I’ve gotten through 18 of the 50 Ways to Draw Your Beautiful Ordinary Life, which was a Christmas gift to me. My goal is to finish it in 2024 and then pass the book on to someone else, so I haven’t done any drawings in the book. It is pristine. Here are the June drawings (#13-16). Why did I put stickers on the page? Just me being weird with my sticker obsession, I guess.
By the way, I’ve never seen a fruit wrapper – how is this a thing?
Then I painted a couple babies. The first one is much smaller, but the paper was horrible. The paint wouldn’t glide over the surface but stuck and even bled through to the back. I don’t know where that paper came from. I did a larger baby on better paper, but which I liked less.
The back side – I’ve never seen this happen.Better paper, bigger baby.
I’ve developed a relationship with a poinciana tree now. I’ve stared at the photo for long and soulful periods of time. I’ve done sketches and then a small painting. This time I tried an 8.5 x 11 sized one. I’m not sure this relationship is going well.
Tell me what you think. How close am I getting? The tree trunk on my painting is too big…AGAIN.
That’s the workshop report this week!
I’m throwing this blog post wrapper in the trash in the morning.
I found out yesterday that the dolphin that I thought was on a menu a few days ago wasn’t actually dolphin, it was something called dolphin fish. I felt you should know this in case you were disturbed by the idea of Italians eating dolphins. Kris knew what it was but didn’t realize my misunderstanding. I’m still glad I didn’t order it.
Yesterday was to be our “beach day,” but God had different plans. We got to Bagni Kursaal around 11:30 and made our way to the umbrellas and chairs set aside for us, identifiable by the towels already placed on the chairs. Our hosts are so very sweet and generous! It was overcast and windier than the day before, but the temperature was still very agreeable. Kris took a dip in the ocean early on, but mostly we just sat again and either read or wrote (Kris brought his journal with him) or just looked out on the mighty expanse of blue before us.
There are beach vendors here, men who go from chair to chair trying to sell things like jewelry, towels, mats or books. In an hour and a half, I had five of them stop by. Here’s how a typical interaction with them went :
Man: *many Italian words* spoken while showing his wares Me (they never approached Kris of course), smiling but firm: No, grazie. Man: *many more Italian words* Me: No, grazie Man: *More Italian words* as if the words “No, grazie” were to be interpreted as “please continue” Me: No, grazie.
It usually took about four or five “No, grazie’s” to bring about an end to the conversation. One man had set out two or three of his beautiful mats in front of me and when he’d finally accepted the idea that I wasn’t going to be buying them, spent 5 minutes at the foot of my chair slowly and carefully folding them up and putting them back over his shoulder, perhaps in a last attempt at getting a sympathy purchase.
Carrying his mats to the next potential customer
Ombretta came for us at 1:30 and brought us over to the Bagni Kursaal restaurant right on the beach where we would have lunch. Sofia and Tomas joined us, the latter clearly not in a very good mood. Remember, he’s only 2 1/2 years old. They plied him with toys and colored pencils (colori) to try and cheer him up, but he wasn’t having any of it.
Tomas and SofiaOmbretta, Tomas and Sofia
Ombretta ordered food for us after having established the fact that Kris likes seafood and I do not. The appetizer came first, a HUGE plate of mussels. Everyone dug in eagerly except me, of course. I tried two of them and although they weren’t as bad as I had anticipated, they weren’t good enough for me to want to fill up on them. It’s best not to think about what they look like when you eat them, that’s for sure. Ombretta had ordered a splendid plate of risotto with sausage for me, an excellent choice! Kris got a large plate of fried calamari, which he ended up generously sharing with Tomas, who sat next to him. Or should I say that Kris was happy to let Tomas steal pieces of calamari off of his plate. Tomas declared his intention to eat all of the calamari and when his mother asked him playfully what Kris would eat, he replied that Kris could eat the plain spaghetti on his (Tomas’s) plate. By this time, Tomas had cheered up considerably, which made everything easier for Ombretta and Sofia. We were joined mid-way through the meal by Fillipo, the boyfriend of Sofia’s sister who also works at Bagni Kursaal.
