Mother and Daughter (#5 of 6)

Mama

I spent time with my dear mother today. They are bittersweet, our visits, these days. Mama is in the throes of Alzheimer's. Her more vivid memories now, are of her childhood, her mother and father, her siblings and Grandmother and Granddad Vaughan. In the last few years, she seemed not always to recognize photos of my father, her husband of 59 years. Today, however, she talked of "your dad", and looked and looked at a photo taken 12 years ago. They were sitting with Dad's arm around her under the arbor in the back yard. She wasn't sure that was her husband because "your dad wasn't that heavy". She embraces older memories of when they were young farmers, when Dad ate like a horse but worked it all off. He was slight of frame and slender then.

She has been a widow almost nine years. And we have come full circle.

Her daughters are her mother now. Daughters divvie out her medicine from a locked box. We buy the groceries. We make sure her hair is combed and that she bathes. We check to see if she is eating and ask nosey questions about her bowels. We clean up after her. We boss her, encourage her and tell her what to do, when to do it and why. I find myself talking to her as tho she is a toddler, explaining, reminding and preparing her for the event ahead.

Mom had a bad day yesterday. She couldn't get her front door open to get her afternoon newspaper. She was scared, shaking and trembling when my brother and his wife came by. They couldn't calm her. She needed to call someone! My brother helped her call, Mary, her youngest daughter, two blocks away. Mary came and helped soothe her. Now the talk is of nursing home. Our aim had been to keep her at home just as long as possible.
What is the best for our dear mother? The noise and commotion of a nursing home where strangers will tell her when to dress, when to eat, when to use the lavatory instead of her daughters? What if she tries to leave the nursing home to find her "real" home -- the home that she sometimes looks around now and says "how did I get here?" because in her mind, she is living in a rural farm house with a slightly built, handsome , young farmer? Or would it be best to leave her be , leave her to mostly quiet days at home until she forgets the next thing or can't get the door open and is scared and shaking and out of control? But forgets later about the terror, the panic. I pray for the answer -- but my siblings may make the decision for me. I sense the tide going out. I sense the swing. I dread the nursing home where strangers will judge my Mama.

Tonight, I give Mama a bedtime snack. I pull her bedspread back, fluff her pillow and lay out her nightgown. I wait for her to do her nightly hygiene, ingrained for 86-1/2 years. I kiss her goodnight.

Good night, Mama. I love you.

Dale and Leurine Hofmeister

Leurine Sychra married Dale Hofmeister on May 11, 1942.

This photo is dated July 4, 1942 so they were newlyweds. This might have been taken at one of their parents houses because there are yard chickens in the background. Leurene never told me the the details about this photo but weren't they a handsome couple!

They first met at a dance out to Williamson. I think they watched each other awhile and finally managed an introduction and danced together the rest of the time. Before the night was over, Dale asked, and got permission to take Leurine home. The rest, they say, is history.

They fell in love and married during the Second World War. Dale first worked in an aircraft plant in Kansas City. Leurine joined him there in a small apartment and from the little Leurine told me, it was a very happy time. They had a motor scooter and zipped around the city. They socialized with friends, laughed and enjoyed their marriage and each other.


Dale entered the US Army on April 15, 1945. Leurine and their 18-month old son, Larry, went back to stay with Gramma Sychra while Dale attended flight school. Dale wrote some letters while he was there -- to his folks, his sister and his brothers but the love letters he wrote to Leurine were seen only by her.
I first met my new inlaws on my wedding day. I had dragged their son out to my folks a few times but he had never "taken me home" to meet his parents although Lanny's Mother caught us on the street once in Creston and I was introduced to her there! I'm sure they must have been surprised when Lanny brought me into their home and said "this is my wife". Maybe, he said "this is my wife, Nancy" !! There were congratulations all around and I'm sure a few questions, but not many. I was bashful and a little uncomfortable and we didn't stay long and we were soon back in the car and driving towards my new home in Sioux City.

