My mom was the youngest of three sisters. I love looking at old black and white photos of them from nearly 100 years ago. The sibling bond is a unique one. You share memories, for better or for worse, of growing up in the same home with the same parents. These three played dolls together, had to get the same kind of haircut, and no doubt shared a bed, a room, sometimes their clothing as hand-me-downs. The things that shape you as person are often bound up with your siblings, for better or for worse.
These three little girls kept up with each other their whole lives, though the oldest one went off to New York, followed by the middle sister. Eventually the middle one went through some tough times and came back to her roots in Minnesota and stayed. When their mother was dying of cancer, all three sisters sat vigil with her in the hospital. My mom told me later that they laughed like crazy with each other, and they wept together as they witnessed their mother slipping away. And the sibling bond strengthened, as it does when you share that kind of intimate experience.
Photographs capture a moment in time, and these are just a few of the many that we have from those years. All three of these little girls have passed on now, but oh, how young and vibrant and funny they were back then. The years have marched on, but the memories remain.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
The blog post must march on, but the memory of it will be deleted in the morning.
We lived in a big, drafty house when I was growing up. The only sources of warmth in the winter were the radiators, sprinkled throughout the house, with one in most of the rooms. Sometimes the radiators were warm and comforting to lean against. Sometimes they were very hot, not enough to burn, but enough to keep you from wanting to be too close.
We spent a lot of time in our living room and dining room, both of which could get uncomfortably cold even with the radiators radiating. My mom’s solution was to make a huge quilt which she hung up as a wall to separate the living room from the entry way, which we always called “the foyer.” Sometimes that quilt meant the difference between having a room that was livably warm and one that required sweaters, blankets and mittens for added bulk.
Mom could have just hung a blanket or two up, but she took the time and effort to make a beautiful quilt, one that I didn’t appreciate nearly enough at the time. You see, this was no ordinary quilt; it was embroidered with our names, our parents names, our grandparents’ names and the names of ancestors further back than that. Mom added the names in the white channels around the squares. This was before sewing machines could be programmed to do such things. She did it with her own clever hands. Our names (my siblings and me) were the darkest colors and each generation back from us was embroidered in successively lighter colors. It was an exquisite heritage quilt! Occasionally I would look at the names, but mostly the quilt became a wall, one that we did not dare leave pulled aside on those cold days.
When did she have time to make this quilt? How is it that I have no memories of seeing her work on it? How long did it take her to sew all those names on it? What a triumph it was!
Recently I heard from my youngest sister that this quilt and one other were in Mom’s cedar chest that she’d taken when Mom died. She didn’t think she’d ever use the quilts and offered them up to the sibs. “Me! Me! Pick me!” Well, no one else wanted them and they now reside in our house. For the first time in its whole existence, the quilt is covering a bed. I marvel at it and wish I could tell my mom, “Oh, what a wonderful work of art and family history you did! God blessed the work of your hands.” And I would hug her and kiss her dear cheek.
I might feel rather quilty if I have to delete this in the morning.
I’m going to serve up an eclectic dish of musings today on a number of unpredictable topics. Intrigued? Read on!
AI Commenter. It’s a first for me. I got a somewhat lengthy comment on one of my recent blogs posts from an unknown fellow. The comment was essentially a summary of my post, reduced to its basic elements and reeking of AI. Is that the best you can do, my friend?
High School. I was visiting my father-in-law recently and came across his senior yearbook from the year 1945. It’s been over 80 years since he graduated!
I thought that seemed like a lot of time until I remembered that my own 50th class reunion was this year. How the time does fly! I’ll have to ask my friend Julie if I should regret that I didn’t go to the party. Have you gone to your high school reunions?
(I am struck by the complete lack of wrinkles!)
Grasshoppers in Strange Places. What are the odds of a hopping grasshopper hopping into your rain gauge? My husband thinks there are two grasshoppers in the photo so perhaps it was a pre-arranged assignation. What do you think – one or two grasshoppers?
Wake up Call. One of our neighbors across the street in the apartments had the most unusual alarm I’ve ever heard. Keep in mind that I could hear this from across the street through my open windows. It began with a recording of a man shouting “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP NOW!” followed by some rambling chatter by the same man, and then looping back to the original WAKE UP…etc. It was about a 20-second loop. One day this started around mid-morning and went on for over an hour. Isn’t that strange? I wonder what his neighbors in the apartment buildings thought? It happened every day for about a week and then stopped. Somebody must have complained. Initially I was kind of irritated, but now I sort of miss it. Ha ha!
