Me, Myself and Memories

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  Noreen 2:21 am on January 25, 2017 Permalink  

  The Glider Rocker is Home 

  

  Bob estimated that the rocker was from the early 1900s. It will now be able to go forward being able to not only look at but to be enjoyed as a rocker.

  The glider rocking chair is back home after several weeks of being in the repair shop. For as long as I can remember there had been veneer missing on the back side of the very top of the back rest to the rocker. In its place was a huge smear of putty to bridge the gap of the original veneer to the rougher wood used to create the curved top of the backrest.  I can only imagine how hard it was for Bob to get the aged putty cleaned out for a new piece of veneer to be placed and then carry the same curvature and detailed knobs at the very top. The seat has been reinforced from the bottom for many more bottoms to enjoy rocking away. One of the spindles on the backrest had been cracked. The only thing keeping it in place was the tension the remaining spindles recreated. Bob, my SOB, Sweet Ole Bob, made a slice in the narrow spindle and inserted a narrow steel rood for support with glue as the final touch. In the glider portion itself, one of the dowels going across the width had been replaced with a piece of broom handle that had then been painted black. Now, a new stained wooden dowel matching the rest of the dowels is in place. This beauty has had much TLC under Bob’s capable repair. The repair ticket taped to the back for the cost was for $30. I realize that Bob had been my boss for many years when he was one of the county commissioners, and we had a good relationship when I retired. He argued . . . but in the end a $50 bill stayed with him in his shop. There are not very many people who will take the time to honor older pieces of furniture that have a lifetime of sentiment attached to them. I feel so blessed to be able to not only look at this rocker and recall decades of memories, but it now has full utility to be sat in, and perhaps someday, a new baby will be rocked in it, just as I rocked my brother Michael when he was an infant 66 years ago.  The dusting of it . . . after all these years, still a challenge.

   
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  Noreen 3:12 am on January 21, 2017 Permalink  

  Ever Wonder? 

  If anyone ever wonders how the older ones on Stauffer Avenue get ready for Christmas . . . I will let the cat out of the bag.  More to the point, how the ole cowboy on Stauffer Avenue gets ready for Christmas.  Many moons ago, we realized that there was nothing that we could buy for family that would hit the mark, or what family wanted or needed we couldn’t afford.  Dennis happened upon the idea of giving $2.00 bills to each family member.  

  Not a single Christmas goes by that Dennis does not relay the story of Carrie’s reaction the first Christmas we did this. There had been a  Christmas party planned at her church, and somehow she would have to find something in the closet to wear to the party.  Not much came forward out of the closet and less in spendable resources.  Along came Dennis’ $2.00 bill gift and she called Dennis with thanks, I think with tears, that she could now go out and purchase a new dress that would be appropriate.  If memory serves me, that little black dress was in her closet for may events to come.  Since that time the families have grown.  Dennis still continues his tradition.  

  This is such a part of his Christmas “good feelings.” With seven children, 10 grandchildren and six greatgrands, the savings towards Christmas on our part starts early in the year.  Once a year, we call ahead to the bank for them to order the $2.00 bills for us.  Not many banks mess with having them on hand.  It takes just about $1,000 for Dennis to play Santa Clause – and who has more fun?  This year he took it upon himself to use some of my crafting papers to make the envelopes for the stashes.  He did a great job of making it special.  While I was working on granddaughter Cheyenne’s t-shirt quilt, Dennis set up shop to do his elfing.  I so enjoyed watching him being so diligent with the counting. 

  Monday of this week, grandson Ryan and his daughter Addison, stopped in after Addison was out of school for the day with a big “Thank you.”  Yesterday, son-in-law Tom was out for a walk and noticed Dennis in his rocking chair in the garage porch.  Tom wanted Dennis to know he and Denise were very appreciative of the Christmas gift.  As late as today, we received a thank you from one of the granddaughters in an email to send out a thanks and allowing us to know that her son, three year Oliver,  put his bills in his Mickey Mouse bank that we had given him when he all but O.D. on Mickey Mouse cartoons.  

  There may be a few more that get added to the families over time, but I know Dennis will just get on the horn to the bank and put his order in.  Being able to do something for everyone is all the Christmas gift that is needed by us. 

