Mama Remembered: Kids and Comic Books

 

Comic books were a big deal when I was a little kid, but it sounds like they may have been even a bigger deal when my older siblings and cousins were growing up. 

   Roy and Bill, the comic-book-trading cousins from Kansas City with my brother behind them.

~~~~~~~~~

Here is another excerpt from Mama’s book I Remember:

Our children loved comic books.  They had stacks of them.  Of course, in those days — the 30’s and 40’s — they only cost a dime.  The kids used to trade comics with all their friends.  They also traded with their cousins, Roy and Bill, every time our families got together.

But when we moved to Springfield, Missouri from Kansas City in 1946 the kids lost a lot of their traders.

After we had been in Springfield a few months, Ivy (Mama’s sister, Bill and Roy’s mom) wrote that she and George and the boys were coming to see us.  The kids panicked.  They were afraid Bill and Roy would forget to bring comic books for trading.  There wasn’t time to get a letter to them, so the kids pooled their money and sent them a telegram that simply said, “Bring comics.”  Needless to say, when they got to our house they had the trunk of their dad’s car full of comic books.

They all laugh about that even today when they get together. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Communication was so much different in the 40’s than it is today.  Letters were the way they communicated with anyone out of town.  If they got a long distance call or a telegram, it was expected it would be about some serious emergency, like a death.  So, I’m sure it was a big event at my aunt and uncles’ house when they received a telegram, especially one to their sons from their cousins about comic books!

Simpler times.

“Today I am a man.”

 

   The three wrestlers about a year ago.  Jay is about 5 inches taller now.

Because we’ve been married 44 years, there aren’t too many things I don’t know about Hubby.  So, it was interesting  last week to be on the phone with him and Gunny and listen to them talking about their wrestling experiences in high school, sparked by the fact that Jay, Gunny’s son and our only grandson, has just started wrestling as a freshman (on varsity! — the proud Nana said).

Gunny said that he remembered his first “pin” (win).  It was a guy who had beaten him the first time they competed.  He said achieving that “first” was almost as much fun as seeing the shocked look on the other kid’s face that Gunny had beaten him this time.

Hubby surprised me when he said he remembered that first win for Gunny too.  Gosh, I think I went to most of Gunny’s wrestling matches, but I honestly don’t remember much about them.  But, I guess it’s okay because apparently Hubby remembers Gunny’s wrestling experience much better than I do.  Probably because I never wrestled!

Then Hubby told us about his first win in wrestling, which I don’t remember ever hearing before.  He said that when he walked back to the team bench, apparently he must have looked pretty proud of himself because the coach smiled at him and said “Today, I am a man.”  A funny but nice tease about his obvious pride but also an acknowledgement of his achievement.  

And now last night Jay called to tell us that he had had his first “pin”!  A milestone in his life that he wanted to share with both of us, but especially Grandpa.

“Today, I am a man.”

Super Cooper’s Story

 

   Cooper

Justin and Elise are our nephew and his wife and they have a daughter Grace who is six years old and a two year old son, Cooper.  Justin wrote the following in August:  Cooper turned 2 years old last month. For the past three months Cooper has sporadically complained that his neck hurt after he would do physical activities such as running, jumping or getting tickled. He would complain about his neck but once he rested or lay down for a few seconds – off he would go! 

 Elise and her motherly instinct continued to monitor him closely and took him to the pediatrician and a number of specialists to attempt to figure out the issue. The doctors felt it was probably nothing that serious because it only presented as neck pain and no other symptoms such as slurred speech, loss of balance, vomiting, etc. But once again Elise knew something was not right. Long story short – she pushed for an MRI to make sure nothing was seriously wrong expecting maybe a spine, back or disc issue. 

 But, during the MRI they found a tumor on the base of Cooper’s brain approximately the size of a golf ball. Cooper was admitted to Duke University on August 18th and had surgery on August 20th. The surgery last nearly 12-hours from start to finish. 

As you can imagine, all of our family and their many friends have been praying for this precious little family constantly since this all started in August. 

 Justin and Elise, in a wonderful use of modern technology, have posted regularly on a website provided by Duke so that all who love and care about them can know what is going on with Cooper’s treatments and how their family is getting by.  

When I read the following post Elise did at Thanksgiving, it brought tears to my eyes and another kind of thankfulness to my heart . . . for the example of faith, love and courage that she and Justin have been to everyone who knows them since Cooper was diagnosed with a brain tumor just over three months ago. 

