Old School Blogging

My gal pal Sarah over at The Sadder But Wiser Girl recently tagged me in a post that consists of lists of 5 things about myself. I’m still laughing over some of Sarah’s answers! Below you will find my answers to these questions. Enjoy!

Five Things I Have a Passion for:

1. Creating and looking at art

2. Going to thrift stores and garage sales

3. Being a mom

4. History

5. Dessert

I love being a mom to these kids!

Five Things I Would Like To Do Before I Kick the Bucket:

1. Eat an entire can of sweetened condensed milk

2. Wallpaper an entire room with little magazine pictures like I did with my attic (I think I am going to wait until I’m 80 years old and don’t care what the resale value of my home is).

3. Build a rock wall

4. Learn how to build stuff with wood (I guess that would be carpentry skills).

5. Own an art studio for kids (this seems overly ambitious for me but MAYBE).

This is our attic wall…I would love to do this to an entire room

Five Things I Say A Lot:

1. Why on earth would you think this okay to do? (this is to both my husband and kids)

2. Just a minute. Hold on. Wait a sec. (I have 4 people constantly asking me for something so they get some sort of variation of this)

3. That is flippin’ hilarious!

4. You are driving me crazy!

5. I don’t know (I seriously have to say this a lot because I get asked questions like “Would hopping on an ostrich save me if I got stuck in a tornado since they can run really fast?” all day long)

This is what it looks like when I am on the phone

Five Things I Read Recently:

1. The Birth Order Book by Kevin Leman (I read this to learn more about my kids and ended up learning a lot about myself)

2. Wonderful Tonight by Pattie Boyd (wife to George Harrison and Eric Clapton…pretty interesting)

3. Hundreds of children’s books ranging from The Potty Book for Boys, The Star Wars Easy Reader Books and Ramona Quimby

4. Penny Press’s Variety Puzzles (ok, so this isn’t really reading but it is a magazine I subscribe to…I absolutely love extremely hard logic problems that make me break out in a sweat trying to figure them out)

5. Country Living magazine (my mom always subscribes to magazines that let her pass on a second subscription to someone else and she always picks me)

Five Favorite Movies:

(disclaimer: I am really not a movie person because I usually fall asleep during them. The following movies are ones that not only I did NOT fall asleep during them but have watched  them multiple times)

1. Life is Beautiful (a movie about the Holocaust)

2. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas (a movie about the Holocaust)

3. Say Anything

4. The Help

5. The Green Mile (this is the only book I ever read that I equally liked the movie)

Five Places I Would Love to Travel:

1. Oregon/Washington area

2. Hawaii

3. Costa Rica

4. India

5. A remote African village to help out (I actually looked into joining the Peace Corps when I was in high school)

Five Bloggers I’m Tagging For This Thing:

1. Courtney @ Embracing the Insanity

2. Cathy @ Go Mama O

3. Lidia @ Ohlidia

4. Christine @ Momtimes4

5. Kate @ Did That Just Happen

All you ladies need to do is get to answering and writing so we can all learn a little more about you!

Have a great day!

Melissa

There’s History in Those Love Letters Part IV

In the past I shared 3 love letters that my grandpa wrote to my Grandma Charlotte when they were courting back in 1936. My grandma was 17 at the time and my grandpa was 23. She was still attending high school and he was a school teacher in a one-room school house. If you haven’t had the chance to read those letters; you can do so here:

There’s History in Those Love Letters

There’s History in Those Love Letter Part II

There’s History in Those Love Letters Part III

Soon after he wrote those letters they got married. The letter I am sharing today is a letter written in 1943; 7 years into their marriage and with 2 of their 4 children being born (Janet and Judy). By this time my grandpa had quit his job as a school teacher and since work was somewhat scarce in the rural area of Wisconsin that they lived, he had taken a short-term job in Omaha, Nebraska helping to build their airport. He went with his brother, Denver. I guess in a way it is not a true love letter but by all accounts it shows that my grandpa was still very much in love with my grandma. There is also some important history in this letter. I thought about omitting a part where my grandpa made a comment about African-Americans. Although his comment wasn’t intended to be racist and merely indicated that rural Wisconsin did not have a lot of African Americans at the time; he used a term that is no longer acceptable. After some consideration I decided it was important to include it and to show how far we have come as a country.