   
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  Noreen 3:30 am on January 17, 2017 Permalink  

  What a Life 

  Today it just seemed like the thing to do: take advantage of the 30 plus degree weather this morning.  I wiped off some of the clothesline from grim that may have settled.  Out went the quilts for a freshening up.  At noon lunch Dennis reminded me of weather that was coming in.  When Dennis handed the quilts to me, I buried my nose in them and just took in all that wonderful fresh air aroma.  Now, hours later, the entire home is still basking in the real deal of fresh air.

  I do believe that little exercise of what Mom taught me, kept me in the kitchen for the greater portion of the day.  I am dyed in the wool a farm girl, farm wife, though it has been decades since I pitched manure or silage.  There may still be the heel marks on the county road past the Boon Lake farm where I felt I was dragged off to be a residential dweller.  Too funny.  I do know that the farm life Orlin and I had in those years was the best place for Carrie and Kevin to have gotten their start in life. 

  Some memories of what those little twerps pulled when I was out in the barns will never dull for me.  At that time, I think I wept in frustration thinking of the best way to pull through.  Today, I would do it all over again. After all, it’s not that hard cleaning Garden Guard out of shoes and boots after Kevin thought he was really going to help while I was in the barns.  Poor Snoopy, our sweet ole dog.  I swear he sneezed for weeks as he was in the entry way on his favorite rug until the dust from the cleaning product got to be too thick.

  I think the A-Jax on the hardwood floors in the dining room and living room were the worst to clean up.  It didn’t vacuum up worth a hoot and I didn’t dare use anything damp or wet.  Carrie was on the end of that can shaking.  Needless to say, they spent a lot of time in the basement television room until I gave them the all clear. 

  The two munchkins were no strangers to being out in the barns.  During a bad snow storm all four of us bundled up.  Orlin had Carrie and I had Kevin in a death grip to my chest as we walked out to the edge of the building site where the hog barn was popping out babies.  Of all times.  Sows could care less.  When they are ready the babies are coming and during that process they don’t really watch out for the four legged little ones.  We didn’t have farrowing crates at that time so it was watch and wait to keep as many little ones safe as possible.  Our little ones were safe as well in a pile of straw.  It was enjoyable to see the kids reactions as Orlin would hold up the little piglets for them to have a look-see.  Hog barns and cow barns the kids would be okay in, but not the chicken barn.  The chickens moved too fast and the fluttering of the wings would find the kids with their hands over their faces.

  The barn experiences changed when Kevin was diagnosed with asthma.  Cow dander was the worst culprit.  Come to think of it . . . the barn experiences were pre-asthma and that is when the surprises started in the house. When the kids had to be left alone in the house for a bit we could have done a series of “Home Alone.”  Mom and Dad lived just two sections to the southwest and we would make arrangements for their barn chores schedule and our barn chores to be balanced so they could come over and stay with the kids if I was out of the house for more than a short time.  What exactly is a short time when two little blonde kids were in the house alone?  Snoopy was no help at all other than cleaning up the floor if their mischief included spilling something that was liquid or if it made crumbs.  My brother, Michael, was in the Army at that time and Mom and Dad were actively taking care of their own livestock.  Of course Mom would be in the house with the kids and Dad would be pitching in with me.  This would have been around the time that Orlin was working at 3M in Hutchinson and we still had barns full of animals.  Somehow it all worked out.  When Spring came, the kids were in my eyesight or could be by me just going to the barn door for a look-see.  Carrie was great either tattling on Kevin if he was straying into trouble or keeping him occupied with play. 

  Needless to say, there is no shortage of memories as I go about being in the kitchen today.  I just looked out and sure enough, Dennis was right, the concrete is showing signs of something making the surface wet.  It was a good thing I ran and picked up my blood pressure meds this morning.  Can you believe it, $1.00 for a months supply of one pill a day?  Makes me wonder what it will be next month.  I am so grateful to God that I only have one prescription to keep me up and going.

  Something about today is bound to  be a day for more memories to be created.  Memories that I have are always welcomed in my day, and who knows, perhaps something in my today’s events will be a memory that my kids will pull out some day.  When I think of how blessed I am for the two little blondes that now have families of their own . . . it isn’t just a life, it’s a great life.  Having the time in my retirement to build memories for Carrie and Kevin: leaving some of myself behind in conversations, visits, doing something to bring on the “eye rolls,” stitched items, quilted items and special greeting cards that I have made for the kids, it is all what is in the chain of life.  I like it and I want more of it.