But the introduction, the welcome and the unflappablity of this wonderful couple set the tone for our relationship in the years following. They were always warm and hospitable, calm and caring, responding with help and advice when asked but never critical or complaining. They admired and loved our babies, took us in without hesitation when we showed up on the doorstep unannounced for the weekend. Leurine washed baby faces, gave baby baths and powdered their little behinds. Dale walked little ones around the yard and sat them on tractors, lawn mowers and boats.

The folks helped us move many a time and Leurine always made sure the beds were made up that first night in a new home, with clean sheets. Dale helped shingle, made a coat rack for the preschool, threatened to spank the older girls when they wouldn't leave "Tanks" and would meet us at Williamson at 10 p.m. when Johanna wanted to stay with Gramma and Grampa but couldn't quite do it.

Now, this October, Dale has been gone 5 years and Leurine almost 10 years. Those years have flown by -- it seems as though it was just yesterday that lovely, smiling Leurine reached out her hands for a baby . . . and proud Dale held Morghan Grace on his lap and saw newborn Jack in the hospital.

Leurine set a high standard -- but if I can do one thing, I hope that I can be the same kind of parent-in-law that Leurine and Dale were for me.

October fun . . .

The family gathered round this weekend to celebrate Lanny's birthday. We will be off for vacation on his actual birthday so we celebrated it up good this weekend.

This hour of fun in the driveway with a huge pile of dry leaves was a side benefit.

All five grandchildren joined in and there were no tears, no harsh words, no hesitation. They all jumped in and raked and pushed and worked hard. They threw leaves into the evening sky and had a fall romp. We lost shoes and socks and entire children in that leaf pile -- then had fun finding them all.

May we enjoy many more such hours. I was, again, entertained.

borrowed from: http://www.cafepress.com/zoooglebunny8

and I am entertained

I love children and their imaginations and I've heard or read that children sometimes can't tell the difference between reality and those other thoughts that swirl around in their dear little heads until they are 6 or 7 years old (depending on the child, of course). So I always tried to be gentle when one of my children or now, my grandchildren, told me a whopper.

First of all it can be highly entertaining for me and it is good for little ones to use and stretch their imaginations. They could grow up to be writers or artists or storytellers and then it is good practice for the teenage years too! So, I listen to their story and then remind them that it was a story -- and a good one! Sometimes you can tell the child must have dreamed the sequence of events and you can remind them that the wonderful story was a dream and happened in their sleep. Of course, if it a frightening dream, they need a hug and reassurance.

Morghan Grace, a few months back told me an especially charming story of how she kept a bunny rabbit in the house all one winter without her Mama knowing. The mama rabbit naturally had babies and Morghan got to witness that and then she had the chore of hiding a mama rabbit and a bunch of babies. We were both giggling by the time she got done; we both knew she was telling a story. And we both enjoyed every minute of it!

Jack Gibson, 5 years old

Jack, all boy

Jack Gibson turned 5 years old the other day. He had a party with his Mom, Dad, big sister, little sister and two sets of grandparents. He was the star of the party and enjoyed every minute of it.

Jack attends daycare and preschool. Jack likes dinosaurs, cars, trains and all things "boy". Jack also likes girls but that is another story for another day. Jack usually has a twinkle in his eye and loves to joke and tease. He is at that stage where he likes to pick on his big sister and even likes to tease his little sister but after scaring Maddie Mae one day by wearing a frightful monster mask, he patted her and tried to comfort her. "Its okay, Maddie. Its okay." Jack has a mind of his own and a bit of an ornery streak but is also kind and loving.

Jack can be very determined. If he makes up his mind to something, he does it. He learned to ride the 2-wheeler when he was only 3-1/2 years old. If he decides he doesn't like a food, forget trying to coax him into eating it. At the cabin this summer, he asked me if he could put the wooden truck in the swimming pool. I said, Jack, if you do, the wood will swell up and it might warp. (Try explaining "warped" to a 4-1/2 year old.) After several conversations, Jack did indeed put the truck in the pool. So later, after swimming at the beach, Jack was upset to find that the wheels wouldn't turn on the truck. "Well, Jack, you put the wooden truck in the water and the wood swelled." Jack was VERY unhappy and wanted it fixed right Now! I told him only time might fix it. That did not make him one bit happy but he put the truck in the air-conditioned cabin and was delighted the next morning when the wood had dried out and the wheels turned once again.