The tumor was removed immediately, but Cooper has been in constant treatment at one medical facility or another ever since, while teams of doctors use all their talents and resources* to assure that all of the tumor has been removed and to restore him to his healthy two year old self.  Cooper isn’t totally out of the woods yet, but we are all praying for his complete recovery.

As Elise wrote this, she and Cooper are living in an apartment near a huge medical facility several hours from home where Cooper is receiving treatment.  Justin and Grace, who just started kindergarten, keep the home fires burning and visit at every opportunity.  Not exactly an ideal situation for any of them, which makes this post she wrote at Thanksgiving very remarkable:

Forever Grateful

As the Thanksgiving Holiday comes ever so quickly I find myself stopping and taking a breath during all of the chaos of life to remember how very blessed our family is. Sometimes it is hard to feel that way but when I step back and look at what God has provided my family I am overwhelmed with love. I have a beautiful family that I love more than life, I have friends I cannot imagine a day without, I have a roof over my head and a bed to rest it on at night, and I have been given the opportunity to meet new and wonderful people every day who help me to grow and learn and hopefully become better. I have nothing but thanks to give.  

We are forever grateful to all of you for just being there and encouraging us along this journey. You are all our blessing and will be in our prayers this Thanksgiving Day! Please know that Coop and Grace feel your warmth and love daily! 

 With love,
Elise 

 *Cooper’s illness has made his parents very aware of the need for funding in the area of treatment and research in regard to pediatric cancer.  So, they have formed The Super Cooper Little Red Wagon Foundation, in order to raise support for those very necessary, but many times underfunded, organizations they have come to know through this journey. 

  If you are interested in donating $10 to this worthwhile cause and receiving a Super Cooper’s Pit Crew bracelet, here is how you can do it.  

The Super Cooper Little Red Wagon Foundation 

In order to help support these worthwhile organizations, you can purchase a light blue (Coop’s favorite color) bracelet with the inscription “Super Cooper’s Pit Crew.” 

 A $10 donation per bracelet would be greatly appreciated. All contributions are tax deductible.  

Make checks payable to: Fidelity Charitable Gift Fund. Please reference fund # 1027451 on your check’s memo line. Fidelity will issue a receipt to the address on your check. 

  Please send your order and check to: 

 Jennifer Thompson
208 Glenhaven Dr
Chapel Hill, NC 27516 

Adult Size # ___________
  

Child Size (Ages 7 and under) # ____________ 

 Thank you.  

Three’s a Crowd!

 

   This is a picture of my oldest sister, Betty Rose, when she was around 18. 

   This is a picture of her boyfriend/future husband Hillard at the same time — the three-years-older “college man”.

    This is a picture of the bottom of the stairs in our house — a favorite spot for Betty Rose and Hillard to sit and talk when they were dating.  The hall to the back door was on the other side of the stairs.  And the window where all that sunlight is coming in, is across that hall in the bathroom.  So, you can see there was a close proximity between the love birds’ favorite spot to roost and the bathroom just across the hall.

   This is me around the same time at about 2 years old.

I think being the only little kid in a house full of many “big people” who were always bustling around doing interesting things made me something of an observer, and, I’m told,  Betty Rose and Hillard were a specific source of interest to me.  They were dating, so they would sit around holding hands and whispering and laughing together.  Of course, I didn’t understand dating and young love, but I guess I found them interesting because I could tell there was something special going on there, so whenever they were together, I was drawn to them like a straight pin to a magnet.

One evening, during a very important time in my life, i.e. potty training, Mama had taken me into the bathroom, put me on my little potty chair, and then she had been called away for a minute so she told me to stay there on my potty.  And she left the room and closed the door.

Well, while I was in there alone, sitting and thinking, I heard two of my favorite people arrive in their favorite sitting place just outside the door!  So, (after all, I was too young to read while “sitting”, so you can understand my desire for something interesting to do to help pass the time!), I got up, pulled my potty chair over to the door, opened the door so that I could watch the love birds, and sat back down on my potty.  (I like to see this in a positive light — that I was showing an early talent for multi-tasking.) 

If you think that this paints a funny picture, let me just assure you that Betty Rose did not see annnny humor in this at the time.  She immediately marched to my “ring-side” seat in the door of the bathroom, dragged my potty chair (and me!) back to the other end of the bathroom, sat me down on it (I’m sure, giving me the  commands to “sit!” and “stay!”) and firmly closed the door as she left.