   
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  Noreen 3:09 am on November 4, 2016 Permalink  

  Lots Going On 

  Lots going on . . . in my thoughts today.  With the sun in my face and lots of determination, I got out the electric leaf blower and started in on the flower gardens to roust those Maple and Oak leaves into the lawn for Dennis to mulch.  As I swayed the leaf blower from side to side, my mind wandered back to days such as these when Carrie and Kevin were small children.  As I would rake leaves during a fall, as we have now, Carrie and Kevin would be nearby settled in on a carpet of leaves nibbling on cookies, enjoying being farm kids.  I do not believe there were “Sippy Cups” at that time, but Tupperware had a great glass with a good lid on it for them to drink from.  Snoopy, our dog, most likely did not go hungry either.

  Many believe we gloss over memories making them more idyllic than they really were.  No, for me it was the best place to be and to bring up kids.  I am not saying it was an easy life, but it was fulfilling.  We never went hungry, we had clothes on our backs and Orlin and I worked because it gave us a lot of self satisfaction: days that were full of livestock chores, field work when the seasons demanded it, and gardens that overflowed with goodies.  Somehow, playing second fiddle, the house got cleaned, laundry got done and there was always a cookie to be had.

  It did seem that the sewing machine was always sitting on a corner of the dining room table until such time that an area in the basement was tricked out.  Hmm.  I have always been meant to having a basement sewing setup.  The kids more times than not played close at hand from where I was in the house. It seemed the natural thing to do: put a used sofa, a piece of carpeting down and several small tables and chairs and call it an extended part of living area for the kids to be near.  Those were totally content times.

  Here I am,  45 to 48 years later and I am still content.  I don’t live vicariously through my children, but I sure do love taking in all that Carrie and Kevin have going on in their lives, admiring their spirit and vitality.  I pinch myself at times as a reminder to not take a single day for granted. There is no such thing as “one day is like the next.”  Each day is an adventure and it cannot be rewound and played over.  Each day is the real deal.

   
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  Noreen 4:15 am on October 8, 2016 Permalink  

  A Dose of Reality 

  There are times when all of us feel like “fixers” in our day-to-day lives. We are self reliant, self taught and self motivated. If all else fails, we know people, we have people or know people who know people.

  Today, Dennis’ daughter Sue came from Silver Bay for a visit. It was a visit that was driven from the necessity of attending a care conference for her mother. Her mother is in an Alzheimer care facility in the neighboring town of New Ulm. Families need to attend these for all manner of care to be gone over for the patient. Very difficult for Sue and her sisters when their mother becomes upset, wanting to know why “these people” have to hear about how she is doing. “These people” would love to be able to pull up a chair, much like Sue did today with her dad Dennis, and have a heartfelt conversation with her mom.  Needing to sharing with us and pulling support from us for what may be coming in the future for Sue’s 25-year-old daughter who is physically handicapped.

  Nothing to learn, no motivation to instill, no amount of people can help; there is nothing that can be fixed.

  Later on this afternoon, I found myself quite emotional. In our lives here on Stauffer Avenue, Dennis and I strive to keep our lives “fixed” in all manner. How much we take for granted all that we are able maintain and keep fixed whether physically or with our material home. To think that that ability would be taken from us . . . made me emotional.

  Today, some of that emotion came from thinking about my sister Elvera and her family. How many times her and I would share a cup of coffee at three in the afternoon and visit via the land line phone. What we shared in regard to things that had transpired in our homes, with our husbands, with our children and the strength that we took from each other to help “fix” things. It was the type of fix and support that our spirits needed. Yup, I do know how much her family will miss that strength, as I sure do.

  Time to put my “big girl panties” on and deal with keeping myself in a position to continue fixing what I can. So, off to the pharmacy I went and got my one and only $3.02 prescription for the next three months to make sure I am here for as long as my family, Elvera’s family and Dennis’s children need me to be here for that caring support when it is needed.

   
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  Noreen 2:59 am on September 24, 2016 Permalink  

  Times Remembered 

  Today, not unlike many days, I was in my sewing studio.  Nothing heavy going on.  Just preparing some quilt batting for the next item on the list.

  I did spend a lot of time remembering the fun times with my sister Elvera.  Elvera was not quite six when I was born.  Most likely a huge infringement.  On my fourth Christmas, I do recall the fright when in my Christmas sock, right on top, was a dead mouse.  It was a good thing, the bits of treasures from Santa were wrapped.  Elvera was my Dad’s right hand man.  She was able to help run errands for Dad.  It didn’t take long she was able to run the hand clutch on the tractor when her and Dad went out in the spring to pick rocks up that the last winter’s frost had brought to the surface.