Grandma Charlotte and Grandpa Ed

Plattsmouth, Nebraska

May 31, 1943

Dearest Charlotte, Judy and Janet,

Denver is writing to Marie so I thought I would write to you too. I have just began to get rested up so I feel like writing.

Well I went to work today. I worked in the shop with Denver, helped on the trucks, took care of the gas pumping and fixed tires and things like that. I sure was a greasy mess when I got done work. I don’t know what I will get to do yet. Swanson isn’t here; he is in Minneapolis. I am staying in a room with Denver and a fellow by the name of Ed Jacques. He is a big fat fellow.

We eat at a restaurant downtown. It sure cost a lot to eat. It is awful crowded in our room. Denver and I may get a room to ourselves right away. One fellow from Arkansas thinks he may go to Asnaha (?) and stay.

Right beside the place we work is a bomber plant. They say they make eight planes a day there. They are taking off and landing all the time. They also try out their guns there.

There is only about two weeks of work unless something else turns up. I will let you know if there is. Some say there is an airport going in at La Crosse. I would rather go up there then. It wouldn’t be so far to take the kids.

I sure miss you and the kids. I sure hope your are well. If the kids get sick be sure and let me know as soon as you can.

Tell Janet there sure is a lot of negroes down here. I looked downtown for something to send home but I couldn’t find anything but I will look again tomorrow night. Maybe I can find something.

Did you go to the Cherser’s Memorial Day? I wished I hadn’t come down here when I did. If I had waited until now I would have known it would be a short job. The company put the bid on a lot of work but did not get it. Unless they can sub contract, the job will be very short.

Well honey, I guess that is about all I know. Take good care of yourself and the kids and give them a big smacker for me.

Are the berries ripe? I sure would like to have a big dish full with a little sugar and cream.

Write soon and tell me something.

Denver just asked me if I was getting homesick and I told him I wasn’t, but I really wish I was going to crawl into that old bed of ours instead of this bunk in the cabin.

When you get this newspaper read you’ll probably need a pair of specks. So I will quit.

With All My Love,

Ed

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Memories, Like the Corners of my Mind

Memories,

Like the corners of my mind

Misty water-colored memories….

It has been brought to my attention by my mom that my memories and some of the things that I recount here on my blog aren’t always factual when it comes to my childhood.

Remember when I said that my older sister gave me a home perm when I was a kid? Well, it was actually my mom that gave me the perm. My mom has finally figured out how to comment on WordPress so now if I get some facts wrong she will kindly set the record straight. Also, my aunt pointed out the other day that my Grandma didn’t eavesdrop too much on the party line. My dad may have exaggerated a bit that it was often.

The point that I’m trying to make is that everyone’s memory of a situation is different…especially when it comes to a kid’s memory.

Someday, I want my children to read this blog and see all the wonderful and not so wonderful memories of their life and their family’s history.

So today I am writing this post for my 5 year old son Bency.

When Bency was 3 years old he tackled his then 5 year old sister, Iris, on the recliner in the living room. She immediately began screaming, “Get off of me, you’re hurting me! Get him off of me…he’s hurting me!”

I was sitting on the couch adjacent to the scene and my husband was sitting at the computer desk next to them. After we both asked Bency to get off of his sister and he made no motion to discontinue his jumping on his sister, my husband reached over and pulled Bency off of her.

We heard a pop.

Both my husband and I looked at each other with wide eyes and then Bency let out a blood curdling scream.

Bency began holding his elbow and continued to scream at the top of his lungs. We instantly knew that something was seriously wrong so without a second thought we scooped him up and we all raced to the doctor’s office 5 minutes away.

Once inside the clinic, they immediately ushered us back to the examining room and the doctor came in within minutes as Bency laid in my lap still crying softly. He briefly felt Bency’s arm and elbow and then looked at me and said, “This will only take a second but hold him tight and expect a pop and a scream.” The doctor quickly pushed and turned and within seconds we heard the pop and Bency let out a yelp. Bency cried for a few more seconds and then we asked him if his arm still hurt. He thought about it for a moment and then answered, “no” and proceeded to hop off of my lap and start jumping around.

The doctor then explained that this is a common occurrence in children between the ages of 1-3 years old and is often called nursemaid’s elbow. It happens because the ligaments in that area haven’t fully developed at that age. You have to be extremely careful not to pull a child by their elbow. There is however no permanent damage done and it just pops back into place.

