author transposed the phrases in the motto on the Colors so that the first two lines of the Hymn would read: "From the Halls of Montezuma, to the Shores of Tripoli." "

Victory in Tripoli, our first war with Islamic terrorists in the 18th century.

Who would have thought when Dad and Uncle Russell had this candid shot fighting in the Pacific, that members of our Senate 62 years later would be trying to gut our history, honor and country?

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We miss you Dad

My Dad died four years ago--May 18, 2002. This photo, which I think was taken about a year before he died, makes me smile because he's standing in front of a shelving unit with a plate behind his head, and it looks like a halo! Christians don't believe we'll become angels, but we do believe in a bodily, physical resurrection, and I know that someday Dad won't have the frail body you see in this photo. He'll be strong and healthy and doing the Lord's work.

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Did I ever tell you that my Dad played football against the Gipper?
Not really, he played against Ronald Reagan, 40th President of the United States, who played George Gipp in the movie "Knute Rockne, All American." Win one for the Gipper became part of our language and Reagan used it also in politics. In addition to politics, President Reagan's career included lifeguard, broadcaster, movies and television, and motivational speaking, but during college he really did play football.

Reagan's boyhood home in Dixon, Illinois on the Rock River and my Dad's home in Pine Creek were just a few miles apart but in different counties. However, Dutch and Cub met through a mutual acquaintance when they were still in their teens. Dad was a poor farm boy about 16 and a senior in high school at Polo, IL. Reagan, who was two years older, was already attending Eureka College. A neighboring farmer thought Dad had potential because he'd seen how industrious he was (water boy for thrashers, selling cans of salve he'd ordered from a magazine advertisement, laboring in the fields with his farmer father). The neighbor knew the Reagan family from The Christian Church, so he arranged for Dad to meet Ron, thinking he might interest him in attending Eureka. Dad also had an offer of a small scholarship from the Polo Women's Club to attend the University of Illinois. I'm not sure what happened (a blind date with my mother, I think), but Dad ended up at Mt. Morris College with some financial help to play football.

Mt. Morris College slaughtered Eureka on November 15, 1930, 21 to zip, a story Dad enjoyed retelling when Reagan became famous (although Dad was a Republican, I sensed that he was not crazy about Reagan). To my knowledge, there are no photos of Dad and Reagan butting heads or tackling each other, but I like to think they are somewhere in the jumble of arms and legs in this photo with farm buildings in the background. Say, is that my mother over there on the sidelines, cheering on the team?



My mother was an excellent student who really wanted an education--both of her parents had also attended Mt. Morris College in the 1890s. Dad was smart, but I suspect he was there to have a good time and play football. There was a disastrous fire on Easter Sunday 1931 when most of the students were home on holiday. Although the college reopened for the 1931-32 school year, my mother's family couldn't afford the tuition so she went to work in Chicago as a domestic. Dad returned to school with a football scholarship--at least in the fall. In the 1931 final game with Eureka College, the score was 0-0. The college yearbook says Dad didn't play the last four games due to a heart problem.

President Reagan visited his alma mater often, 12 times between 1941 and 1992. Eureka College is still educating young people, but Mt. Morris College closed after almost 100 years when the class of 1932 graduated. Except for his time in the Marines during WWII, Dad lived in Mt. Morris the rest of his life.

Dad, 1930, 17 years old
---------------
Lazy Daisy,
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Katherine,
Libragirl,
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Kimmy

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Did I ever tell you about my green thumb?

On one of my parents’ visits (they lived in Illinois and we live in Ohio) when our children were about 4 and 5, my mother gave them each a small potted houseplant. I think they may have been starts from her kitchen window collection. I'm absolutely terrible with plants, but these two little things (I never took them out of their original pots and have no idea what they are called) managed to survive on my window sill at our house for over 30 years. They always looked just awful, but they were alive, and I admired their spunk.

People who knew about plants would pause at the window and try to snip off a few dead leaves and make suggestions like, "Why are you binding up their poor little feet in those small pots," or "Have you thought about fertilizer, moving them, trimming them, etc." But the two little plants just kept on keeping on, year after year, through pre-school, grade school, high school, birthday parties, prom dates, family crises, the kids moving out and finally moving on to their own marriages and homes and coming back to visit. In fact, those poor little scruffy, pitiful, limp plants sat on the window sill through two wedding brunches, in 1993 and 1998 (one described last week).

Before we moved to the condo in 2002 I gave one plant to my son, who seems to know about how to encourage green things. He even has a cactus collection; flowers bloom around his mailbox. The other one I put in the stairwell for a bit of greenery that wasn't artificial. Every now and then I'd bring it to the kitchen so it could look out the window, but there really is no place for plants in this kitchen. In general, condos are a bit light-deprived. Our house had 34 windows; the condo has maybe 10.