  When Dad cut wood for our home’s winter heating, we knew what MEA school break had in store for us. Elvera was at the tractor getting the loads of wood pulled up to the house from the pasture where Dad had his saw set up.  Calvin, Michael and I were in charge of unloading it into the basement and stacked before she came back with another load.  Elvera and Dad filled the next load as we were using two wagons. It kept everyone humping.  All four of us did make fun of it all.  It didn’t hurt that Mom had cookies and Watkins nectar for break time.

  The six year difference was apparent with Elvera and I until we both had kids and lived only six miles apart.  Both of us were doing farm work right along side of our husbands.  When we had a chance to visit each other over a cup of coffee it was always with an eye on the clock.  Afternoon livestock chores started around four in the afternoon.  School buses around the same time of day would be dropping kids off that would be hungry.

  I enjoyed sewing clothing right out of high school.  I was sewing Carrie and Kevin’s clothing from the time they got out of their 24/7 sleepers.  Elvera slowly picked up the bug as Tim, Kay and Larry started school.  It was always a fun trip when Mom, Elvera and I headed out to Hopkins on the outskirts of the metro to ravish one of the fabric warehouses.  I am not sure what our husbands and our kids thought, as one Christmas every last one of them sported either a smoking style jacket for the boys and dads, or a jumper for Carrie and Kay out of the same plaid.  It was a fantastic buy on the whole bolt of fabric.

  Who knew how much fun it could be going to “Bumps” in St. Cloud!  Mom, Elvera and I would head off to the damaged freight place.  It was dented cans, and any type of dry goods a pantry would like to hold.   There was no “use by sell date” importance.  Elvera and Orville had a station wagon and the three of us loaded it down with the back bumper no doubt dragging.  To top it all off, McDonalds for a treat.

  As often as Orlin and I moved, Elvera and I stayed connected for the most part.  There was a several year period where a conflict within our family separated us.  The death of my father brought Elvera and I back together. We realized how much support our Mother needed.

  In the years when our Mother was in a health care facility I made the trip north every several weeks.  Elvera and I always shared that time with Mom.  After Mom passed away, I did not head north as often on the highways and the highway south for Elvera to travel to me was seldom.  Perhaps we visited in each of our homes once a year in the recent past.  We did try to call each other once a week, seemingly taking turns for the three o’clock in the afternoons, with each of us having a cup of coffee as we visited.

  Elvera was on the go non stop in the recent years.  She loved being “someplace.”  I have been one to enjoy being in my home.  As different as Elvera and I were in so many respects, we did come together with our joy of quilting and reminiscing when we visited. Elvera will no longer have her days “double booked.”  Elvera is home and at peace.  I am within my home, content and thankful to have had Elvera as my “big sister.”

   
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  Noreen 3:10 am on August 3, 2016 Permalink  

  Never Would Have Thought 

  At the age of 72, I would have never thought that family would be far and few in between.  After visiting with my sister, Elvera who is 78, yesterday she expressed much the same sentiment.  I was relieved to hear that.  She and I remembered when there were family that lived just across the township section that could be popped in on at three in the afternoon for a cup of coffee and cookies.  We both came to the conclusion that it was a Godsend that each of us individually could keep ourselves busy, entertained and productive.  I always have had a love of fabric, but prominently sewing garments.  In today’s world, it is far too expensive to go the pattern route with yard goods; thus, I love my sewing studio where all manner of creativity takes place without worrying about a bust dart or a proper sleeve fitting.

  At the age of 72, I would never have thought that my hands would wear out.  Those joints and tendons and muscles were suppose to be able to grasp the smallest pin or pill on the first try.  It is a challenge to see how far the pill rolled as it hit the floor.

  At the age of 72, I would never have thought that I would care about a stray cat that came to our patio this winter with barely any life or will left in her.  I don’t think she ever thought she would not have to plow through deep snow to find a bit of food and water.  I don’t think she ever thought that being in out of the weather would be in her ancient life.

  At the age of 72, I would never have thought that I would back away from a sewing project to enjoy a cup of coffee while whipping through and enjoying a few chapters of a library book to give my back a break.

  At the age of 72, I would never have thought that I would have a kind loving helper that has discovered the joy of being creative in the kitchen.  Bless his heart.  Just give that man his own space and leave him to it!

  At the age of 72, I would never have thought that my world would be so full of the love of children that are making homes and families on their own . . . with maybe a bit of what their ole mom taught them.