Tomas is happy now
Toward the end of the meal, the wind picked up quite a bit and it began to look very dark out over the ocean, creating a spectacular contrast with the still fairly light beach. It was fantastic, if somewhat foreboding looking.
Not long after I took those photos, the rain came pouring down. We helped the restaurant staff in moving tables and stacking chairs in a protected area, as well as bringing in all the trash cans.
Ombretta and Sofia both apologized profusely for the weather as if they were responsible for it. Bordighera had had perfect weather all summer long – no rain until that day. We assured them that it didn’t ruin the day for us, but they were very unhappy that this should happen on the one day we planned to spend all day on the beach.
We all hoped it would blow over soon, but when it became apparent that it wasn’t going to stop, we took advantage of a temporary break and made for our respective homes. We walked with Sofia while Ombretta biked back with Tomas. By the time we dropped Sofia off at their house, it was starting to pour again, and she offered to have us stay at their house until it stopped, but we wanted to get back to the hotel and get dry, so we pushed on, walking the 8 blocks or so to the hotel in heavy rainfall. We were dripping wet when we walked into the lobby, earning sympathetic looks from the staff.
In the dark and cold days of winter, we hatched a plan to tear up our long-established veggie garden beds and put a perennial garden there instead. Hubby came up with a wonderful design that would incorporate the placement of the original beds into the new garden.
When spring arrived, he got busy removing the wooden boards that bordered the old beds and tilled up the ground, which we seeded with wildflower seed packets here and there, keeping just the asparagus bed because we’re still harvesting and eating the stuff. We added some annuals and perennials to have something to look at while we waited for the other flowers to grow from seed.
Moving on to the next phase, he sanded and painted the old wooden swing (that we never sat on) and placed it at the end of the garden where we now use it daily. We purchased an arch which he installed and we transplanted clematis to grow up onto it.
I think we should have a name for this glorious garden, don’t you? I’ve been thinking about the name “Pleasant Places,” from the verse in Psalm 16 that says, “The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; yes, I have a good inheritance.”
What name would you suggest?
When the foxglove takes hold of the lamb’s ear, I’ll delete this post.
As I mentioned before, restaurants in Italy don’t even open for supper business until 7:30. We found one a few blocks from our hotel called “La Diavolina,” and once again found that our Italian skills were put to the test since our waitress did not speak English. It’s been good for us! Of course, when most of the communication involves pointing at an item on the menu and trying to pronounce the words correctly, it’s not too difficult. We’ve also discovered that Italians don’t give you ice with your water unless you ask, so I’ve learned to ask for “ghiacci.” Kris ordered some wine and when she inquired about the size, offering the word “mezzo?” Kris agreed to it. This turned out to be a LOT of wine and I was afraid I’d have to carry him home, but when you stretch it out over a couple hours and are eating as you go, it all balanced out. While we were eating, a man came over holding a bunch of roses and asked Kris if he would like to buy a rose for me (in Italian, but what he was saying was pretty clear – it’s all in the context). Kris bought me a single rose – very romantic! I almost expected waiters to start crooning that song from “The Lady and the Tramp” – “It’s Amore,” and give us some spaghetti to eat so we could end up chewing on the same piece and meeting in the middle.
Speaking of music, I have observed that most of the background music we hear when we go places is American pop music from 20 years ago. Or, Italian versions of the same. Just thought I’d mention that.
We have now learned that a waiter will not bring you the check unless you ask for it. Our working theory about this is that it is part of Italian gracious hospitality. They do not want you to feel that they are trying to hurry you along, which is actually rather nice. We’re just used to American restaurants, where almost as soon as you finish eating a meal, the check is placed on the table. Americans are always in a hurry, so it’s something we expect and appreciate. Here, eating is much more of a luxurious experience; you are meant to take your time and enjoy the atmosphere and ambiance for as long as you want. We strolled home around 9:30 and although there is no air conditioning in our room, it was very pleasant and we had no trouble sleeping. As it turns out, air conditioning in Italy is not common.