Jack is athletic and tall, kind and caring. Ornery boy. Jack Gibson, Nana loves you!

Mt. Zion

Morghan Grace, age 7, helps her PaPa with the flags at the stone of her great grandparents, Dale and LaRene Hofmeister, Memorial Day 2006

Decoration Day

Decoration Day

Originally, it was called Decoration Day and it was observed on May 30, not the last Monday of May.

Each Memorial Day or the Sunday before, Mom would cut what flowers were in bloom. She usually had iris and bridal wreath and Gramma Austin would provide peonies. Then, with whatever kids would fit in the car and Gramma and Grampa Austin, Dad would head out to several cemeteries. There was the Lorimor cemetery where Uncle Bob was buried. This was always sad as Uncle Bob died from being struck by lightening when he was just 34, leaving a widow and two young children. Everyone would stand around the grave, solemnly, and Gramma would wipe her eyes with her pretty lace handkerchief.

Oak Hill cemetery, in southeast Union County, held the graves of Dad’s grandparents and great grandparents. This cemetery sat high on a hill with evergreen trees standing guard and we children could always find pine cones or run over and look around the Church. This cemetery wasn’t so sad as the grandparents were old when they died and the great grandparents, although a source of pride as they were some of the earliest settlers in Union County, had not been known, not even by my father. Cornwall was just a couple of miles away, and again, the great-grandparents there had died before my dad was born but the cemetery was old and interesting and we kids had plenty to look at and take in while here.

Shannon City Cemetery was another sad place as Dad’s sister, Betty Jane, was buried there. She died as a baby. It was during a bad time with Gramma and Grampa Austin. They were living at Arispe, out at Gramma Austin’s parent house, I think. Grampa had diabetes and doctors were just beginning to use insulin to treat it but you had to have money to buy it. Times were hard.

Gramma had been sick, as well as several of the children, and it was too much for baby Betty Jane when she came down with the flu. Uncle Bob, the oldest child, had been directed to go after the doctor. “Take the car and get the doctor, Bob.” In those days, the car had to be hand-cranked at the front of the car. If you weren’t careful, not thinking about what you were doing, scared for your baby sister or just unlucky, the crank would come back and break your arm. So, along with the sickness inside, there was Uncle Bob outside with a broken arm. Things were very bleak that winter and when wee Betty Jane died, she was buried at Shannon City, probably driven over in a little casket in the trunk of the car that broke Uncle Robert’s arm. It was very sad to think of a baby being in that cemetery and sad to hear the details of that long winter.

There were other family members in the Shannon City cemetery too. One, more distant, relative’s family had not had enough money for a grave stone so the survivor, a daughter, I think, had marked the grave with colored, broken glass. Originally, the grave had looked gay and bright with the bits of glass outlining the plot and catching the sun on a beautiful spring day but when I was a child, one had to get down and look closely to see some of the bits. A few years ago, Granny and I stopped out there and I could not find the grave. Could not see a loved ones grave decorated, for lack of something more substantial, with many – thousands -- of multi-colored pieces of glass so that their loved one would be remembered.

In early May I will take a basket of pretty flowers to my father's grave and will put out an American flag that Lanny asks me to display for his patriotic, conservative father-in-law. I will stop every two or three days and talk to my daddy and water the basket until the cemetery’s deadline for decorations, shortly after Memorial Day. I do this because I want to; I do it gladly.