In mid-May of 2002 the remaining stunted, deprived plant started to falter. When I returned home from my parents' burial (Mom died in 2000 and Dad in 2002, but they were interred together) in late May I thought maybe it needed more sun since it had been accustomed to an east window at our house. So I put it outside in the covered entry area--you know--fresh air, sunshine. It works for people.

It continued to wilt, obviously in the throes of a death struggle. One little vine was left with green leaves among some sticks. After 32 years, I actually bought a bag of potting soil--something I'd never done when the little twig still had a chance. I moved it to a larger pot and put it on the deck on the north side to see if I could encourage it. But I think it knew its job was over.

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2153 Can't you sit like a lady?

One of the Thursday Thirteens I have in mind to write is proverbs, sayings and comments from my parents that have stayed with me over the years. We all have them, even if Mom and Dad died years ago. Oh, maybe it wasn't your parents; maybe grandma, or a friend you admired who sort of mentored you. But they are there, little phrases and sayings speaking out when you need them. Or don't need them and wish they'd go away.

Sometimes I can hear Daddy calling across the living room, "Can't you sit like a lady," but yesterday he was saying it from my memory bank to the lovely young mother talking to me via the video screen/DVD at church. She has movie star good looks, a fabulous voice (I think she said she was a communications and voice major in college), a great sense of humor, wisdom and a presence before an audience that must be natural, because she couldn't be old enough to have developed it from experience or training.

In the final session she is not in front of a studio audience, but supposedly is in her own family room for a wrap up and review. With her Bible, she sits down on her couch, tucks one leg under her bottom, and brings one bare foot up and immediately hikes her knee (she's wearing jeans) up in front of her chest. Sort of casual for talking to a couple of million ladies in Bible study, wouldn't you say? And I think that was the point. . . Ladies, let's get real and personal here was the idea her director and writer wanted to convey.

But I've seen women do that on national television. On Oprah. On David Letterman. Usually they are in jeans, occasionally in slacks, and I've never seen anyone do it in a dress, even if the dress would cover the exposed legs and bottom. Why do women sit that way? My mother's generation didn't (b. 1912). Nor did my grandmother's (b.1876). Sloppy posture and ungainly poses only started when women began wearing jeans and slacks in public (farm women and factory women wore them much earlier than urban women) in the 1940s. They aren't imitating men, because usually only gay guys sit that awkwardly, and I assume they are imitating women.

So from my daddy's lips to your ears and hips:
Can't you sit like a lady?

1756 Happy Birthday Marines

Semper Fi, and thank you all veterans and current armed forces members for your service this Veterans' Day.

Dad and his brother Russell, both Marines
"On November 10th, 1775, the Second Continental Congress resolved to raise two battalions of Continental Marines marking the birth of our United States Marine Corps. As Major General Lejeune's message reminds us, the ensuing generations of Marines would come to signify all that is highest in warfighting excellence and military virtue. Each November as Marines the world over celebrate the birth of our Corps, we pay tribute to that long line of "Soldiers of the Sea" and the illustrious legacy they have handed down to us." Message from M. W. Hagee General, U.S. Marine Corps

Dad's brother John was in the Army and took part in the invasion of Normandy and was wounded then and again in Belgium; Russell served in Alaska and then was with the first wave of Marines who stormed Iwo Jima and was wounded; their cousins Andy, Bill and Phil were in the Army serving in Europe, Philippines and Korea; cousin Wayne and brother-in-law Glaydon were in the Navy and served in the Pacific; cousin-in-law Harlan served in the Army in New Guinea and the Philippines; brother-in-law Johnny was in the Coast Guard; brother-in-law Charlie was also in the service, but I don't know the branch. Another brother-in-law, Clare, was in the Army Air Force and died in the China, Burma India Theater.

Dad served on the U.S.S. Mayo and made two trips across the Atlantic and one trip each to Okinawa, the Philippines and Japan. Not bad for a kid who had probably not been further away from home than Chicago and never learned to swim.

All but two of these men were from the same town and all are deceased now. [Service records and photos of over 400 men and women for a town of less than 3,000 appear in "War Record of Mount Morris" edited by Harry G. Kable, 1947.] Even the town band was part of the National Guard and served in the Fiji Islands.

1624 The Nose Knows

People born after 1970 probably have a sense of smell influenced by air fresheners and scented candles. But my nose can track a memory of home or people at a slight whiff. Yours too, if you think about it. Here's my list. What's yours?

My mother.
Fresh baked apple sour cream pie, and cinnamon bread hot from the oven on a Saturday evening
Coty Face powder.

My dad.
Fuel oil and gasoline being pumped.
After-shave--I think it might be Mennen.

High school days.
Any Prince Matchebelli cologne
New text book when opened the first time.