  Priceless!

   
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  Noreen 3:23 am on July 30, 2016 Permalink  

  What Is It . . . 

  What is it about me that my days are filled with various projects in various places?  The truth of the matter is that arthritis prevents me from staying at one task for too long.  The “too long” could be several hours or 15 minutes.  I know my body and I sure do know the telltale signs when it is time for me to change my posture.  At earlier times, I could sit and read for hours, sit at the sewing machine all day, or be bent over the quilt frame for hours on end.  No more.  Ya, just got to keep moving so the joints within your body are in fairly constant motion . . . within reason.

  At some point in time with physical work, my joints had been irritated and the bone had been worn away.  The irritation continued and the situation ended as being chronic, meaning it is here to stay.  The cartilage protecting some of my joints had been worn away.  Though I now have new shoulders and new knees, arthritis loves it when one body position is maintained for an extended period of time and all the nerves, tendons and muscles just settle in for a snuggle and allow for atrophied muscles that can gradually make you a prisoner in your own body.  That is not going to happen anytime soon.

  

  In between time, and in the meantime, I have this nine patch that I put into a block that is 6″ x 6″ for the next greatest scrappy quilt. It may be some time before it is completed, but hey, it’s on my schedule. Those darn scraps just keep coming.

  So . . . the answer for me is to have a book to read in the living room, crafting going on in the south half of my sewing studio, the sewing machine is in the north portion and in the middle is the cutting table.  Having a computer in my sewing room as well as one in our living room allows me to roam at will.  The porch with great rocking chairs is a good place to read until I find my head nodding. The water fountain in the Koi pond can put you to sleep. Our acre of mowing and gardens to tend allow for me to have choices within my day.  With me moving to multiple corners of my world, multiple tasks are completed, but just not done to completion in one session.

  I am not complaining nor bragging.  I know that sitting and vegetating could be a prescription for a very small world. The arthritis has made me somewhat being viewed as having attention deficit disorder.  The diagnosis could be a whole lot worse.  I know I can’t stay in one place for very long so the tendency to be on the lookout for other areas in our home that may need some attention is likely.  I can take the “eye rolling” when I see it in friends and family.  Being on the move for me is how and why I feel really physically good.  I see no reason to single handedly support either the chiropractor of the physical therapist . . . but it is reassuring to know they are there if I have been naughty.
   
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  Noreen 3:15 am on July 29, 2016 Permalink  

  Those Were the Days 

  We are in the middle of the afternoon and the kitchen is cleaned up from handling cucumbers.

  The first item on our list was to get the creamed cucumbers marinating for our supper. The “new potatoes” are scrubbed and ready to be the base for the cucumbers.  That will be the sum total of our supper.  Nothing more is needed for us.

  I can’t believe I had to get salt from the next door neighbor to get the refrigerated pickles going. That does tell a bit about our use of salt . . . slim to none.

  The smells, the mess . . . it was all reminiscent of the days when I canned and processed everything that grew above the ground and below it.  If it had four legs or two legs and could be found on our farmyard, there was a portion of them in our freezer or on the fruit cellar shelves.  My Mom taught me from earlier on to take pride in having plenty of food on hand for easy fixings.  How else could I help with barn chores of every type, clean up Carrie and Kevin from trailing behind me and still have a wonderful meal on the table?

  I can still visualize the mess in our small farmhouse kitchen during canning and freezing season.  I then understood why my grandparents had the “summer kitchen,” which was a short distance from the farmhouse.  Chris and Laura had it outfitted with a cookstove that was fed with wood.  The pump for water was not very far away.  Tin boilers with scalding hot water were on hand either for use in the processing or for cleaning up.  The summer kitchen had a loft.  The younger of us grandchildren could be in the summer kitchen during a work session, if we sat on the steps and didn’t take away from those who were busy with either things from the garden or butchering chickens and ducks.  I can still hear the whistles that us kids were handed from the quills of the ducks.  Grandpa Christ knew how to cut the ends and add a slit for it to become a noisemaker that was used . . . only outside.  How lucky I am to have experienced those times.  The fact that I can recall those events as if they were yesterday is so much of who I am today.  Some people would not think it important to retain those memories. Maybe I live too much in memories.  Perhaps it is how I turn my back on the reality of what the world holds today.