Let me just say that all of this is a story that I don’t think I actually remember myself.  I think I just remember it because it was told to me so many times in subsequent years.  So I really have no idea what my thoughts were right then and why, oh why I would voluntarily incur “the wrath of Betty Rose”, but I did – because once again  .. I got up .. pulled my potty chair back to the door .. opened the door again .. and sat down on the potty again to watch the “show”.

I doubt I even got sat down that second time before Betty Rose was in there putting me back where I belonged and calling for Mama to “do something with this child”.  Party pooper (pun intended).  She had called in “the big gun”, Mama, so that was the end of my “entertainment” for that evening. 

And the conclusion of a story that I heard many times as I was growing up.  Betty Rose actually thought it was funny … later! 

  They must not have held a grudge because they did let me be the flower girl in their wedding the next year. 

So, I guess everything turned out all right — they got married, I got potty trained, and we all lived happily ever after.

The End 

Call me Nana

 

When I was a little girl almost every grandmother I knew was called “Grandma something“.  I say almost because Mama’s mother chose to be called Mom Browning by everyone, including her grandchildren.  I remember asking why that was the case and being told that she didn’t want to be called “Grandma” because it made her feel old.  I don’t know if that was really her reason, but I do know that it was considered unusual to not call her “Grandma”, at least in our family.

But then I met someone who widened my view of the world by letting me see a totally different way of life than my own Midwestern one, giving me many new experiences that I would remember for the rest of my life, and changing many of my notions along the way about “how things are done” … including what grandmas are called.

 I was 7 or 8 years old when I met the fascinating Page who was marrying my brother.  She dazzled this little Midwestern girl in many ways, not the least of which was that she was pretty … slim and tan with dark hair and eyes and a soft, husky voice that always sounded like she was smiling.   (Can you hear a smile?  I thought I could.)  She was 19 or 20 years old when I met her and she lived with her family in a big house in California, with a swimming pool in the back yard!  I had never known anyone with their own swimming pool.  And I even got to swim in it! 

And she took me for my first ride in a convertible on a California freeway.  The combination of riding in a convertible for the first time and on a multiple lane highway with lots of cars whizzing by, all done with the (in my eyes) glamorous Page doing the driving in a very chic big straw hat with a scarf-like attachment to tie under the chin and big sunglasses (very 50’s chic, ala Audrey Hepburn), is all indelibly etched into my memory. 

Even her name charmed me.  To me, Page just sounded so sophisticated and so different than all the Peggy’s and Barbara’s and Susie’s I knew!

The other thing I loved about Page was that she talked to me.  Remember when you were a little kid?  Aren’t the people you remember the best the ones who looked you in the eye and actually talked to you, rather than at you?  I remember Page was one of the people who did that with me.  And in one of our conversations, she told me about her beloved “Nana”, her grandmother who had died a few years earlier.  I decided right then and there that when I was a grandmother, I was going to tell my grandchildren to call me “Nana”.

Years later after Page and my brother divorced, she continued to deal with circumstances in her own unique way.  She and her three girls and her new husband lived in California and my parents lived here in Indiana.  After the divorce, that would have been a great excuse for Page to lessen contact with my parents, but she didn’t.  She kept in contact with them herself and made sure that her girls did too.  And, when she and her new husband and the girls would travel in their motor home around the country, they would always come by to see my parents.  Many, many times Mama said how much she appreciated that Page made sure, even with the distance and the divorce, that her girls had as close a relationship as possible with their Indiana Grandma and Grandpa.

When Page’s daughters started having their own families, it didn’t surprise me at all that she came up with a very unique name for her grandchildren to call her, Star.  I don’t remember exactly what the story was about why she picked that name, but it was certainly an original and I’m sure she never had to worry about identifying which “Star” she was, as some grandmothers have to do, ala Grandma Smith as opposed to Grandma Jones.

Since then, I have heard many names that grandmother’s have their grandchildren call them other than Grandma, like Mimi, Memaa and Mame.  And DD’s Italian mother-in-law used the traditional Italian name, Noni.  But there was never any question that when I had grandchildren, I wanted to be called “Nana”.

I was inspired to write this post about names for grandmothers because last Friday, Page’s oldest daughter became a grandmother for the first time, and I was wondering what she would have her new grandson call her. 

But, in the end, it really doesn’t make any difference what we are called.  Grandma, ”Mom”, Nana, Star, Mimi, Memaa, Mame, Noni and all the other names … are all just identifiers for women in a very special “club” who have the honor of being someone special in their grandchildren’s lives.