And now for something completely different to entertain you – a couple of my weird dreams over the last few nights. This is akin to Annette’s parrot story, so by all means, skip to the “ciao” at the end if you have a “train to catch.” :-). One night I dreamed that Kris and I were planning to buy a second home in Switzerland. It was a very nice home, but I couldn’t figure out how we were going to pay for it and was working out elaborate schemes in which we would rent it out to friends and family to use when we weren’t there. It all seemed very plausible, like dreams do. Last night I dreamed that I had agreed to do some sort of bungee cord drop from the top of the IDS tower to raise money. As soon as I started dropping, I knew the whole thing was a huge mistake. “In the name of all that is sweet in heaven, why am I doing this?” went through my panicked mind. I dropped nearly to the sidewalk and then started up again and it was horrifying to look up as I went, seeing various office windows and people in them. I couldn’t even figure out how this was ever going to end – I’d just be springing back and forth forever. Fortunately, in the way that characterizes dreams, the bungee drop ended and here’s the best part that came next: I was with Billy Joel telling him all about the experience! I told you it was weird. If you’re in to analyzing dreams, have at it. Don’t tell me what you come up with unless it’s a good thing.
We have a game called “The Farming Game” that’s meant to demonstrate the vagaries of farming. You use your money to buy equipment and invest in different types of crops: hay, grain, livestock and fruit. The fruit trees cost the most and have the fewest spots on the board, but yield the biggest profit if the dice rolls in your favor. It’s always a bit of a risk, though. You draw “Farmer’s Fate” cards as you go around the board, which can be good, but most of the time bring setbacks to your farming operation.
On our tiny little “farm” with our wee orchard of two apple trees, we just drew a severe Farmer’s Fate card: “Your Honeycrisp tree has contracted fire blight. Cut it down right away and pray it doesn’t infect your Zestar tree.” And just like that, chop-chop! It’s gone. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
So now we have to figure out what to do with that space surrounded by a lovely circle of hostas.
Bloggers fate: “Your post has contracted blog blight and will be deleted in the morning.”
(I’ve been delaying on posting this one, mostly because I knew it was going to be painful picking only a small fraction of photos to share.)
We came back to the Air BnB and got ready for our big expedition of the day: Grand Canyon National Park! It’s about a 1.5 hour drive north from where we were staying in Flagstaff. The visitor center was only open until 4:00 so we thought we’d arrive around 3:00 and make a plan from there. Nice drive, sunny weather – a little on the cool side, but we dressed appropriately (it was around 52 degrees and windy).
We went to the Visitor Center and stamped our two booklets and decided we’d walk out to Mather Point Overlook, a 0.3 mile hike from the center. First glimpse of the canyon! It’s definitely awesome in the truest sense of the word. The overlook had plenty of railings lending the illusion of safety. Ha ha!
Vivid setting on the camera
We took some photos and enjoyed the view. A couple of young women noticed the fancy camera that Kris was carrying and asked him if he could take a photo of them with it and send it to them. Good grief! Kris assured them that their phones took excellent photos and his camera could do no better. They seemed dubious “Really?” but accepted the fact that Kris wasn’t going to comply with their request.
Is that a person out there on that rock?Yes it is! Some people don’t need or want railings.
From there we took the 0.7 hike over to Yavapai Overlook, to the west. It wasn’t a bad hike but because of the elevation, it still had me a bit out of breath. More photos, more ooh-ing and ahh-ing. One of the informational boards there told of a walking bridge for hikers that you could apparently see from where we were. It was circled on the photo shown, but I never found it. We went into the little museum which also had a nice view from the windows.
We decided to make only two stops along the road: The Grandview Lookout and Lipan Lookout. We wanted to be at Lipan around sunset (7:00 p.m.) for good photography. The Grandview Lookout was some 10 miles down the road from the center, so the views were a little bit different, also a little higher in elevation, I think.
Kris found a little path that went down a ways and had a nice rock like a bench for sitting so I joined him there with a little coaxing. It was actually the beginning of a hiking trail that took you to someplace with the word Horseshoe in it. I really should have the map with me while I’m doing this. We sat for awhile just enjoying the view, taking a photo or two.