We breathed a sigh of relief and after spending a mere 15 minutes at the doctor’s office we left with a happy boy.

Over the last few years we have brought the story up occasionally because it was slightly horrific at the time. Also, Iris was 5 years old and remembers it quite vividly so she has told her brother that his elbow popped out of his socket. Bency, however , obviously doesn’t remember the situation at all.

The reason I believe this is because last summer Bency said, “Mom, do you remember the time my elbow popped out of my socket and blood started spewing all over? There was blood flying everywhere and my bones were poking out and you were trying to get my bones back into my body?”

I immediately sat Bency down and told him the whole story and assured him there was no blood involved and no bones were poking out of his body. I went over it a few times to make sure he fully understood. I was certain I had set the record straight.

A month ago at the dinner table Bency said, “Remember the time my elbow came out of my arm and all of my skin started melting off of me and all of my fingernails fell off? It was so terrible. The skin was literally just peeling off of me. And bones just started falling out of my body and blood was just dripping everywhere.”

I let out an exasperated sigh and once again found myself telling Bency the whole story all over again. Step by step. Every detail. I once again reiterated that there was no blood involved. No skin peeling or melting off. No bones protruding or falling out. Not one fingernail fell off.

So Bency, this one is for you. This is the real story. Please don’t tell people “your version”!!

Can you believe my bones were falling out and blood was everywhere and my skin was melting off??

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My Own Little Pieces of Art History

This past Monday found me organizing all of my art supplies. I just got rid of the non-working 1940’s refrigerator that I used to store it all in and replaced it with some shelving. It was no longer functioning as storage for me because it couldn’t hold everything I had and everything was spilling out onto the floor in several cardboard boxes. I spent more time looking for the things I needed than I was actually spending creating art.

I am still not done organizing not only because it is a huge, overwhelming job but also because I started losing myself in all of the stacks and stacks of artwork I have done over the years. A lot of the pieces really tell my story so much better than a photo album can.

Take for instance this little number I doodled during some high school class on a piece of notebook paper. My mind was always wandering and I could never pay attention…

A ink drawing I did while doodling during a high school class

I have always been fascinated by babies and eyes. This is a picture of one of my nephews that I drew 20 years ago. I remember he was sitting on someone’s lap and I just sat and drew him. It doesn’t surprise me that I never finished it. I have so many unfinished drawings in my stack of artwork…

A drawing of one of my nephews

I was so happy when I had kids of my own so that I could draw them. I have lots of artwork I did of these little people. Here is the first one I did when Iris was 2 1/2 and Bency was just a little baby.

watercolor painting from 2007

Here are a few more that I came across that I have done throughout the years. It’s amazing to sit back and remember sitting down and making these. When I look at them it brings me right back to those moments.

My husband’s favorite restaurant

Another restaurant in our town

A shop down the street from us

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Not About Blood, It’s About the Important Stuff

I grew up next to an Indian reservation. Seriously, our next door neighbors land was considered reservation land. The community I grew up in consisted mainly of Oneida Indians and I was constantly immersed in their culture and learning about their history.

Even though I was born here, my parents were not. They grew up in small towns in southwestern Wisconsin. After my Dad earned a degree in Civil Engineering, he moved my Mom and sister to northeastern Wisconsin where he landed a job designing bridges and highways for the state.

We weren’t exactly welcomed into the community with open arms at first. Even though our land wasn’t zoned as reservation, our neighbors didn’t believe that white people should be living on it. They didn’t let their daughter play with me but she and I found a way around this. We would meet at the barb wire fence that divided our land and we would sit across from each other and talk through the wire barrier. Her parent’s ill feelings toward our family must have waned in later years as I remember her coming over and roller skating on my driveway with me from time to time.

The neighbor’s horses were always getting into our yard. My Dad having grew up on a farm rebuilt their barb wire fence for them

During the summers when I was 4 and 5 years old I attended summer school at the community building. I wasn’t actually supposed to be able to attend as I wasn’t Oneida Indian but they let me anyway. I’m sure there were craft projects and games but the thing I remember most was the time slotted for learning the Oneida language. Most of what I learned has since been forgotten but I can still count to 10 in the language.