I guess that’s enough rambling for today. WAKE UP! (In the morning, so I can delete this post)
A couple months ago I read a little snippet in World Magazine about the importance of our local historical societies. It impressed me enough that I contacted our local HS and asked if they could use a volunteer. It turned out they needed someone to help with research projects so I said, “Sign me up!” Or something to that effect.
I drove over and was greeted with this delightful tableau, which I felt was a sign of good things to come.
After meeting the director and the woman in charge of research, I got a tour of the research room, which looks something like organized chaos. One wall is packed solid with research books of various kinds, some of them quite old. There are city directories from the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, plat books, old yearbooks, memoirs, history books, state, county and city records of interest, etc. Another wall is half covered with file cabinets. A table in the middle of the room is comfortably rumpled with paper, pencils, foodstuffs and the occasional file, out of place.
I also found out that there was a company back in the day that made upright grand pianos! Isn’t that odd? They were apparently almost impossible to tune and not very handy, so the not very many were made.
When I report for research duty (currently volunteering about 4 hours per week, two hours at a time), the head of research hands me a piece of paper on which she’s jotted some notes after taking calls with requests for research, either on families, businesses or even sometimes some land. There’s an old computer that I use to access an online database, as well as an index of all the subjects found in the files. Once I’ve got my assignment, I’m off and running!
I find it completely engrossing. The two hours get gobbled up so quickly that I’m almost sad it’s time to go. Dream job!
So that’s what I’ve been up to – a little busier than usual, but loving it.
What have you been up to? Do tell!
I’ll probably delete this in an historical way in the morning.
Amongst my mother’s things I found a couple old notebooks which contained the minutes from our family meetings between June 1964 and October 1971. Talk about buried treasure! I typed them up and sent them out to my siblings so they could join me in this walk down memory lane.
My father was the president, Mom was vice-president, and our oldest sister, Leslie, was the secretary. She would have been almost 11 at the beginning, and 18 years old by the time we had our last meeting. The meetings were fairly sporadic, although I think the goal was to meet every month. Everybody in the family attended.
The purpose was to allow for family discussions about chores, allowance, TV privileges, vacation ideas, general complaints, family plans, etc. Some things were voted upon; other things were decided by parental decree. The secretary formed her own version of shorthand to communicate the essentials. The minutes give a charming glimpse into our family life, at least I find it charming.
Below are some sample entries (not complete minutes) to give you an idea of our family culture.
June 18, 1964. We had a subject on the use of the basement. Mom and Dad want us kids to ask them before we go down. They decided the number of how many should be down. The limit was four. No arguments are to be had. Private discussions.
September 1, 1964. We had a subject on jobs for the winter. After supper Lynn will take out chairs, others alternate three jobs: Dishes, wiping dishes, and sweeping. We alternate day by day.
School supplies. On first day come home. Tell what need, then buy.
October 23, 1965. We had the Secretary’s report. We had Treasurer’s report. No allowance if jobs aren’t right, or if there is too much static. There was old business.
Halloween costumes: 1. Paul = bum 2. David = hobo 3. Lynn = clown 4. Sarah = pirate 5. Leslie = undecided.
September 3, 1966 The meeting was called to order by the president. Minutes were corrected. Treasury was approved. New allowances: 1. Lynn – 20 cents 2. David – 40 cents 3. Paul – 50 cents 4. Leslie – 60 cents No grum. or gr. with mo. regular jobs. Lynn helps more in kitchen.
Television 1. Preview weeks 3-17 of September 2. One show a week per person 3. Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays 4. Right attitude 5. You can watch when you’re sick at home.
November 11, 1966. The meeting was called to order by the president. Secretaries report was approved. Treasurers report was approved.
Each child plans a family night.
Xmas – give small presents to each member of the family.
Family plans – skiing, sledding, public library, field trips, natural history museum, Swedish institute, art museum.
April 2, 1967 The formalities of the meeting were satisfactory. O.B. Didn’t go to library. N.B. D.B. wants to go to the library. Le.B. had a complaint. It was overruled.
January 7, 1968 Secretary and Treasurer’s reports given and corrected as needed. Complaint Session. Daddy – kids be more polite to each other. Lynn – Sarah doesn’t help too much with the sweeping. David – Sarah kicks too much.
Meeting was adjourned. It was followed by a session of games and charades, after which it deteriorated.