  As I mentioned, our small kitchen was busy from May to the first hard frost.  Strawberries and raspberries in the earlier spring, right to the time the last of the apples were put through the press for apple juice and apple cider.  When the cabbage was readied for sauerkraut, there was always some cabbage that escaped from the cutter and flew at will.  The apples for the press were the ones that weren’t quite good enough to wrap in paper to keep for raw eating into the early winter.  You can only imagine how far apple juice can travel.  The tick, tick sound when a child’s shoe walks on sticky apple juice and continues to carry it farther into the home.  Orlin always made good use of the little gophers: Carrie and Kevin. Pails in hand they made many trips from the garden area into the house.  We were not able to remain on the farm.  I have no idea what memories Carrie and Kevin carry from that time.  I am so appreciative of those times, of those memories. Memories such as those stay oh so sweet and push back the times that were less than sweet.  It is amazing how God works in His mysterious ways.

  This afternoon as Dennis and I were getting the kitchen back to normal, Dennis did ask how soon he could try the refrigerator pickles.  The entire process is making a sugary syrup that the cucumbers absorb.  Amazingly, within several days, the thinly sliced cucumbers take on the essence of the spices, sugar and vinegar.  I believe in a couple of days  the refrigerator will be raided for that first taste.  Hark, I can almost hear the tick, tick of the shoes carrying pickle juice.

   
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  Noreen 4:38 am on July 12, 2016 Permalink  

  Monday, Monday 

  Is there such a thing as a typical Monday?  As I was growing up under the roof of Lena and Raymond, you could have set your clock on my Mom’s Mondays.

  I did start out the day getting a load of laundry going.  Yup, sorted those darks from the lights just as Mom taught me.  What I was missing was the multiple piles of clothes resembling mushrooms on the floor.  There was no single load to be done.  It was all or nothing.  The first thing mom did was fill a large dish pan for the white socks that needed to be soaked with a bit of lye soap.  The hoses were hooked up to fill the washing machine with the modern convenience of having a hot water faucet.  No more heating water on the wood-fired cook stove.  By the time Mom had the washing machine and tubs set up, those socks that had been soaking would be rinsed to join the first batch of while-colored clothes.

  There was a rack that held two square aluminum tubs.  When the first batch of the whites were done washing, the wringer on the machine was released from its pin.  The wringer swiveled to allow the clothes to be feed into the wringer right into the first tub of cold rinse water.  Using a plunger to work the rinse water through the clothes, it was then fed into the wringer and into the second rinse tub, and from there into the wicker clothes basket.  Mom’s girls were ready for the trip to hit the clothesline.  As soon as the first batch was out of the washing machine, it was filled with the next pile of light colored clothes.  This was the process of washing whites first and progressing through the upcoming piles of clothes.  No clean water for each batch, but there may have been extra water and soap added as the wringer did allow water to go with clothes from one step to another.  I don’t think I need to elaborate the quality of the wash water by the time the rag rugs were washing.  This is how each farm wife worked her whiles on the Monday wash.  It was important to get the clothes into the wringer just so for a smooth consistent pressure.  The wringer didn’t wait for anyone.  Once it grabbed onto the clothes it was not stopping.  If it was a bad feed, it would spring the wringer.  Not a good thing to bog down the process.

  If I had ever had any doubts as to how other households did the Monday wash, my doubts were alleviated when I would stay at my Grandmother Laura’s farm.  Yup, out came the tubs and the process was the same.

  Even after households had automatic washers there was a suds saver tub that allowed water to be reused for the next batch, but nothing in comparison to the “good old days.”

  As I did mention, I washed a load of dark clothes this morning.  No water was reused in the process.  While the automatic washer did its thing through the cycles, complete with releasing fabric softener in a timed sequence, I was heading to the porch with a cup of hot coffee.  My time was minimal from start to finish.  With the humidity and dew point being extremely high today, the clothes dryer was kicked in gear.  The clothes would have taken forever on the clotheslines.  By no means a good drying day.

  You may often hear me comment how sweet I feel my life is here on Stauffer Avenue.  I learned housekeeping skills from Mom and Grandma.  I do remember the times when there was no electricity or running water while I worked at the elbows of these strong women.  Never a complaint would be heard from Lena or Laura.  Their homes where their families lived were clean and tidy.  The bellies from those who stuck their feet under their kitchen tables never went away growling. Cookie jars were kept full, fruit cellars were lined with gleaming jars so meals could be on the tables in a timely manner after they had helped in the dairy barns.  Yes, I have such a sweet life while keeping memories close to my heart.

  In life, please remember to give and have no memory of it, or take and remember it always.