Lanny and I will drive out to Mt. Zion Cemetery. We will carry artificial flowers and two flags to decorate his parents’ grave, LaRene and Dale. After honoring and remembering his good parents, we will stroll up and pay homage to his grandparents, Shorty and Mary. Then we’ll go to the west end and visit the stone of his Great Grandmother Eva Hofmeister. She died when her twin boys were 1-1/2 or 2 years old. She must have been RH negative, a dangerous situation in those days and while pregnant, or after delivering her third child, her own antibodies attacked her and she died too young along with her babe. Her parents are there too, Norman and Mary Keesler Walker. They came to Iowa from Ohio to live near their daughter. In their photos they look like good, caring folks – hardy stock. Norman lived to be 85 years and Great-great Grandmother Mary Walker died at 92 years.

There are other family members there. There are several Maxedon stones but I would need my family history charts to make the family connection; however, this year I tell Morghan Grace, age 7, that the Maxedon’s were family. It is my duty to plant some seeds, to make some memories with young ones so that in future years, Morghan Grace can take little ones around and show them the old folks, the old stones and tell them about the five generations of family here, at Mt. Zion.

In 2006, I do not keep the tradition, as I should. Granny and I wander the country at odd times, stopping at cemeteries in Union County. We don’t carry in the peonies, bridal wreath and iris of yore but just drive through and remember the old ones with some conversation and thoughts. We might stop and get out of the car and look at a stone here or there -- and reminisce of lost family or trips in years past. In our own way, we remember and celebrate Decoration Day.

Mr. and Mrs. F. M. Austin

Miss Catherine Janice Coe and Forrest Marion Austin were married October 23, 1938 in Madison County, Iowa. Miss Janice was still living with her parents, the Lewie Coe's and Forrest might have been living with his folks too, RB and Mattie Austin, all Madison County residents, until the wedding day.

Forrest had just returned from living in Kansas City. He went to the big city when times were tough but found that his living expenses were as much as his salary (and him working two jobs, to boot) and when he got to his folks, he met the new neighbors . . .
New neighbors had moved in and they had a nice looking girl that had just graduated from high school. I hadn't given much thought to girls. I could hardly make a living for myself, but this one I couldn't resist.

"There she was, this pretty maiden,
Pure and sweet, and very fair.
So I wooed and Wooed and won her,
Filled her gentle heart with care."
Took about two months.
He liked what he saw . . .
So on October 22 on a Saturday, I took the afternoon off, picked up my Sweety and we went to Winterset and got a marriage license. Courthouses were open on Saturday them days. Sunday afternoon, we went to the Methodist Parsonage and got married. I couldn't have made a better choice. We took a boy and girl that we had been double-dating with along. The girl's mother made a big supper for us. Monday, I picked corn. I had to get it while it was there. I helped finish up for three or four other farmers. When corn picking was over, it was over. There wasn't any more work until Spring. I picked corn 'til up near Christmas and that's all we had to live on that first winter, but we made it.

So we hitched up in double harness and she pulled her share. Maybe more.
And after 59 years of marriage, Forrest had advice on how to stay married that long . . .
Well, after 59 years of marriage, I feel qualified to give out a few tips on how to keep peace in the family.

1. Stay out of her kitchen. You'll just make a mess she will have to clean up. That one is not hard for me to do.

2. Never watch baseball on TV with her. Well, you can watch but don't talk the game.

3. Never try to win an argument. Just say OK. You'll lose the argument but get the last word.

4. Never leave the stool seat up. I never knew why it was worse for her to let it down than it was for me to lift it up. But I learned to let it down. I also let the lid down. It looks better that way, anyhow. We never had that problem in the old outhouse.

5. Never, never put Channel Catfish in her sink and run water on them. Catfish can live a long time out of water.

Well, if these don't work for you, I take no responsibility for them. But after all, a long marriage boils down to the words of this old song:
"You've got to give a little, take a little,
Let your poor heart break a little,
That's the story of, that's the glory of love."
Anyhow, I'm glad I caught that "Fair Young Maiden." She was a keeper. And I've still got her. And I still love that Old Woman.
And I'm glad that he was , he did . . . and that he wrote it down and published it as a testiment to my mother.
Forrest's testiment taken from his article dated 10/30/1997 in his column the Good Ol' Days, as published in the "Afton Star Enterprise".