June 9, 1968. Old Business. Can’t go to N. Y. Because Aunt Betty’s family is moving in June instead of August. Present plan for summer vacation is: Park Rapids, then Duluth, camp along the way. St. Croix. Mabel Lake.
Summer routine. More consideration for house, more help, less grumpy. Meal time – regular assignments for every meal we have together. Be responsible for your place. Put milk away, etc.. No big fusses about extra jobs. Trading on individual stuff. Careful of lights and water. Try to keep fighting down. Be considerate! (Or else!)
October 17, 1971 New business: Mom wants us to join in the picking-up project. Also in putting-down project (a corollary of previous project.)
Sarah wants family night Sunday night. We amended it to 4–7 and made it optional. “Let’s be flexible.”
Meeting adjourned against strenuous protest.
And that was the way our last meeting ended, “against strenuous protest,” a phrase which makes me laugh. One wonders what the protest was about. Or why we didn’t have any more meetings after that. I love that my parents made that a part of our family life for a time. We had a lot of fun together as a family, in spite of the occasional bickering and fighting.
Dad used this gavel at our meetings; he made it in high school.
I will have to delete this in the morning against strenuous protest!
When I was young, my mother and her dad, my grandfather, worked secretly to make a large dollhouse for us kids for a Christmas gift. Mom bought some very special doll furniture for it, but soon realized that we were just going to break it all, so she boxed it up and put it in her closet. I don’t think at the time we appreciated what a grand edifice it was, but I hope that we played with the dollhouse enough to give my mom and grandpa true satisfaction after having spent so many hours of loving labor over it.
I’m the last one on the right
Fast forward about 30 years. After four boy babies, we finally had a girl! I called my mom and dad almost immediately and asked them, “Do you still have that dollhouse?“ When the answer was yes, I claimed it. It had to be extricated from the storage area under the basement stairs. Dad had removed and discarded the four stately columns in front of the house in order to make it fit in the storage area, much to my mother’s dismay. I claimed the special boxed up furniture, too. In my childhood it had seemed a great injustice to have those items unavailable. I let my children play with them, and guess what? They broke a few pieces. Oh well.
It was a bit of a fixer-upper. The roof was gone (also removed to make room for storage). My husband made a new roof and I cut up little pieces of sandpaper and stapled them on for roofing tiles. The kitchen and bathroom linoleum were in bad shape so I took those out and replace them with new shelf paper. Several of the doors were hanging off their hinges (they still are). My husband bought new lights for each room and set it up so we could plug it in and turn them on. I repainted the house and opened it for business.
Fast forward another 30 years. The dollhouse is in our basement. It is quite large and I don’t know if any of our children will have room for it. When we have families over with children, which we do fairly regularly, I like to show off the dollhouse and let children play with it. The last family we had here had a lot of young children, and we left them completely unsupervised with it. When I looked at it a couple weeks later, everything was higgledy-piggledy. I couldn’t even find the dolls! That was over a month ago.
Today, I went down the basement to do something that had nothing to do with the dollhouse. Straightening up the dollhouse was not on my to-do list. Nevertheless, when the spirit moves, one must move with it. I spent over an hour taking everything out and putting it back in its proper place. I have always taken the world of dolls very seriously. It didn’t sit well with me when the missing dolls showed up crammed into one of the closets.
I wonder now if children have forgotten to play with something like this. Do they need a little guidance? I like to think of them moving the dolls around the house in a purposeful way, like setting them down at the dining room table to eat, and putting their food on the table for them. After supper, the family could sit in the living room while dad reads the Bible. Perhaps mother could play the piano. Grandpa and grandma would sit in their comfortable chairs by the fireplace and read the newspaper.
The dining room. There’s even artwork on the wall!The kitchen. I love those 1960’s chairs.Leslie’s room. I would have loved to have a vanity like that.Andrew’s room. Someone needs to control his hair.The living room where Mom and Dad are sitting, while he reads from the Bible.The library!Grandpa and Grandma’s room. Don’t they look cozy with their newspapers? The bathroom – very posh.
The next time we have a family over, I will continue to welcome the children to play in the dollhouse. But I might stick around for a while to show them how it’s done, to spark their imaginations as they play with this little family in their little house.
I’ll have to resist the temptation to be too controlling; I already feel the impulse welling up in me.
I’m going to have to straighten this post up in the morning.