When I was 4 years old my Mom began working at the local nursing home. On her days off she would bring me there so I could visit with the residents. Many of them became my good friends and they told me such great stories. Unfortunately, I don’t remember any of their tales but I know even as a small child I was entranced by their history and what they shared with me. A lively old coot taught me how to swear in the Oneida language. I remember one of the sayings perfectly “Get-Get-Oh-Dah” which in family friendly terms means “chicken poop.” I guess my memory really only remembers the “really important stuff.”

My Mom and I began attending the local church when I was 7 years old. It was a small church and there were only a handful of people who attended that weren’t Oneida Indian. Every week we sang a few hymns that usually consisted of “Old Rugged Cross” and “He Has the Whole World in His Hands,” but then there was an allotted time devoted to singing three Oneida hymns that were sang in their language. They would hand out the booklets of the songs and even though they were in a language not our own it was pretty easy to sing along. The words mainly consisted of syllables but when you strung them all together it was pure magic. Every week I couldn’t wait to hear this beautiful music sung in words that I didn’t know the meaning of but could still understand that they had powerful message to them. There were two men who sat in the back that had deep bass voices that would do the underlying chants to the songs that reverberated through that small church and created a spectacular sound.

I’ve seen many powwows in my day. The community puts one on every year. Of course there is the delicious food offered at these events consisting of fry bread, Indian tacos and buffalo meat but then there is the actual dancing. The people get dressed up in the costumes that their ancestors would have worn hundreds of years ago, form a large circle and begin shaking their body and lifting their knees in a way that propels them forward slowly in an enchanting way. This mesmerizing dance is coincided with chanting. I have practiced this dance and the chants so many times in the privacy of my own home that I think if they ever needed a fill-in I would be a shoo- in.

The Oneida Indians getting ready to perform at the last Packer game we went to

My personal heritage is German and Norwegian but I grew up surrounded by the Oneida Indian culture. I know just as much about their history as I do of my ancestors’ backgrounds. I may not have Oneida blood in me but I know how to swear in their language and that is the “really important stuff.”

There’s History in Those Love Letters Part III

I have been sharing the love letters that my Grandpa wrote my Grandma back when they were courting back in 1936. Today you are getting the third installment seeing as though it’s Valentine’s Day and what better day to see some expressions of true love!

I have had some inquiries as to whether or not there is any letters that my Grandma wrote my Grandpa and I am sad to say there isn’t. We found these letters after my Grandma passed away and were tucked in a dresser drawer. No one knew they existed before this.

Grandma Charlotte

To catch you up to speed; my Grandma and Grandpa grew up on neighboring farm houses so they knew each other since they were children. My Grandma went away to a nearby town for her senior year of high school. My Grandpa stayed at the farm house and taught school at a one room school house nearby. Many of his students were related in some way. My Grandpa’s Mom passed away a few months before he wrote these letters and he is currently living with his Dad and little sister. In the following letter my Grandpa makes mention of a hired girl. They hired someone to live at the house to do the cooking, cleaning and taking care of my Grandpa’s little sister. My Grandpa also talks about Ruby and Arthur which is my Grandma’s sister and her husband. I imagine my Grandpa saw them more than my Grandma because they were still living in the neighboring farm house. Another person mentioned in the letter is Bob which is my Grandma’s little brother. I suppose my Grandpa had to pick him up and bring him to school sometimes.

Grandpa Ed

Enjoy another sweet and funny love letter from my dear old Grandpa:

March 30, 1936

Dearest Charlotte,

Is I ever blue, and this terrible snowing doesn’t help my feelings any. It sure is a gloomy day, and these restless kids almost drive me nuts.

I sure was glad I came up Sunday night. I sure did enjoy myself. The show was good and being with you took care of the rest of my desires.

Ruby and Arthur was up to the show Sunday night. I guess they saw us. Anyway they asked me how I liked the show. They went up with Bill & Irene.

I was down after Bob this morning. Your mother didn’t seem to have much to say for some reason. I hope she doesn’t give me a bawling out. I get too many of those anyway.

This week is going to be better than last for I know you are coming home this weekend.

Our new hired girl was there this morning. Gee I hate to see Ruby and Art leave, but I know they are glad to get away.

I got a note from Mrs. Crumerine so I suppose I shall have to go over there after school is out.

