THE DUST WILL WAIT

My brother Mike emailed me this photo last night.  He said this was a goodbye salute that he snapped today in his garage where this old freezer has been chugging away since 1988.  That was the year our mama decided she was tired of bending over and digging through it.  Besides, she no longer needed the capacity and hadn't for several years. Mike and my sister-in-law  spent the next 25 years "digging" through this old freezer.  My sis-in-law was very good at keeping it and the cupboards stocked.  The two of them kept promising each other that "It is going to die soon, so we will just keep it until that day." Twenty-five years may seem like a very long life for a freezer.  It is MUCH older than that. Sears only sold Coldspot through 1976.  I thought that my parent's purchased this freezer in the sixties.  My brother said he put the serial number 'on-line' and it matched a 1953 manufacturing date.   Here is a close up of...

I wrote these thoughts several years ago ---  and I thought they were appropriate for this Veterans Day.   Three of our grandchildren’s dad is in the Air Force. (He has served in Iraq twice. He is no longer my son-in law. However, those little faces that I love, love him.) Alex, you are in my prayers. Prior to our meeting, my husband served four years in the late sixties as a submariner. His dress whites are in a storage box. Pictures of his “Boats” hang at the end of the hallway. Hubby, you were a handsome sailor. I love you. The army drafted my youngest brother, a conscientious objector, about the same year that my future husband signed. I was in high school and cried as he reported for duty and climbed into the waiting bus. The nightly news was all about Vietnam. Nick was one of the lucky ones who stayed in the States. He never carried a gun, but served in a medic position. He became a respiratory therapist after his stint was complete.  Bil...

Ari, from Beyond My Slab , is the hostess of this week's Fun Monday, and has chosen a topic that gives me immense pleasure:  Old Things. Other than dust, I have nothing in my house more weathered and aged than Augusta's photo album.  I wrote about my great grandmother   (Augusta, Grace, Evelyn, Me) this summer. She was born in 1855 and died in 1937.     I can only guess when she acquired it. I like to think that she was a young teen when she chose to include a photo of the late President Lincoln.  Some other printed photos may be of other famous people of that era. My glasses give you an idea of the album's dimensions. The leather binding is embossed.  It is in dire need of gentle repair.  I have no idea how much that will cost. Note the interesting clasp.  The other one is in worse condition. Do you want to see the inside? Below are tin types of Augusta, her fi...

When I hear other people talk about time they spent with their grandparents, I feel deprived. I never met three of my grandparents, and Grandma Grace was somewhat feeble minded by the time I was old enough to know her. It never crossed my mind in the my early years to sit down and ask her questions about her life and her family. I even failed to get my parents stories. Now, I humor myself by seeking information through family photos, Internet ancestry sites, and hobnobbing with my brother Mike. He has spent hours and hours searching out distant relatives and constructing a family tree. Great Grandmother Augusta ( Augusta, Grace, Evelyn, Me) is one who intrigues me. I have possession of her personal photo album, which has tin types and some regular photos of her parents, her husbands, and her babies.   She was born May 16, 1855 somewhere in the state of New York. Pictures of her as a young woman indicate she had thick and...

My late father-in-law joined the Navy in June of 1943. World War II was raging and the young man knew his country needed him. He was three months short of his 18th birthday when his mom reluctantly signed the parental consent. Fortunately, he kept his promise to her and came home in one piece. Like most of the veterans from the Greatest Generation, Dad had not been one to share the events of his war service. Nor had he discussed his feelings and thoughts in our presence. I will never forget that day when he let down his guard. * * * * It was July of 1999 and I invited my husbands extended family to celebrate the 4th of July with us at a barbecue in our back yard. "Dad" was in the 28th year of his fourth marriage. He'd been a father to his step-daughter and step-son ... something he'd not been allowed to do with his own two children. I called him several weeks before the eve...

I picked up a hitchhiker on the drive home from California: Our thirteen year old grand son, Lil' Bud. It appears that one week with us is all he can handle. Texting, My Space, computer games. The life and times of a 13 year old. Poor kid isn't flying home until Thursday. Last Saturday we took him and some of our friends tubing on the Snake River - so it hasn't been a total dud for him. He was proud of his bumps and bruises, and the fact that he body slammed the water less often than the other young fellows. We visited the museum today. Here you will find him posing in one of the cells from the old Washington State Penitentiary. He enjoyed sitting in the cell, acting the part of a felon, and begging to be set free. The blurry photo is possibly his great great grandfather who worked there. I attempted to zoom in on a tiny photo of the employees that was on the far wall of a glass display case. Of course we enjoyed the old fire engine and buggies. (He has his grandpa...