The world outside is sweltering and I am happy to sit in the Sticky Chair with a fan blowing cool air in my general vicinity. Our family didn’t have air conditioning of any kind when I was growing up. We had a box fan in the living room and an oscillating fan up in the bedroom I shared with my sisters. I slept in the top bunk, where I would feel periodic air from the fan cooling my face. When the pillow got hot, I would turn it over to start afresh on the cool side. Sometimes my siblings and I would get into little scraps over people hogging the space in front of the box fan downstairs.
We went outside a lot in spite of the heat, probably because there wasn’t any significant relief from it in the house. My dad, who had summers off because he was a teacher, would take us to the nearby lake for a swim to cool us off. We would be wilting from the heat in the car on the way over, but once we ran into the lake, the air felt cool again. My dad would swim laps on the other side of the rope while we played water games on our side. We opened our eyes under water all the time, which I don’t think I’d do now. One game involved us all going underwater and one of us would try to say something. We’d come bursting out of the water shrieking with laughter over how funny it sounded, trying to guess what was said. Sometimes my older brothers would go underwater, let one of us younger kids step on their shoulders and then they’d jump up and throw us off. “Again! Again!” we’d cry. And they’d do it again. At last, it would be time to go home. We’d shiver from the cold and welcome the warmth of the car. Our fingers would be all pruny and our appetites would be sharp. Supper would be waiting in the back porch, so we’d sometimes stay in our suits and sit on towels while we ate.
We had no idea that we were making such rich memories.
In my mind, we had lots of photos of us going swimming, but I couldn’t find any. Here’s the swimming crew on a Sunday morning dressed for church. I’m in the front on the right. Littlest sister wasn’t born yet.
I’ll probably delete this with pruny fingers in the morning.
(We are back from our wanderings. As is customary, I thought I’d keep up with posts while we were gallivanting about, and as is also customary, I did not.)
As I said in a recent post, I have a vast repository of letters written by various members of my mother’s family going all the way back to the early 1900’s. My mom (bless her amazing heart) typed them all up so that they are easy to read. She assembled them in books and titled them accordingly. The one I’m looking at now is titled “Another World. 1900 – 1919. The Age of Innocence.” I thought you, my loyal readers, might enjoy a few snippets of letters from my great-grandmother Nettie to her daughter, my Grandma Lois when she was away at her first year of college. She tended to write in long run-on sentences which adds to the charm. I mean, if the apostle Paul can do it, why can’t we?
George and Nettie on their wedding dayin May 1888
September 26, 1910.
My Dear Lois,
Well I have just returned from Aunt Alices she is still sick in bed and has suffered terribly this last week. Annie [one of Lois’s sisters] was down and staid with her one day and I went one day and then Rosie brought Myrtie to stay with her and she has been there since Thursday after noon she went home for one night and came back to-day. I think Aunt Alice looked better to-day and she told me to thank you for the card you sent her and tell you that she would write to you as soon as she is able.
…Aunt Amelia’s folks are looking for a horse again as Willie thinks of being Married in about two weeks and Alma and Will want Ada [Lois’s little sister] for their flower girl. I have not told Ada yet for I thought it would only set her to asking questions but I think that means that I shall have to make Adas white dress that I got the Embroidery for I got quite a pretty Pattern for it yesterday. Ada has just run in and says tell Lois I haven’t time to write to her to-day but I will write some other time.
…Papa says tell Lois I will write to her during the week. He is getting along fine with the Lloyd job – guess he will nearly finish this week.
Good night. With love from Mama
How do you like that casual mention of Will and Alma thinking of being married in two weeks, and Nettie not panicking about having to make a dress for it (and embroider it!) in that amount of time? How lovely for Lois to get these letters with updates from home and promises of letters to come.
The photo below was taken in 1910, the same year as the correspondence. I’ve done some labeling and hope you can read it. It’s the only photo I have with Lois and Nettie in it.
In another letter, Nettie tells Lois how bad she feels that she was unable to contribute a baked good for a box of food that went to Lois from family and friends. She tells Lois,
…that is all I know about your box. but could not send anything I had to bake for I have not had wood to bake anything with for when we were out of wood we could not get any at the yard so I had to nearly scratch the earth for what I have had to get my meals with. So I thought I would let you know Who to thank as it was not your Mother much as she would like to have been one of them, My Dear girl. But she sends a whole lot of love as you may be sure she always will for I have missed my Lois so to-day.