History Lesson: The Delco Plant

This is a pretty typical Delco Light Plant. They were often used on farms, homes and camps before rural electrification. With 16, lead / acid cells in tall, square glass jars you would have a battery bank to supply 32 volts dc to the home. You could get 28, 30, and 32 volt light bulbs, which had ordinary screw in bases. The voltage for the bulb depended upon how far from the light plant and battery bank were from the bulb. They generally burned either Distillate or Kerosene, after being started with gasoline. . . . borrowed from the internet
Gramps and Granny had a Delco Plant, that is what they always called it, in the basement of the "new" house at Peru. Gramps built the house before electricity was available in rural Madison County. He knew that rural electric was not far off so he wired the house for electricity but in the meanwhile, the folks used a Delco Plant (generator) to run the appliances in the house.

Tracia Hofmeister, August 30

She gives kisses and hugs and tucks the little ones up in bed. She kisses boo boos, wipes noses and tears. She referees and cheerleads, teaches colors and counting and manners. She feeds and bathes and picks up after. She has eyes in the back of her head. Mother

She attends classes, writes papers and takes tests. She apprentices in the local school, fills in for the absent teacher and chaperones the junior high dance. Student and teacher.

She tends her elderly clients, runs errands, give meds. She arrives on time, bonds with her folks and always goes the extra mile. She gives tender, loving care, a gentle hand and even resuscitates when that situation presents itself. Caregiver.

She cleans and organizes. She paints and decorates, fixes and repairs. She sweeps, dusts, polishes and creates. House plants thrive and her thumb grows green as she learns to garden and landscape. Domestic engineer and artist.

Petite, pretty; beautiful bride. She supports, listens, comforts, encourages, cajoles, teases and rejoices with him. Softball widow. Wife.

She entrusts her precious ones to grandparents even though it is hard to leave the little ones. She welcomes in-laws with open arms and makes gifts of peanut butter and jelly and cashews; she is hospitable and generous. Beloved daughter-in-law, Tracia

Dana Lee Frey, The Champ

Dana Lee Frey, Father and Ping Pong Champ

Dana celebrated his 33rd birthday on August 25, 2005. In the new language of the internet, he is my SIL. I think. I have not taken a class in that language, or checked out a dictionary, but I am assuming that such an acronym means son-in-law. He is husband to Erica and Dad to Morghan, Jack and Maddie Mae.

He is a man's man. He is competitive. He is athletic and generous and a big tease. He wins consistently in competitions and beats me in Pitch although “the women” can usually win at “Up and Down the River”. I think he has been thrown out of Scrabble competitions for creative spelling. Rules must always be spelled out ahead of time, when playing with Dana, and carved in stone - paper isn’t good enough! Someday, when we cannot stand to lose another game to him, girls, we shall stage a Pictionary contest and then we will see who the “Big L” is!

Dana, happy birthday! Work hard and play hard. Know when to hold ‘em. May you always be enthusiastic, have coconut cream pie and lose ONCE in a while!

The Brick

Joseph Austin Hofmeister, 2 years

Grampa Dale and then his son, Lanny, used to say that certain of our kids had the "devil in his/her eyes". I never liked that much, the reference to the devil, because the look in the eye was just mischievious, curiousity, okay, pure orneriness to me. And that is what I see when I look in Joseph Austin Hofmeister's eyes, pure, unadulterated orneriness.

Joe is busy, active, agile and impulsive. His dad calls him "the Brick". Joey's eyes give him away alot; I can see what he's thinking sometimes -- before he acts -- but then other times -- Not! He's quick to think, to act, to do!