There weren’t that many people around – this was a great time of year to do our sightseeing! We talked a little bit about the narrative of the National Park, that the great canyon was formed over billions of years by the river, carving away at the rock little by little. It seems so much more plausible to acknowledge that water receding from a great flood was the driving force to cutting through all that stone. Occam’s razor and all that.
The trail to the Horseshoe thing went right by us and downward
Onward to Lipan Lookout. The last part of the drive there (probably another 10 miles?) wound steadily uphill in a short switchback. It was a little more crowded there, but we found prime parking facing the canyon and the soon to be setting sun. But oh, was it cold! There was a bitter wind blowing much more fiercely than down below. We got out and looked around – I took a couple short videos to demonstrate the windiness of it all.
Darth Vader stopped by in the parking lot – quite a sight! 😆
The opposite edge of the canyon was 8 miles across from us – unbelievable. It was a little hazy and it didn’t seem as though the sunset would produce anything but a very dark silhouette of the canyon. We ate our crackers and cheese at 6:00 and talked about whether or not to stick it out for the true sunset. I noticed some cloud banks directly west behind which the sun would sink in about 10 minutes and suggested we stay at least until then, sure that there would be some glorious views with the sun partly obscured. And lo, it came to pass.
This poor guy tried to get his hood to stay on for about five minutes, but the wind kept blowing it back. It amused me.
Once behind the clouds, the sun cast long hazy rays over the whole canyon – we got a lot of photos. But it was so cold and windy that we just kept going back to the car, waiting for different shadows and light from the setting sun and then going out again to take a few more photos and admire the view.
I had discovered a setting on my camera with a special effect called “vivid” that I’d been playing with. It really created some spectacular photos with the setting sun, especially off to the north where the canyon and hills were darkening – it made them all sorts of shades of blue. Ooh!
So in the end, we stuck it out until just before the actual sunset, having taken probably 100 photos between us and sensing that we’d seen the best of it.
Vivid setting again
The drive home was mostly in the dark and we listened to chapter 12 of the first book of the Fellowship of the Ring: The Flight to the Ford. The darkness around us was appropriate to the mood.
I’ve been thinking about my older sister, Leslie, who died 37 years ago today. Brain cancer. What a shock it was to get the diagnosis 6 months before that. I was five years younger than her and she was one of my best friends growing up. I’m sure I’ve written of her on this blog before and of the things we shared and enjoyed together. For one thing, we were obsessed with Dark Shadows, a creepy soap opera full of campy plots and bad acting. But we loved it. She and I used to play jacks together on the kitchen floor for hours. She had such nimble fingers! And with those nimble fingers, she was an excellent piano player as well. She took to it like a duck to water. She loved singing and was in a band for a time in her college years, which was so cool. A band! My sister was in a real live band that had gigs and everything! If you detect a little hero worship there, you’d be right. I looked up to her. She used to write the most interesting stories when she was in high school. We’d gather around and she’d read the next installment to us. As I recall, one of her stories was about a girl who got sucked into a strange subterranean world through the toilet. Ha ha!! Wish I could remember how that one ended. When she was babysitting, all camaraderie was put on hold. “You’re not the boss of me!” When I was in college and taking a ballroom dance class, Leslie helped me develop some new steps to the fox trot for the final exam, since my partner (a guy I didn’t know at all) refused to help me. We would sometimes laugh together over things until we cried. She had a wonderful sense of humor and wasn’t afraid to laugh at herself, too.
When I became a Christian in my early 20’s, it perplexed her, I think. This was something she didn’t understand, nor did she want to. Still, we were good friends, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, not at all. Sometime during those six months between the diagnosis and her death, I wrote a poem to express some of the anguish I felt. There is a word Which stuns and shocks And ruthlessly interrupts The routine of life. Nothing seems certain anymore, Not today, nor tomorrow.
The future, with its Careful plans, And passionate dreams Has been crushed Beneath the weight of That one cruel word: Cancer.
Yet, hope is not extinguished And faith is not in vain, For where Christ lives, Disease cannot triumph And death cannot win.
Oh Leslie, let Him live In your heart.