World War II.
Anything that smells like the San Francisco/Oakland Bay area in smog and fog.
Desert air in a Ford with the windows down.

Trail rides in the country.
Any barn with some fresh horse manure and leather smell from the tack room
Inside of a truck used to transport horses--old clothes, food wrappers, etc.

Ogle County Illinois fair.
Cotton candy
root beer.

My oldest son.
Avon baby oil

Pine or fir trees.
Any Christmas before 1993 when we got an artificial tree
White Pines State Park

Summers at my mother's farm.
Fresh produce from the garden
Laundry from a clothes line

Manchester College, Indiana
Stinky drinking water with iron(?) deposits
Instant coffee made with hot tap water

My daughter.
Safari cologne
Doctor's office

My son.
Stale cigarettes
Large Dogs

My son-in-law.
Tommy cologne for men

1338 Did you spend the night at Grandma's house?

Parenting is the title of a column in the Plain Dealer written by Dr. Sylvia Rimm. This morning's question was from a mother of 3 whose own parents who live close don't invite her children to have "overnights," but her husband's parents who live some distance welcome the opportunity. I only skimmed it since I was already writing this blog in my head, so I don't recall Dr. Rimm's solution.

Did you? I didn't. Well, once I think. It must have been for a very good reason, and because it was so rare, I remember that time with great fondness. My paternal grandmother was blind, but she knew all about kids--she'd raised 9 on a farm with no plumbing or electricity. My dad, understandably, believed she'd paid her dues in the mothering department, and didn't want her watching kids for anyone, not even my mother. His siblings just ignored his example, and so my cousins had all the fun plus grandma's good company and the influence of her sweet nature.

My husband and his siblings and cousin spent every week-end with his "Neno and Biggie." Those days and their fine Christian values and modeling really live on in his memory to this day. While his parents slept in on Sunday morning after a night of partying, the kids were in Sunday School at Memorial Presbyterian. The grandparents were actually raising his cousin, so I suspect the other children were welcomed playmates for her. He also spent his summers with his father's family at a cottage at Lake Webster, Indiana. His parents were divorced, so this was a way to be a part of his father's family. God bless all the aunties and grandmas who fill in the missing chinks in a child's life!

My own cildren never spent overnights with my parents, although all their cousins did (I think it was rare). I did ask once, was turned down, and never asked again. We lived two states away, so obviously a week-end jaunt wouldn't have been convenient. Once when the children were in pre-school we did take a week's vacation and left them with my sister-in-law who had a day care center. They thought they'd died and gone to heaven, and hoped all the other kids were new "cousins." When they were in middle school we flew them to California to spend a week with my father-in-law and his wife. They still talk about that visit (grandpa cooked bacon in the microwave!) and remember it fondly.

I didn't read Dr. Simm's reply, but because the writer refers to her parents' home as "museum like" I think I can detect the problem. Either Mommy has no rules at all and wants no one, especially Mom, to discipline the little sweety pies, or she has a list of rules to follow that runs to eleven type written pages, about bedtime, favorite foods, allergies, bath temperature, laundry soap, type of reading material, etc. Someone doesn't measure up in these kinds of situations.

1149 The Father's Day Card

On May 18, 2002 I was at the Columbus Museum of Art waiting for an exhibit guide, and selected a Father's Day card for my Dad at the gift shop. When I got home that afternoon, I learned he'd died about the time I was selecting it. Here's part of the essay I wrote about that, and the pastor included it in his memorial service.

"Picking out appropriate cards for a no nonsense, tough old bird like my Dad was never easy--he didn't golf, or fish, was never gushy or lovey dovey, didn't do any of the stuff that Hallmark Dads did year after year in muted masculine colors. But this card, without giving credit, superimposed a Bible passage over a newspaper stock report, "spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge." I recognize that this passage refers to the Spirit of the Lord resting on the shoot from the stem of Jesse in Isaiah 11 because it is repeated in baptism in the Lutheran service. Still, it seemed to fit--particularly since I saw him many times pouring over the newspaper business section or working cross word puzzles. The words and art. I thought, I'll take it along to Illinois and slip it into the casket.

Most of us are "adult children" of our parents for many more years than we are "minor children," therefore it is never too late to be a good parent, or a grateful child. As a child I yearned for a dad that would give me a hug or attend my school functions or praise me for good grades (although I don't think I knew any fathers like that). Although I noticed he worked 12 hour days, visited his parents every Sunday, never missed church, and treated my mother with respect and love, it doesn't mean a whole lot when you are a typical, self-centered, moody adolescent. As an adult, it gives you strength and comfort.

It never occurred to me in the 1950s that he probably didn't enjoy driving a car-load of screaming teen-age girls to the White Pines roller rink on his only day off, or that he didn't have to let me pasture a horse in our back yard (which he personally road home from the farm where I purchased him to be sure he was safe). And having my mother be the primary parent means I still remember the occasional ice cream treats he'd bring home, or that he would drive us 40 miles to see a movie in Rockford once in awhile.