A Hardworking Grandma

 

I ‘ve told you many stories about the history of my family, partly because of Mama’s book — there are lots of stories to tell.  But, I guess, the main reason is mostly because it is my family! 

But there are also some great stories I’d like to tell about Hubby’s family.  And today I’m remembering his Grandma Martha.

   This is a picture of Hubby’s grandparents, Martin and Martha, with their young family around 1912.  Hubby’s dad, Arthur, is the baby (here is a post I wrote last year about his life).

Of course, they are all dressed in their Sunday best, because I’m sure it was a big event when they had a formal picture taken.  But, don’t be fooled into thinking these were people of leisure.  They were hardworking farmers who worked from sun up to sundown to farm their land and raise their family.

And here is a favorite family story about Grandma Martha that shows that she had already developed her hardworking ways as a young girl. 

This story happened one year at harvest time when Martha was a very young teen. 

If I understand correctly, this is the way they picked the corn.  Each worker strapped a tool, something like the ones pictured below, to the palm of one hand.  In essence, it was a knife that you didn’t have to keep picking up or worry about dropping.

Then they walked down the line of corn stalks in teams of two, with each working the stalks on their side, removing each ear by using this tool to cut back the dry husks and silks (to minimize the contact their bare hands had with the sharp husks) so that they could then grip the ear of corn with the other hand and snap it off the stalk. 

I know there were wagons to put the corn in, but I can’t envision where they would have been, without knocking down the corn, so I’m picturing that maybe each worker wore some sort of bag that they would take to a wagon at the edge of the field and dump when it was full. 

Four workers were hired to help do the picking.  But, one day during the harvest one of the workers didn’t show up and Martha volunteered to fill in.  This wasn’t a job that girls and women normally did. 

I’m guessing that the three “pros” (strong young men who made good money during this time of year, hiring out to whatever neighbor needed help with his harvest) were all hoping they wouldn’t have to team up with the girl, but someone had to and it ended up being a young neighbor, Jim. 

Then the other two young men, suddenly enjoying what they saw as their friend’s disadvantage for having to be teamed with a very young girl, suggested a contest.  The two teams would start picking at opposite ends of the field, and they would see who could get to the middle first.  Jim agreed, but I imagine without much expectation of winning.

But, I’m sure you can guess what happened … Martha and Jim won!   And for the rest of their lives (they always lived in the same area, so knew lots of people in common) Jim loved to tell people the story about Martha and him beating those other two.  And he would always elaborate on how strong and fast Martha was and how hard she worked.  My guess is, that all three of those guys learned that day, “Don’t bet against Martha!”

When Hubby’s parents, Art and Vera, married, it was agreed that Art would begin purchasing the farm and he and Vera would live in the big family farmhouse with Martin and Martha.  I don’t know if there was ever any discussion about Martin and Martha moving to a smaller house in town, as Martin’s parents had done when Martin and Martha married and purchased the farm from them, but, for whatever reason, it never happened.  Both Martin and Martha lived out their lives sharing a home with their son, daughter-in-law and their children.  And, by the way, several generations living in the same house wasn’t at all unusual back then.

Actually, Grandpa Martin only lived long enough to know two of Art and Vera’s children, Hubby and his older sister.  The story goes that Martha and Martin were hosting a family get-together and there was a spirited Euchre game going on around the kitchen table (a favorite card game in this area).  Someone had just said something funny and Martin threw back his head and laughed, tipping his chair back on its back legs, but then he and the chair just continued to fall back.  He was dead from a heart attack before he hit the floor.  Hubby was 9 months old at the time.

But, Grandma Martha lived 16 years longer.  In fact, when I started dating Hubby, she was still alive.  I only remember meeting her a couple times.  What I remember most about her is that she called everyone by their given name — she called me Sandra, even though everyone else at that time called me Sandy.

   This is the only other picture of Grandma Martha I could find.  I would guess this was when she was in her 40’s. 

Apparently Grandma Martha’s demeanor was always one of  hard work and perpetual motion, going from one task to the next, without any down time.  My mother-in-law, Vera, a wonderful person who I’m sure would never have said this to Grandma, did tell me one time that there were times during the many years she lived with her hardworking mother-in-law, when she would have liked to just be able to sit down for a little while.  But, she said she never felt like she could do that when Grandma herself never “just sat down”!  No matter how wonderful her mother-in-law was, I’m sure there were times when Hubby’s mom, and I’m guessing Grandma too, wished she didn’t have to share a house with another woman.  But, overall, they had a good relationship.  