I think he is ever curious, ever watchful, ever learning. I've mentioned this before but it is a good illustration. He watched his cousin, Jack G. ride a 2-wheel bicyle at age 3-1/2 years. If you remember, when you are young and get off your bike, you don't put the bike on the kick stand. You hop off and drop the bike down on the ground. Joey, not able to balance a 2-wheeler yet, pedaled the tricycle up and down and up and back. Got off the trike, and laid it on it's side. Then he rode it some more and laid it down again. Big boys don't just get off the bike, Joey noticed; they lay them down. And that is what Joe did.

Happy 2nd year, dear Joey. Love, Nana

Forrest, or Daddy as we called him, relaxing after a long day at the junk yard. Daddy wore uniform pants and a flat brimmed cap (as a gas station attendant might) at the junkyard but in this picture, I think that his just his thick head of hair -- no cap.

The house is the "junk yard" house that dad built with the help of his wife and children. The family mixed the mud and "toted and fetched" while Daddy mudded the bricks, laid them in, leveled and plumbed. He built the house on weekends and evenings while starting a new business in Afton, Austin Auto Parts.

Daughters, Nancy, left, and Linda right

Daddy

I called him Daddy and he is always in my memory. One of the earliest actual memories is of Daddy telling Mary, Linda and I a bedtime story, probably one of Aesop's fables or Goldilocks and the three bears. Mary was still in the crib and after a long day working at the junk yard, I think now, that he was probably weary and trying to finish up the day, he perched on the mattress in Mary's crib. The crib broke! Of course, there was laughter and chaos and excitement for a bit but Mommy soon had things sorted out. Mary was tucked in the lower bunk in the boys' room with me, Linda put to bed in the girls' room and Daddy moved back to the living room, to his chair, to watch the news and soon after, to bed for the night.

I remember that we "three little girls" would sit on Daddy when he was at the house for lunch and taking his noon nap. We'd pinch his nose when he snored or maybe just cuddle up with him while he slept for a few minutes. Then he kissed his wife and went back to the "shop" to finish the second half of the day. He'd work 8 a.m. until 6 p.m., six days a week and if he had a personal project going like building a fold-down camper from the wheels up so that the family could vacation all over the U.S. two weeks of each 52, building a room on to the back of the 3-bedroom home already housing 2 adults and 9 children or mixing the "mud" in the small cement mixer for the new driveway, he'd get up after supper and work another 2 or 3 hours. He'd work Sunday afternoons, laying up the bricks on the new patio or adding another bay on to the junk yard. I remember one evening watching him cut a car windshield out of a big piece of glass. (In those days, they would order an actual size pattern, lay it on a big sheet of glass and cut it out with a glasscutter.) I was fascinated! It took patience and a steady hand; I wanted to try but didn't ask. It looked like an art to me. I'm not sure there were too many things my father didn't try to do at least once. And he mastered quite a few.

There were plenty of Sundays that he didn't work and the folks would load all nine of us up in the car and haul us off to see relatives or sightseeing. I remember, barely, a trip to the St. Joe or the Kansas City zoo, a trip to the Grotto, various state parks, the tower at Winterset or just a drive through the countryside past houses and farms that Daddy once knew -- Del's place, Bertha and Virgil's farm, Great Grampa Wilson's homestead. If Daddy didn't have a project going on Sunday, we knew that we would end up visiting somewhere or seeing something -- even if it was just up the hill to Gramma and Grampa Austin's or stopping and looking when the original Interstate 35 was being built. One of the early station wagons that Daddy drove had a bumper sticker proclaiming "NO VACANCY" on the back window which caused many a smile from passers-by. Sometimes the folks were asked, is that a Sunday School class? Not thinking we might all be one family. That made Daddy laugh. The folks made it fun though, being a crowd, and Daddy usually had some funny story to tell about raising a large family.