I never shared that poem with her. Why not? I don’t know – it was intensely private to me at the time and I probably feared her response. She knew the gospel but I don’t know if she ever responded to it. I’ll find out in eternity and until then, I am content with the knowledge that God is just, and He is merciful.
Leslie died at age 33. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been without her now much longer than I was with her.
Leslie, with some of her shell collection that I got last year
I’m not ready to say goodbye to this post, not at all…
Remember Small Saul in the Big Bog? It has been some time since we’ve heard about him, but his story is being written and will be shared sometime soon. In the meantime, let me introduce you to two of Saul’s friends and acquaintances. I read that northern bog lemmings are often found in the same areas as masked shrews and meadow voles, all quite small critters. Sadly, one of the chief roles they play in the ecosystem is to serve as munchies for weasels, owls and hawks, sometimes even snakes. Let me ASSURE you that no such dastardly thing will happen in our story, although these predators may make a threatening appearance now and again to lend verisimilitude to life in the bog.
I am pleased to have you meet Tiggle, the masked shrew, and Henceforth, the meadow vole. Tiggle is smaller than Saul and is hungry nearly all the time, as is true of masked shrews in real life. He and his kind can only survive a few hours without food. He’s active day and night, year ‘round, so naturally that gives him quite an appetite. When he is resting (do they sleep?), his metabolism drops. Tiggle has been known to dig a tunnel or two in his day, but he’s also just as likely to use another animal’s tunnel. His friendship with Saul is fortuitous in that way, since Saul is an industrious fellow and a master tunnel maker.
Henceforth is what you might call “easily vexed” and not afraid to let others know it. But don’t let that alarm you. In a pinch, Henceforth is the right kind of friend to have around. He’s a little larger than Saul, but not by much. If you saw them running around the bog, you might not be able to tell the difference between them (one of the things that vexes Henceforth). He likes to dig burrows and store food for the winter, which keeps him fairly busy. He’s more active at night than during the day.
I’m looking forward to hearing about the adventures of these three creatures in the bog, aren’t you?
Gotta go – if I don’t eat in 5 minutes, this post will starve to death.
Our last morning at Il Borgo di Genova was pleasant; we had a nice long chat with Allesandra about the vagaries of operating a B&B. She said they used to get more Americans there, but with the advent of Airbnb, more people were renting flats in town. She was hoping the trend was reversing as people realized that you get what you pay for: no cleaning service and no breakfast with Airbnb. We also said farewell to the American couple staying there, Richard and Annette, an older couple from California. They were at the very end of a 3-week vacation in Europe. We had quite enjoyed talking to them the previous morning. Annette was quite chatty – reminded me of me, actually. When she started in with talking about the parrot that they’d left behind, we realized we’d better start edging away, since we had a train to catch.
Breakfast options at Il Borgo Di Genova
We planned to take a train from our location to the main station in Genova to transfer to our train to Bordighera. Once again, what looked so easy on paper turned out to be more complicated. When Kris tried to buy the tickets, they were “non-sale-able.” We’d allowed ourselves plenty of time, but still, this was concerning. We went over to the ticket counter in hopes of talking to a human being. Kris found a uniformed station employee standing around and asked him. He looked at our tickets and uttered some words that were probably English, but we didn’t understand them. We proceeded to get in line for the ticket counter, but the man said “No,” and repeated the words he’d said before, pointing outside the station. If you’ve ever played Mad Gab, trying to figure out what he was saying was somewhat akin to that – the syllables were all there; it was just a matter of figuring out exactly what English phrase matched them. Finally, it got through to us: news stand! Kris asked him, “Metro or treno?” We didn’t really want to take the bus. “Treno,” he assured him. But why did we have to go out to the newsstand to buy the tickets? Nevertheless, we went outside and across the busy street where Kris approached a man at the newsstand and was indeed sold tickets from Genova Brignole to Genova Principe. The whole process was somewhat unnerving, but we have found that people are in general quite willing to help us even when there is a language barrier. We made our connection to Bordighera in plenty of time and settled in for the 2-hour trip. About 60% of the trip was through tunnels, but the rest of it followed right along the Mediterranean coast, a feast for the eyes.