I suppose you are tired of reading this letter for I know it is not interesting at all. I am in such a hurry. I have missed 5^th and 6^th grade spelling now.

Write soon,

Love Eddie

P.S.  nite 10 bells

I didn’t get anywhere to mail this tonight so probably I will mail it tomorrow. It sure is a lovely evening except just a little cold. I just went outside (don’t ask what for) and did that moon look at me. Made me feel sorta (rumatic) I guess so I thought I would express myself but just can’t do it. Words fail me.

Lester has been kidding me tonight about you, but I don’t care I like it. In fact I like everything about you. Don’t forget I love you, and I think you are the sweetest darn kid. I have got to stop!

Yours,

Eddie

To read the previous letters:

There’s History in Those Love Letters Part I

There’s History in Those Love Letters Part II

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There’s History In Those Love Letters Part II

I wrote a previous post about my Grandparents and shared a love letter my Grandpa sent my Grandma. I have another one to share with you today.

My maternal grandparents started courting in 1936 when my Grandma was 17 and still in high school. My Grandpa was 23 and had a teaching job in a one room school house a few towns away from where my Grandma was living.

My Grandpa in his school room in 1937

Even though this is when they started dating they knew each other since they were children because they grew up in neighboring farm houses. My Great Grandma never liked my Grandpa but I don’t know why.

My Grandpa’s Mom, Alice passed away on January 9^th, 1936 leaving her husband, my Grandpa and a young daughter Bonnie to live at the farm on their own.

Even though I don’t know for sure, I would think all of these circumstances play a part in my Grandpa’s following letter to my Grandma. I mentioned in my last post that my Grandparents did not express their love outwardly but this letter truly proves that my Grandpa was a very sensitive, emotional man and loved my Grandma very much.

My Grandma Charlotte’s Senior Picture

March 17, 1936

Dearest Charlotte,

Well I hope you are not disappointed in finding this letter is from me instead of some other guy.

I got home o.k. last night, but I had to get up and get breakfast. Ruby and Art didn’t come back last night. Bonnie and Dad were back sick this morning. And I felt so darn blue I cried all the way to school.

It is noon now and have I felt mean this forenoon. I bet the kids think I am terrible. They have all gone out of the school house; because they are afraid of me I suppose. I wish you were down here; I would have you make out some tests for me. Not only that but I would just like to have you here. You seem to make my heart beat faster, and I feel as though it should.

I have got to take Dad to Readstown to-night. I think I will mail this then if I don’t forget it.

Gee I wish I could come up some night this week, but I am afraid I can’t. I have got to go to bed more and redeem myself for things I have been doing. I can just imagine what your mother thinks of me.

Well I know what I think of you any way. I think you are the sweetest darn kid I have ever been with, and I was never so darn crazy over anyone in my life. But the question is just what do you think of me. I have thought a lot about it and have come to no definite conclusion.

I shall be expecting a letter from you; if I get it I will be surprised and if I don’t I shall be disappointed.

Write Soon

With Love

Eddie Heal

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To read the first love letter click here!

There’s History in Those Love Letters

Of course I never knew my maternal grandparents when they were kids because well, that just wouldn’t be possible now would it?

Grandma & Grandpa in 1936

My memories of them are when they were in their 60’s, 70’s and 80’s.

They were extremely hard working. They were running the all-in-one store/tavern/gas station in their small town. Plus my Grandpa was a farmer raising cows and tobacco. My Grandpa was a big burly man with muscles like an ox. My Grandma was a slight little thing with a ton of energy.

When I think of my grandparents I don’t conjure up images of romance. They certainly had a union that worked and I thought of them as a great team. They raised four children together and shared plenty of hardships and victories with one another. But I’m sure I never saw them kiss or hug. I never overheard an “I love you.” There was no gift giving among the two and no elaborate anniversary celebrations.

But I know how in love they were. I have the proof. I have a handful of love letters my Grandpa wrote to my Grandma when they were courting. He was 23 and she was 17. My aunts have the originals and my mom made me a binder of copies of them all.

When my grandparents were courting my Grandpa was a school teacher in a one room school house and my Grandma was still in high school. They lived a few towns apart so were only able to see each other on the weekends.

Enjoy reading the following letter my Grandpa wrote my Grandma and see how their love started and went on to create their family and many more generations. Their legacy lives on even though they are no longer with us. I have their memories forever in my heart and I have these words to know that my family was built on true love.