I’m told that when everyone sat down in the evening to relax, even then, Grandma liked to sit in a straight-back chair at the end of the sofa with her sewing basket and a stack of clothes that needed to be mended next to her so that she could do mending!  But, and this is a very big but, Hubby says he remembers that any time he or one of his siblings would take a book to her and ask her to read to them, she would stop what she was doing, and read.

Hubby says it wasn’t always fun to have a third adult supervising you, especially when you were a high-energy little boy, but he now looks back fondly on their live-in grandma who, even though a hard worker, still always had time for her grandchildren, and he recognizes the ways she added to all their lives, not the least of which was as an example of the value of hard work!

Thankful for Family Time

 

Two weekends ago we visited Gunny and his family for a very busy long weekend.  Our goals while we were there were — to see Nikki cheer at a varsity football game — to celebrate her 16th birthday — to attend her and Jays’ confirmation — to see Jay play on the freshman football team — and to squeeze in some visiting time whereever we could.   And we managed to do it all!

On Friday night:

  Because of the confirmation we didn’t have any flexibility in which weekend we visited, so if we wanted to see Nikki cheer we would have to drive to a game on Friday night two and a half hours away!  But when you live as far away as we do, you have to take opportunities as they present themselves, so we made the trip and were glad we did.

  It was an exciting game that our team won in the last few minutes.

 

  Nikki with a close friend who is also a cheerleader.

   It was realllly cold and I hadn’t thought to take gloves, so Dilly was kind enough to lend me one of hers.  Not a perfect, solution but at least it helped!  (It’s hard to see, but we had our gloved hands clasped together in the middle.)

On Saturday:

   We celebrated Nikki’s 16th birthday!

   We couldn’t decide on what kind of cake to buy at the fantastic local bakery, so we bought two small ones — one lemon and one red velvet.

   But, as her special birthday “cake” Nikki opted for a slice of strawberry cheesecake, and then we bought this humongus candle to go on top that was about the same size as the slice it was sitting on!

   I wanted to get a nice family picture of them.  But, Jay was goofing off a little.

   So, he and Gunny “discussed” how he should pose for the picture …

   … ahhh, much better.

   I love this picture.  Nikki knows how to smile for a picture, but Jay does have trouble deciding how he should pose.  So I like this one because he just looks like him – no pose at all!

   I don’t know.  Do you think you can tell they’re related? I kind of think so.

   And these two look a little alike too.

On Sunday morning:

   Nikki and Jay were confirmed into the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod.  They each had to ask someone to stand with them at the front and read their confirmation bible verse, and they asked Hubby and me.  Hubby for Jay and me for Nikki.  We were very honored that they asked us.

On Monday night:  We enjoyed watching Jay’s freshman football team win their game.  Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been for the varsity game on Friday night!  But, unfortunately I forgot my camera, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that he was very cute (in a “manly” sort of way, of course) in his uniform and played well.

Early Tuesday morning:

   Gunny met us for breakfast before we left town.  We had to wait a few minutes for the doors of the restaurant to open at 6 a.m.!

Thank you Father for the wonderful time we got to spend with our loved ones.

Like Patting Your Head and Rubbing Your Tummy …

 

… it’s very hard to laugh and be mad at the same time.

The very funny husband of one of my nieces in Atlanta told me this story from their early days of marriage.  Somehow it made it even funnier that he was telling it in his pronounced southern drawl.

They had just been married a short time. 

He went out for an evening with a couple friends, but said he would be home by midnight.

He lost track of time and suddenly realized it was 1:30 a.m.!  Rats.  She was going to be mad.  But wait, maybe she was asleep and wouldn’t even notice what time he got home! 

But, on the other hand, if she was waiting up for him, she would be really worried.  (This was before cell phones, so she couldn’t call him even if she was awake and worried about where he was.)

He decided he had to take the chance of waking her up.  He called.

But, when she answered the phone, before she could even say hello, he said in an excited voice (and, of course, in his cute southern drawl),

“DON’T PAY THE RANSOM, HONEY!  I ESCAPED!”

They’ve been married a long time now, and I’m betting that “excuse” only worked once, but knowing them both, I’m sure they’ve had lots of other laughs along the way. 

Laughter is an invaluable ingredient in a marriage.

Can’t-See-Your-Hand-In-Front-Of-Your-Face Dark

 

When Mama was a teenager their family lived on a farm outside Leavenworth, Kansas, not too far from the federal prison.  And after they moved there, they found out that movies were shown at the prison one night a week for the townspeople as well as the prisoners! 