The train station in Bordighera was right next to “Bagni Kursaal,” the beach front property owned and operated by Sofia’s family. If I haven’t explained this already, I met Sofia last October when she was an exchange student living with friends of ours in Indiana. We had planned this visit to Bordighera specifically to connect with her and meet her family and also to enjoy a nice relaxing day on the beach.
Our hotel, Hotel Maligure, was about 3/4 of a mile west of the station, not too hard to find. There’s only one main drag in Bordighera and everything is on it. The lady at the desk didn’t speak any English, so our broken Italian is getting a little more of a workout.
After getting all our stuff put away, we put our suits on and headed back out to the beach, hoping to find a beach-side restaurant at which to have lunch. As expected, the area is replete with one eating establishment after another. San Marco’s it is! After having a wonderful Greek salad (with almost no lettuce, mind you), we wanted to make our way back to Bagni Kursaal and see if we could connect with Sofia.
Once we got there, I texted her and as we began looking over the price system for renting beach umbrellas and chairs for the day, she found us and introduced us to her mother, Ombretta, and some visiting friends. Sofia speaks excellent English and Ombretta’s is pretty good as well, so we were in good hands. Their friend, Simon (a young man of about 20), explained to us that in the 1990’s Italian schools started requiring English study, so people 30 and younger will tend to know English fairly well and those who are older don’t speak it at all. Sofia’s mother learned it in a special school for language study, but Simon’s mother (who was also there) didn’t know any but the basics, which put us on equal footing with her.
The first order of business was to get the daily gelato and it turned out that they were all just headed to a gelato shop, so we tagged along. Mission accomplished!
Once back at Bagni Kursaal, Sofia said that we would not be renting umbrellas or chairs since they had set a couple aside for our use during our stay, for which we were very grateful. Sofia also gave us a couple towels to use and after a short chat, left us on our own. She has to take some entrance exams for her fifth and final year of high school and needed to study and we were free to lounge, read, doze (in Kris’s case) and take a little dip in the ocean. Swimming in the ocean was a new experience for me; the waves were really big and intimidating. The water was actually not very cold, but still quite refreshing. Ten minutes was all we needed.
Toward the end of the afternoon, Ombretta came back over with Sofia to set up a lunch date with us for the next day (today). She said she would make it an early lunch, since Sofia had insisted to her that Americans don’t wait until mid-afternoon to eat lunch. We’re on Italian time now and reassured her that it didn’t really matter to us; we hadn’t eaten lunch that day until 3:00 p.m. However, she wanted to do what we were used to, so we set it up for 1:30 p.m. They had a dinner engagement and went on their way and it was starting to get late in the day and cooling off a bit, so we went back to the hotel to wash up and go out to find a place to eat supper.
I’m still trying to organize the family history documents and photos chronologically. These are all things that my mom passed on to me well before she died, along with more things I came into possession of after she died.
Usually there are just the barest details known about some of the “ancient” antecedents – birth, death, children’s names, some military service records. Later on, a few photos begin to make their way into the narrative as the invention of cameras created a photography industry. It’s enough sometimes to imagine a story about these people who contributed to my gene pool. But mostly all I have is a small amount of data and a large amount of conjecture. I’m very good at conjecture, as it turns out.
Recently, however, I found my mom’s accumulation of information about my Grandpa’s older brother Harvey, who went by the nickname Red. (In a surprising surfeit of “Red’s” in the family, my grandpa later also went by the nickname Red – that’s how I knew him). Here’s a story I didn’t have to depend upon conjecture for – it was all written down by his wife, Lucille.
When Red and Lucille met, he was 28 going on 29 and she was 16 going on 17. They fell in love, but she was too young and he was in the army. They wrote letters to one another for a time, which are also in my possession (not the originals). In August of 1927, Lucille wrote to Red with the worst possible news for him to hear. I’ll share some excerpts:
Dear Red, …Red, I’ve a terrible confession to make. Do you remember that nite? You asked me if I’d consider marrying and I said yes. I’ve decided that I’m too undecided. I want to work and go to college and help my folks.