March 23, 1936

Dearest Charlotte,

Well Monday is almost past and all I can say is that it was just another blue Monday.

The kids were real good to school today, and I didn’t have to keep fire either so that helped. I had a new scholar to school today. It was Bobby Crumerine. He sure is the berries. He came up to my desk and asked me why I didn’t come over and take Marie K. to town anymore. I didn’t know what to say.

Gee I wish I could come up, but I don’t know when I will get to. I think I will have to take Dad to Viola tomorrow night.

George said he wasn’t going to Viroqua any more this week so I suppose I will have to come alone.

I sure wish you were coming home this weekend. I am afraid it will be an awful lonesome weekend.

It is almost eleven o’clock and I am sitting here thinking a lot and writing a little and all I can think about right now is you.

I am just wondering what you are doing. Probably out with some darn nice guy, and thinking how foolish you were to go out with me.

You said you liked me a little, but I just had a feelin you were foolin, but I hope not for I like you so darn much. I have been wondering whether or not it was love, but I guess it can’t be for I haven’t broken out with a rash yet although I have been looking for it.

I must close for it is getting my sleepy time.

With All My Love,

Eddie

P.S. Please Excuse Scribbling I can’t do better I wasn’t cut out to be a writer.

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The Blanket Boy

None of my three children ever got attached to a blanket as a baby. I was seriously disappointed about this.

I don’t think there is anything cuter than a toddler dragging around a faded, ripped up blanket. Something about it just strikes up innocence and sweetness. But like I said, I never had one of these children.

Believe me, I tried. We had a lot of baby blankets….thin, thick, fuzzy, shiny, super soft, nubby, and all kinds of different patterns and characters. As we rocked and snuggled I always draped a blanket on them. When I put them in their cribs they all had a blanket laid on them. None of the kids were disgusted with blankets; they just didn’t want to drag them around.

I thought I had a chance with my youngest son, Cesar. When he woke up in the morning and from naps he would grab his blanket and request to bring it downstairs with him. My body felt giddy at the prospect of having a “Blanket Baby.” I dreamed of the fun challenges this would bring. I know mothers with blanket babies have a hard time getting it washed and there’s always the challenge of replacing the “irreplaceable” blanket that has been lost. My excitement in the possibility of having a “blanket fiend” was short-lived though. Cesar never carried it around. He merely brought it downstairs and never looked at it again. Months ago he even quit requesting to bring blankets downstairs.

I have made peace with this, thanks to my 5 year old son, Bency. Much to my surprise he has come to love blankets. He is actually kind of obsessed with them. Thankfully, he doesn’t want to drag them around and we didn’t have to send one to Kindergarten with him but he does like a blanket wrapped around him when he is sitting watching television. He also requested 3 blankets on his bed this fall as the nights began to get colder.

I was happy to oblige my son with three blankets and as I pulled them out of the chest I told him the story of each blanket.

The first blanket was made by my mom almost 30 years ago. When I was 7 years old I was in a sledding accident and ended up in the hospital for eight days with internal injuries. While I lay in my hospital bed my mom sat by my side and made me this quilt. I loved this quilt and always used it on my bed or to wrap up in when I watched television. I took it with me when I moved out on my own and with its age and several washings it began to tear and get faded. I requested my mom to repair it several times.

The blanket my mom made me when I was 7 years old

She did repair my blanket but she also made me a new quilt. This one was equally loved even though I received it in my 20’s. This one now gets added to my daughter’s bed every Fall.

The second blanket my mom made me that now gets added to my daughter’s bed every fall

The second two blankets I added to my son’s bed, share the same story. They were crocheted by my Great-Grandma Palma on my father’s side. She was Norwegian, very creative and always busy. She made these for my parents in the 1970’s. I remember they always draped over our olive green sofa when I was little. When I moved out of my parent’s house they were passed down to me.

the blankets my Great-Grandma Palma crocheted

When I finished telling the stories of the blankets to my son; he looked at me very earnestly and said, “Mom, please don’t ever pass these blankets down. I want to keep them forever.”

I told him that we would keep them forever.

Little did he realize, I was in fact passing them down to him at this moment as I placed the blankets on his bed.

He is my blanket boy.