Great Aunt Jennie and Great Uncle Arno. Feeding the chickens. Jennie was 45 and Arno was 30 when they married in 1907. She had a son and daughter from her previous marriage. I'm assuming that their father died. This photograph is most likely taken in Boulder, Montana where she and Arno resided until she died in 1937. Her given name was Phoebe Jane and her twin sister was named Telith'a Anna (Annie). They were four years younger than my grandpa William . Their brother Benjamin died while a toddler. Ten half siblings were born after their mother remarried - their father died from Typhoid while serving in The Civil War. I know there were other twins, and more childhood mortality. Bernetta, their mother, died at the age of 42. William, Annie, and Jennie - probably in the 1920s Arno, Jennie, and her lovely daughter Lulu. Daughter Lulu in a hat. I recently learned that Lulu died in 1999 at the age of 105. Jennie on her front porch reading the newspaper. Jennie has been a ...

We arrived to have dinner with Auntie Fern and to celebrate the holiday. Auntie Fern will be 99 in April. “I’m feeling punk.” She said. “I’m worried.” Her 71-year old son who lives 2 hours away wasn’t answering his phone on Christmas Day. The hubby spent some time on the phone searching, and located him in the hospital. He was experiencing shortness of breath, but would be going home after some treatments. “ I feel so much better ,” she exclaimed, “ and I’m hungry now . Our subsequent dinner conversations lead to the celebration of Christmas and how it had changed in her lifetime. I remember getting an orange in my stocking! That was something! We never got oranges any other time of year. It was a special treat to get that. My brothers would shoot a wild goose for Christmas dinner. Sometimes we would have wild rabbit instead. Wild rabbits were really good. But we had to quit eating them because they got spots. It was Tularemia, and it was fatal to people. We...

My mom was born in 1914 and died in 1993. I still miss her; especially when something brings to mind the songs she sang to me and my siblings. Some of the songs have been passed on to my children, and now to their children. I saw this moon peaking over an old roof covered with moss in Oregon on Saturday morning.. In my heart I could hear her voice and the melody to a World War I Song ("The Sensational Stammering Song Success Sung by the Soldiers and Sailors") - K-K-K-KATY K-K-K-Katy Jimmy was a soldier brave and bold, Katy was a maid with hair of gold, Like an act of fate, Kate was standing at the gate, Watching all the boys while on parade. Kate smiled, with a twinkle in her eye, Jim said, m-m-m-meet ya by and by. That night at eight, Jim was at the garden gate, Stuttering this song to K-K-K-Kate. K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy, You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore; When the m-m-m-moon shines, Over the c-c-c-cowshed, I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen ...

That February morning under the sea in 1967 began just like any other for the handsome 20-year-old submariner. He was a quartermaster (navigations) on a old-style conventional submarine somewhere in the Atlantic . His shift ended, so he joined his mates in the tiny dining hall to play five-card stud. An appropriate game for men in uniform. They did not know, as the game progressed, that the on duty crew received instructions from the Captain to test the boats handling stability in reverse direction. Initially they did not feel forward or backward movement at the slower speed, so they dealt their cards, unaware that the officer of the deck had ordered an all back 1/3 speed.  The boat was moving with ease and maintaining a constant depth. The sailor reviewed his cards and discarded two. Although huge diesel engines propel a submarine on the surface, it relies on electric motors powered by batteries while submerged. Two sailors with hand wheels independently control t...

Part 1 of my father's short journal told about the depression and his experiences in California . Part 2 narrated a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon . Befriended by a Hop grower in Part 3 , he was hired as a chauffeur and then offered a job in the hop fields. Dad described his first impression of life on in a Hop Yard in Part 4 . His high hopes of continuing the easy chauffeur type duties were doused by a hard dose of manual labor. The teasing by his fellow crew members and the young Russian beauties are not mentioned again. I think this says much about his discretion; Dad didn't kiss and tell. Part 5 describes a Hop Yard in the 1930's with detail - just in case you wonder where your beer has its earthy beginnings. Dad became the nozzle man on the spraying crew and a raise in pay. In episode six dad gets a little too involved with the bosses daughter’s romantic scheme. (Part 6) Picture from OREGON HISTORI...