Please forgive me and try to forget me Red, Dear. I know you love me. I thought I loved you, too, but I guess if I’m so undecided about it all, I really can’t love you like I should. Also, Dear, I couldn’t settle down. I’m too much for variety. You are older and ready to settle, therefore, you should find one more your type than I.
…Will I be a liar in your mind if I break my promise? You know people have always broken engagements.
I have no ring, therefore, it isn’t really binding. It is terribly hard to write this to you, but I’ve decided it is fairer than trying to make you believe I will someday be Mrs. Red.
…You can easily forget me. I’m a little devil anyway. …Red, Dear, you stop and think and you’ll decide you really would hate to know you had to live with me for God knows how many years.
…You go out with other girls and I’ll do the same with others. We can still be friends and a year from now, I may decide that you are absolutely my Man. If I do, really love you, I’ll come back and so will you. Don’t you think so? Answer this, if you wish, but I don’t suppose you’ll want to. I may regret this letter someday. Your unfaithful sweetheart.
P.S. Use lighter stationery cause I’ve had to pay postage on your letters and they tease the life out of me.
Lovingly, Lucille.
I don’t have Red’s reply, so I can only imagine the distress this missive may have caused him. Years later, when Lucille was very old, she decided to write the story of her life down, part of which I also have. The story picks up with her remembrances all those years later:
What a life. I was 17 years old, gainfully employed in a wonderful job, and I was rich, rich, finally rich!
And…I was in love. How much better can life get than it was for me in 1927? On September 2, a month before my 18th birthday, I married my love. My groom, Harvey (Red), was twelve years my senior and a veteran of the First World War…
Well! It appears that less than a month after Lucille sent that heartbreaking letter to Red, they got married! Red and Lucille drove to St. Louis, Missouri where he took a course in aviation and she found work in the office of the Universal Aviation Company. She got her first plane ride while there and said it was an “indescribable thrill.”
They drove from there to California and Red got a job as a mechanic, being unable to find a job in aviation. Lucille found work as a stenographer and wrote, “It was an exciting, educational and fulfilling life that I led.”
In June of 1930 they had their first baby, a boy named Patrick and ended up returning to Grand Rapids, Minnesota. Red traveled to southern Minnesota and bought an airplane, which he flew to Grand Rapids. However, when landing the plane at the fair grounds (no air strip available there yet), he hit the grandstand with one of the wings and severely damaged the plane, thus ending his career in aviation.
Sadly, Red became ill with a kidney ailment he’d contracted during the war. He went to the Veteran’s Hospital at Fort Snelling for treatment. Red called Lucille from the hospital and begged her to come get him, so she took a bus down from Duluth, checked him out and they took a bus back to Duluth. As she said, “That trip was a harrowing, frightening experience. He was so very ill and I was so young, scared and inexperienced.”
He was admitted to the hospital in Duluth. I’ll let Lucille tell the story of what happened next:
I arrived at the hospital very early in the morning and went directly to Red’s room. The sign on the door stated, ‘No admittance. Inquire at desk.’ I waited patiently instead of inquiring immediately, assuming that the nurses were busy with him. …After a while, when no one came in or out of his room, I timidly checked with the nurse at the desk. Perhaps they had moved him during the night. The nurse looked up and tersely informed me in five short words, ‘The patient expired last night.’ What a terrible shock it was to hear those words. I was not yet twenty-one years old. I was a bride, a mother and a widow – and I was still only twenty…”
Poor Lucille. Although her life seemed to be over, she went on, got a job to provide for their son and eventually got remarried.
I got quite engrossed in this story; suddenly somebody from my past had come to life! At least for a short time. I only have one photo of Red and Lucille. It makes me think they knew how to have a good laugh and must have enjoyed their short married life very well.
I hope you enjoyed this journey into the past with me.
I’ll probably do something with this in the morning, but I’m leaving it up to conjecture.
When a robin goes a-bobbin’ In the shillow shallow seas He splishes and he splashes Until everyone agrees That his fithers and his feathers From his beak down to his toes Are as squeaky peaky clean As a newly watered rose
All done!
I’ll prilly prolly delete this in the early pearly morn.
Lynniebeemuseoday 