Now,  it is hard for me to imagine wanting to see a movie badly enough to go to a prison to see it, with the prisoners sitting on one side of the auditorium and the townspeople on the other.  But, this was back in the 1920’s when movies were really new, and Mama and her sister and brother who were also teenagers, were willing to go anywhere to see the marvel of moving pictures.  And they were free — the only way they could have seen them. 

So, the three of them would walk a couple miles on country roads to get to the prison, which wasn’t a problem when they were going to the prison because it was still daylight (and they were used to walking long distances to school and, well, just about anywhere they wanted to go). 

But, she would always tell the story about one time when they walked home and it was overcast … absolutely NO moonlight.  Usually there was at least a little moonlight for them to see by, but this time, it was pitch, can’t-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face black.  They held hands so that they would stay together, and then cautiously picked their way home.  As you can imagine, they were unbelieveably happy when they finally saw the light from their house up ahead! 

When Mama would tell this story, she always said  that it was one of the scariest experiences of her life.

What reminded me of this story is that yesterday morning at about six o’clock our electricity went out.  And, because we are still on Daylight Savings Time (don’t get this early riser started on that !), it was still dark out … one of those pitch black nights as Mama had described.  And, until we turned a flashlight on, it was amazing how hard it was to walk anywhere in our own very-familiar house when there was a total absence of light.  So, we did what retired people have the luxury of doing … we went back to bed, and used the lights coming back on, over an hour later, as an alarm clock to tell us it was time to get up again!

But later it amazed me when I thought about how really black it had been yesterday morning, and I wondered why it seemed so especially black, when, after all, I walk through the house sometimes at night when there are no lights on, and naturally some of those nights must be of the pitch black variety, so why was yesterday different? 

When I got up this morning, I suddenly realized the answer.  Yesterday morning had been a perfect storm created by the convergence of an overcast, pitch black night with a loss of electricity.

This morning even “in the dark”, I could see to get around because our bedside clock is illuminated, as well as the one on the front of the TV in the cupboard across the room.  When I walked into the living room, I noticed the illuminated clock on the front of that TV.  And when I looked into the dark kitchen, I could see the clocks on the fronts of the microwave, the oven and the TV.  Aha!  Dawned the realization that our electric clocks are inadvertent nightlights! 

So, now I know that even when it is a can’t-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face night, as long as we have electricity, we have volunteer “nightlights” all over the house that give us a little walking-around light.

Mama Remembered: Holes in the toes of my shoes

 

 An excerpt from Mama’s book I Remember:

Did you ever try to walk without putting your feet out in front of you?  Well I remember one time I did.

When I was 12 years old we were moving from northern Missouri to a farm near Lansing, Kansas and had stopped in Kansas City to visit relatives.  I wanted to go out to our old neighborhood where we lived before we move to northern Missouri, so Dad took me out to 13th and Quindaro to visit.

I was walking down the street with a girl who used to live next door to us.  All at once I became very conscious of her good clothes and the holes in the toes of my shoes.  I was terribly embarrassed and left as soon as I could.

Mama told me that the main reason she quit school after 8th grade (about the time of this story) was that she was embarrassed by her clothes and shoes.  

Because of that story, I am especially touched when I recall the following story about my older sisters which I heard many times, even though it isn’t included in her book.

  Betty Rose, Martha Lou and Jean Marie

They don’t look like washing dishes is their favorite thing to do, do they?  But, the dresses they are wearing are the real reason I’m showing you this picture.

When my three older sisters were in grade school, at the beginning of each school year Mama would make each of them five dresses, sometimes  out of printed feed sacks! (What a great idea by the feed sack manufacturers to put feed in sacks made of material that could be reused.  Let’s not ever kid ourselves that “recycling” is a recent idea!)  And she said she made a pair of underpants (she called them underpants but I picture them more like bloomers) to match each dress, with a little pocket on the side so that a hanky could be kept in it. 

It was important to Mama for her girls to have new dresses for the start of school, but there was no way she and Daddy could afford all those dresses.  So she lovingly made each of her daughters five dresses, with matching underpants, sometimes out of ”recycled” feed sacks.

Mama and Daddy didn’t always have alot of money, especially when my older siblings were little, but they worked very hard to keep their children from feeling poor.  

Their circumstances were much better by the time I came along, so I never wore shoes with holes in the toes.  But, even when the others were little and times were hard, I know Mama would have done everything she could to made sure they didn’t either.