We drove through the foothills today into the Blue Mountains . The gusting wind rolled like waves through the lush wheat fields and crested in the sun light. As the mountain road changes from paved to gravel it ascends into switchbacks that slice through rock-filled ravines and open meadows. The blustery air followed us up the crooked path. The tamaracks and pine trees whispered and moaned. The aromatic scents of wildflowers mixed with pollen and dust to tickle our noses. Our original goal for this afternoon jaunt was to utilize our permit to harvest rocks that have rolled into the roadway. The landscape around our pond and the waterfall feature has yet to be completed. One of those ‘always in progress’ tasks. However, my attention kept drifting from rock viewing to the symphony of sounds and smells. The blessings of living in a beautiful place and sharing it with those that I love felt overwhelming. My emotions climbed with the terrain. I saw the Memorial ...

Part 1 of my father's short journal told about the depression and his experiences in California. Part 2 narrated a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon. Befriended by a Hop grower in Part 3 , he was hired as a chauffer and then offered a job in the hop fields. Dad described his first impression of life on in a Hop Yard in Part 4 . His high hopes of continuing the easy chauffeur type duties were doused by a hard dose of manual labor. The teasing by his fellow crew members and the young Russian beauties are not mentioned again. I think this says much about his discretion; Dad didn't kiss and tell. So, on to a part 5, where he describes a Hop Yard in the 1930's with boring detail. Unless, of course, you want to know how to grow hops for your own micro-brewery. (Part 5) A brief description will give one an idea of the appearance and operation of a hop yard. Hops are perennial plants which grow a new ...

In Part 1 of my father's short journal he told about the depression and his experiences in California. Part 2 told of a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon. In Part 3 , he was befriended by a Hop grower and hired , and then offered a job in the hop fields. Part 4 begins with their arrival in Portland, Oregon. Keep in mind that Prohibition had just been repealed. After listening to Mr. Putnam and Mr. Wiseman talk breweries, beer, and hops for 275 miles I had become fascinated with hop growing, I thought how lucky I was to fall in with my new employer , for it looked as if I had a job for the spring and summer. It as also a chance to gain some valuable experience. The next morning Mr. Putman again gave me a dollar for my breakfast and dinner and told me to do as I pleased until noon. At that time he would go to Independence, near his home. I don't suppose he knew or guessed how far a bubble chaser could stret...

In Part 1 of my father's short journal my father talked about the depression and his experiences in California. Part 2 told of a satisfying 5 weeks living off the fat of the land on a self sufficient farm in Southern Oregon. In Part 3, he is on the move once more. He was a restless man. His journal began in 1933. I believe prohibition ended officially on December 5, 1933. ******************************** I wanted to get on the outside and rustle myself a job in competition with the unemployed. I arranged for a ride out of Cow Creek with the mail carrier, who also carried express, groceries, etc., for the scattered ranchers in the valley. He hauled me as far as Azalea, where once more I was on Highway 99. Its ever-rushing stream of traffic rolled passed me, the tires making that curious, slithering, lonesome sound so familiar to every hitch-hiker. I hadn't heard a train whistle for five weeks, but I did see a mail plane every day. Having decided to go back to Califor...

When the United States entered World War I the US Navy put out a call for help.The hubby's great grand Aunt responded to the call by sending them her binoculars. When the grand old lady passed away the hubby's Aunt Pat became the guardian of this World War I Veteran. Now Aunt Pat, who is in her 80's,feels that the Veteran needs to be cared for by someone else. We have accepted this duty and plan on getting the letters sealed and the binoculars shrink-wrapped to keep them in tip-top shape. The case is made of fine leather which has been shined by the handling of it's early years. I can't help wondering how many brave hands held them and where they traveled during their short tour of duty. The first letter was written on April 12, 1918 to Mrs. David T. Oaks. It is interesting to note, however, that the greeting is "Dear Sir." Your prompt and patriotic response to the Navy's call for binoculars,telescopes, and spy-glasses, is most appreciated. The gl...