I don't remember Daddy as a farmer but I've seen the pictures of the lean, fit, small-framed man who arose before dawn to start the fire so that when his wife and children got up the house would be warming, who milked morning and then again at night. Who picked corn by hand, tossing the ears into the horse-drawn wagon until his hands were raw and bleeding. He picked in the early morning frost, in the snow, if need be, or in the beautiful, crisp autumn afternoon. It might take until Thanksgiving or, as he recalled in one of his newspaper articles, practically up until New Years the first year he was married, to get the crop in. Daddy sometimes worked a part-time job in addition to taking care of the farm and the livestock. He said that in order to build the Peru house, he supplemented the farm income by working at the newspaper in Winterset. He also wired houses for electricity when the rural electric came to Madison County and I think he laid some "block" basements too.

I've heard the story of how, before I was born, Daddy breathed the life back into Virginia when she was overcome by gas fumes. The pilot light went out on the Arco plant in the "new" Peru house. Mommy had a headache and the children were lethargic and cranky when he came home, smelled the fumes and moved his family outside for fresh air. This must have been a very scary thing as I never heard Daddy tell the story and I didn't hear it told until I was an adult.

Daddy liked farming with horses, liked the cows and didn't care much about hogs except at the breakfast table. He liked a good dog and had one in Ring, the collie trained to bring in the cows on the farm. Daddy moved Ring to Afton with the rest of the family and, living on the highway, it wasn't long before ol' Ring was hit by a car. Daddy welded together a fancy headstone and buried Ring in the sideyard and man's best friend was remembered. Daddy (and Mommy) adopted "Spike", the black lab when Uncle Chub moved his family to Texas and didn't think two adults, four children AND a lab would survive a trip from Afton to Dallas / Ft. Worth. Daddy loved to tell the story about one Sunday morning when he checked the "shop" to see what was going on and Spike had a full-grown man cowering atop his car. We children sat on Spikes back, pulled his ears and Mama cat glared and ate first at the "dog pan" while Spike stood back and remembered his "place". And later there was "Shorty".

Daddy would sometimes get after the boys for wrestling or pestering and he would say "I'll never have two boys together, again" -- this after 9 children -- as though he might have it to do over or there were more children to come! And although I remember him being occasionally gruff with "the boys", or threatening to "stop the car" if they didn't quit pestering, I remember only once him raising his voice to the "three little girls". We were playing loudly in the back of the Ford Econline pickup while he was was trying to visit with someone. What a shock when he got after us! I remembered that for a long time and I'm sure it was an incentive to remember my manners better when Daddy was visiting with a customer or a relative.

I remember Daddy's concern and tenderness when he batted the softball that hit me right between the eyes. I should have caught it! but Daddy was sorry and sympathetic and I probably sported the the large goose egg with pride -- after the pain subsided.

I remember after Mommy telling us girls "no" that, we "three little ones" would contrive an opportunity to look very sad in front of Daddy, or to sit and cry silently and when he found out the "problem", he'd say, Mommy, can't they do that? Don't you think they could? And sometimes, Mommy would relent and sometimes, not. But it was always heart warming when Daddy would say, "oh, Mommy, can't they?"

This entry has become much longer than first anticipated but one memory written, spawns another. Perhaps on another day, I will record more of my fond memories of my beloved parents and the days of my childhood.

In remembering and honoring my dear Daddy, I hope that I have brought through his warmth and love, his sense of humor and his responsibility to his family. How hard work was no stranger to him but that he yearned to be an artist with wood, rebuilding an automobile, laying a basement and even later, throwing pottery on a handmade wheel. My Daddy loved his "good wife", his children, a good story, a good memory, and a good time.

35 years

We were young. I was a month shy of 20; he was almost 23 -- an older man! But he was handome and suave -- and he had a good job! We hit it off. Okay, I was swept off my feet, even tho the night we met he tried to convince me that he was a priest! I saw through that line but not all the rest; he proposed and we "ran off" and got married.

We only ran to the next county and were married in the Methodist Church with his friend, Hollis, to stand up with him and Little Jan, with me. We chose the next county because we didn't think anyone would get the Adair County newspaper and in those days the marriage licenses were published weekly -- and sometimes hit the print before the actual wedding. Later, we found out his Grandmother Antonia did indeed take the paper but, unusual for her, she hadn't read the marriage license entries!