But the memory that brings the tears is Dad with my sister Carol: first, carrying her out of our quarantined house to be admitted to the hospital for polio 53 years ago, and then standing beside her hospital bed to support her own children as the life support was removed after a stroke many years later.

No, it is never too late to be a good parent or a grateful child.

1043 Halcyon Days

After church this morning I was talking to Lori who is teaching knitting to the children of Highland School where many of our members, including my husband, volunteer. She was excited about what she is learning about teaching knitting, so I said I wished she had an adult class. She was waiting for a live one, because within 2 minutes we'd arranged for her to come to my house Thursday morning at 8 a.m. to teach me to knit!

When I got home I remembered I had an old knitting/crochet guide book that had belonged to my Mother, and I thought I'd scan the cover to use with the story I'd planned to do about Lori teaching me to knit (later in the week). In the hunt for the book, which I haven't found, I came across a plastic bag of paper memorabilia I must have brought home after Mother's funeral in 2000. It contained things like a poetry book she'd created in high school, the 1933 Century of Progress guidebook, a dear post card in child script from her brother Clare (died in WWII) from Winona Lake, IN, and two score cards for the Chicago Cubs for 1934, which were probably picked up during my parents' very brief honeymoon. The odd piece of paper was a stock certificate for 300 shares of the Halcyon Mining Company of South Dakota. At $1.00 per share that had set my Dad back $300 ($4,000 in today's money) at a time when they had two toddlers and were in the midst of the Depression.

I called my brother, who is a stockbroker and who ably handled my father's investments in his later years, and asked if he had any recollction of this or why Dad would have taken such risks. He wasn't familiar with event, but speculated it might have been a salesman passing through town with the lure of quick riches. I'm sure the company went belly up, and it doesn't take much imagination to recreate my parents' discussion of the use of their very limited funds (assuming my Mother even knew about it). I think Dad hung on to it as a reminder--because I have a dim memory of his showing it to me many years ago.

Old stock certificates are collectibles even if the stock itself is worthless. This hobby is called "scripophily" and is related to stamp collecting. "Scripophily, the collecting of canceled old stocks and bonds, gained recognition as a hobby around the mid-1970s. The word resulted combining words from English and Greek. The word "scrip" represents an ownership right and the word "philos" means to love. Today there are thousands of collectors worldwide in search of scarce, rare, and popular stocks and bonds. Collectors who come from a variety of businesses enjoy this as a hobby, although there are many who consider scripophily a good investment. In fact, over the past several years, this hobby has exploded. Dot com companies and scandals have been particularly popular." (Wikepedia)

Here's a site that sells gold and silver mining stock certificates, and you can see for yourself how interesting and artistic they are. I did find a Halcyon certificate on the Internet selling for about $45 in one offer. My husband has matted and framed it for me so we'll keep it around as a reminder that things aren't always as good as they seem in the heat of a sales pitch.


Halcyon Mining Company

584 In Memory of Dad

While Dad's away at war, we plant our "victory garden." 

468 The September 11 Anniversary

September 11, 1960 

It is our 44th wedding anniversary. For our 40th, we went to Illinois and worshipped in the Church of the Brethren where we were married. At my father’s home we hosted a brunch for the dwindling group of relatives and friends who still live there. I was on vacation that September, due to retire from Ohio State on October 1 and running out the clock on my vacation time.

We laughed about what an unusual anniversary it was--we'd spent the week-end in lumber stores and paint shops helping my Dad fix up the Lustron he bought after my mother died. And I always say "we" although only my husband did the exhausting work. I just cooked and cleaned, using ingenuity since Dad thought no one would visit after Mom died and had disposed of most of the cooking utensils and had only 2 plates and flatware settings.

Yes, we thought it an odd anniversary. Little did we know that the next one, September 11, 2001, would be so different, no one would forget it. I watched the re-cap/memorial on CNN that was apparently put together for the 2002 anniversary (I‘m guessing from the copyright date). Although it brought back a lot of horrifying memories, I also saw many things I hadn’t seen before, such as recollections of the press core that was with President Bush on that day and footage of the minutes and hours immediately following the news. He definitely has a stunned look on his face as he sits with the children and you can almost see him composing words of comfort and rallying points--which he then did effortlessly before he rushed to his plane to go to an underground site for a strategy meeting. Hardly a word was different than what he says today.

As I’ve watched Al Gore implode over the last four years from a capable, honest statesman in Clinton’s shadow who won the 2000 popular vote but not the electoral vote into a bitter, hysterical enemy of the administration, I wonder if he could have possibly shown the strength, endurance and steadfastness President Bush has shown, or would he have collapsed under the weight and pressure?