Imagine having to scrabble for wood in order to do your cooking. I am not nearly thankful enough for the appliances that make my life easier.
Sadly, Nettie died just four years later at the age of 46, a couple years before Lois got married. Her obituary states “She bore all her suffering without a word of complaint and expressed herself ready to go and meet her Savior when the death angel called.” That is what we call a good death.
I am looking forward to meeting Nettie in glory.
I’ll probably scrabble for wood to burn this post in the morning.
I look at this photo of me and my brother way back when, and although I don’t remember that particular moment in time, I am brought back to summers of yore. What a delight on those hot days to jump into our little plastic backyard pool.
My memories of the summers of childhood are shot through with warmth, color, happy sounds, and the unique eating pleasures of the season. Back then our watermelons had seeds in them – is that a hardship story now?
We didn’t have air conditioning, another hardship story that wasn’t really too much of a hardship. Sleeping at night involved catching regular breezes from the oscillating fan and turning our pillows over to get to the cooler side once in a while. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable.
I’m certain that there must have been plenty of mosquitos in my life back then, but my brain has mercifully chosen to excise them from the nostalgia program that I’m currently enjoying.
I went barefoot all summer long in my childhood. The soles of my feet were tough as nails, unlike the weak and easily penetrated soles of today.
Dad took us swimming fairly frequently at the lake nearest to us, one of the advantages of living in the state of 10,000 lakes. And when we came back, Mom often had supper ready for us to eat in the cool of the back porch.
Life wasn’t always perfect, but strained through the passing of time my mind has selected only some of the best parts of those days to remember. Thank you, Lord!
I’ll probably delete this in the mornings of yore.
I spent a couple hours today happily doing research on the cemetery I just visited with my friends Lori and Teresa. I took lots of photos of gravestones and was trying to see if I could find additional information on some of these people on the interwebs, even though they all died in the 1800’s (or most of them). I felt the lure of Ancestry.com, which would make my research so much easier. But Ancestry.com is Expensive.com, so for now I’m just taking the peasant’s approach by googling names and seeing what comes up. If you have a better idea that is still free, do let me know.
Anyway (I do get to blathering), in my researches, I came across a document of information about people who lived in our area back in the day. I didn’t have time to read them all, but as I was scanning down the list, my eyes were arrested by the headline “Killed By A Joke.” Let me share with you the sad story of what happened to poor Mrs. Mahamuel, as reported in The Aitkin Age on July 22, 1893.
“Mrs. Duhac, a widow daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Mahamuel, was visiting her parents in Rice County. Joseph Duchene, a young farmer living in the vicinity, called one evening to see Mrs. Duhac. The young people in the neighborhood thought they would have some fun when they saw Joe go there, and went to Mahamuel’s residence to charivari the people. Mrs. Mahamuel, when she heard the horrible noises, went out to interview the crowd. They ran down the road and she followed them. About 15 minutes afterward one of the neighbors, who was passing by, found the old lady lying in the road dead, her face being buried in the dust.”
Well! They don’t write obituaries like that anymore! I had to look up “charivari,” so I’m going to assume you don’t know what that is either: “A mock serenade of discordant noises, made with kettles, tin horns, etc., designed to annoy and insult.” Rude.
I really want to give awkward kudos to the person who came up with the title “Killed By A Joke,” to describe the passing of Mrs. M. I’m still not actually sure how she died, are you? Did she die of fright? Overexertion? And why didn’t any of those young people help her out? How awful to have a prank go wrong in such a disturbing way. I respect Mrs. M. for getting off her comfortable chair to go “interview” the crowd. The way that’s phrased, you can almost imagine her out there like a roving reporter. “Could you tell me what your name is and why you are banging on kettles outside our home?” And then she followed them when they ran off! Yes, Mrs. M. had an admirable amount of moxie. I like to think of her fixing her steely eyes on those rabble rousing youth and scaring them off.
For man also knoweth not his time; as the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare, so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them. Ecclesiastes 9:12
Mrs. Mahamuel, the evil times fell suddenly upon you. I hope you were ready to meet your Lord.
I’ll probably bury this one in the dust in the morning.,
This is yours truly kissing my Grandma Lois on the cheek. Now that I have grandchildren old enough to do that, I know what pleasure it must have given her.
Having a good laugh with my own granddaughter when she was about the age that I was in the above photo. I wonder if she thinks I’m as ancient as I thought my own grandmother was…
Musings…
I’ll probably delete this ancient blog in the morning.