We met with the minister ahead of time and were "counseled". The minister gave us both one piece of advice. To me, he advised, when my husband stomps off muttering, DO NOT ask him to repeat what he said. And his bit of wisdom offered up to my husband -- has been lost to the annals of time! However, one more thing he told us that I remember is that it is NOT always a 50 / 50 partnership -- that marriage sometimes requires one partner to put in more then their 50%. Sometimes it is 25 / 75 or 75 /25. It should equal out over the long haul tho -- it should average 50 / 50.

I sewed my flocked white, A-line dress, packed my bags, pots and pans, linens and my pillow and on July 17, 1970, he picked me up in his '64 black Plymouth Fury and off we drove to our destiny.

It was midafternoon on a hot summer day. His cousin Mike heard the ol' man was getting married. Not willing to believe it without seeing it, Mike came along on good intention and no invite and the wedding party was the minister, the bride and groom, two attendants and Mike, alone, in the front pew.

After a trip to Shagbark to announce our marriage to the folks and then to Prescott to meet my father-in-law for the first time and be reintroduced to his mother (I had met her once, on the street), we left for our honeymoon. Arriving at his apartment, he carried me over the threshold and thus we started our married life -- in a one room efficiency apartment in Sioux City, Iowa with a hide-a-way bed and the kitchen(ette) in the former closet. We had 6 honeymoon days together before he left me. So, he wooed me, whisked me away 180 miles from home and Mother, then abandoned me and went away to summer Guard camp! Don't know how he finangled it but he got a weekend pass and showed up on my (his) doorstep unannounced in the middle of the night. But that is a story for another day.

And, 35 years later, here we are, 4 children, 2 sons-in-laws, a daughter-in-law, 5 grandchildren, 3 states, 5 or 6 towns and several professions later and I am reminded of a line from a favorite book, Except for Me and Thee. The father, at the holiday dinner table, looks at the family seated all around and to paraphrase Jess, "I've been too busy to notice -- but look what I have begun."

Miss Gabrielle Nadeen, 3 years old!

The party girl is in the middle of her third birthday party and enjoying every minute of it! There was no nap for this girl, on this day -- she wasn't going to miss out on one single minute!

Sweet Gabrielle is articulate, bright and pretty much knows her own mind. She is a tiny little thing and likes everything to do with being a Princess, even naming her new kitten, Princess. Gabby likes dress up, Nana's high heel shoes and songs -- she is a singer, already knowing the words and melodies to many songs. (The other night I sang "Honey, you can't love one" to her only three times. I wonder if this week she is going around singing "la de da, poor boy, whoowhoo"! ) Gabby joins in the play with the other children but then, later, she may be away, by herself making her own entertainment and dreams.
Looking at her with her boa, I can imagine Gabrielle in 20 years, up on stage, singing and dancing!
Gabrielle is graceful and agile. She runs like the wind. She is gentle and caring with brother Joe one minute, furious, scrappy and fearless the next. Gabbydeen loves animals and when Dakota was injured, nursed and tended him (Mama found him covered and smothered under Gabrielle's tender care! )

Gabrielle, Nana knows that you will have fun and adventure in the years ahead. Should you grow up to dance and sing, become a physician, a veterinarian or astronaut, I know that you will have fun and good times along the way. Your sense of humor, cheerfulness, determination and your beautiful blue eyes just spell out achievement and success! Nana loves you.

July 4th, 2005

I love it when we are all together and the Hofs enjoy the 4th of July as much, or more, than they do Christmas. And we were all together this day, July 3, 2005.

Here the bairns and Kenna are sitting around the porch, having their picnic lunch. The fresh air and exercise has given them all an appetite and they "chow down". For a few minutes, they are all in one place, all connected, before they jump up and run off to enjoy the place called "the cabin". I hope the cabin stays with them and when they are grown, they look back fondly on their days spent at Nana and PaPa's cabin.

Madeline, Gabrielle, Kenna, Morghan, Joe and Jack, from left to right.