She Spit On Her Iron

I was talking about my mother the other day and how hard she worked when I was a little girl. I was some of the hard work she encountered. I was telling a new friend how I got to stomp my little brother's diapers in a wash tub. Oh, I am so sure she wanted to do it herself. It would have been so much faster, but she let me "help". She always washed clothes on Mondays. She ironed on Tuesdays and baked on Fridays and Saturdays. She somehow fit in all of her other duties like cooking, gardening, canning, and plucking chickens on the other days.

The picture that you see is similar to my mother's. My mother's however, was smooth with age and use. The corners of the boards were round. I don't know if it was made that way, or from many loads of laundry.  It smelled of homemade lye soap. I can almost smell it in my mind's eye today.

I can see my mom with a wet rag washing down the wire clothesline. Then she would put a clothespin bag on the line. Then the fruit of her labor was the basket after basket of wet clothes she carried outside. She would put the basket on the ground, grab a lot (in my little girl mind) of clothespins and put them in her mouth. One by one she would hang out the sheets, pillow cases and the rest of the white clothes. On and on it went until the overalls were finally on the line to dry.

 Our uncle lived with us. His pants were put on metal stretchers and then hung on the line. They gave his pants a nice crease. Which was funny because he owned a mill and ground feed for farmers. Of course, he came home white with flour dust everyday, but he did start his day out looking good. Some stores still sell these for about thirty dollars a pair. I couldn't find the cost in the forties, but I'm sure it was nowhere near that amount.

When the clothes were dry mother would bring them in the house to sprinkle. My little girl mind couldn't grasp this concept. She got them dry just to get them wet again.
She had a dish with warm water in it. She would spread out the shirt or whatever she was going to iron on the kitchen table, then she would shake the warm water on it. Then she rolled them all up tight and put the clothes one by one in the laundry basket. Then the next day, being Tuesday, she would iron them all.
The one thing I never got to do was spit on my finger and test the iron to see if it was hot. She always said I might burn myself so that was her job.

I had a tiny little ironing board and a tiny little iron that I just now remembered. It would barely get warm, but I was allowed to iron my daddy's hankies; not the sparkly white ones for church, but the everyday red and blue ones for work.

When I look at the picture above I just grin to  myself. Her ironing board was wooden. The cover on it she made herself out of old sheets and large safety pins. There were scorch marks on it, and even a hole or two. She must have been interrupted a time or eight on laundry day.

New Year's Eve In 1952

As many of you know I lived in an old farm house in Iowa when I was a little girl. Iowa winters are extremely cold. On one night a year, I was allowed to sleep on a day bed in our dining room where the coal stove was. That night was New Year's Eve.
For Christmas the year that I was eight years old, my mama made me a pair of pajamas from scraps of flannel that she had saved over the years. If you think to yourself that sounds like Dolly Parton's coat of many colors, you would be close. I can remember that some pieces were red and white striped, and some were printed; nothing matched. The only thing that was the same was all the little pieces were flannel and very soft.
My pajamas had a large round wide ruffled collar just like Clarabell, the clown's outfit did on the Howdy Doody Show.

 Oh how I remember that night. It was so much fun. I had begged to stay up until midnight to usher in the New Year. My mother didn't argue with me a bit. My mother never let you just sleep on the couch. You slept on clean fresh ironed sheets, a clean pillow case and a soft warm quilt to keep you warm as toast.
I can remember starting a bit of a fuss because I was aware that my mama thought I would fall asleep before midnight, so she wanted me in my pajamas and under the covers.
My mom could tuck you in with her loving hands better than anyone ever! She tucked the pillow under my neck, then she slid the covers close to each side of me. She sat down next to me and said a prayer, then wishing me a happy happy new year. I smiled when she pointed to the clock that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the sofa. She said, "Now remember, when the two hands are straight up at the top the new year begins. She kissed me goodnight and turned out the lights.
Now come on, she knew I would be asleep in minutes, but what she didn't tell me was that they were expecting company and she wanted me asleep before they came. I was completely unaware of them visiting that night because of course, I did fall asleep. I was a bit miffed when I woke up the next morning because I missed watching both hands on the clock be straight up, but that is not the end of the story. The next Sunday night church service was a fellowship party. There were treats and laughter. I had never seen anything like it before. Church was usually a very solemn affair. All these grownups were acting like kids. Soon someone said, "Okay, everyone take your seats. Elsie, could you please dim the lights? We have a treat for you all. It's called a home movie. The other night Elsie and I went to a lot of your homes and used our new 8 mm. movie camera. Get ready for some fun."
Well I sure was ready. I had never seen a home movie before. Soon I saw some people on the screen that I  knew that went to our church. They waved and smiled. Then right before my very eyes was me! Me in my clown pajamas sound asleep. Oh I was so upset. Those grownups were laughing and joking about me and my beautiful pajamas. Interesting that was sixty-seven years ago and I still feel the hurt. I wondered how my mother felt. I wondered if she was in on the fun, or if she was a bit put out as she would always say because they were making fun of my pajamas.
Years went by and one day I remembered that movie and I asked her about how she felt about them laughing. She explained to me that when the camera was off they complemented her about what a wonderful job she had done on those pajamas. They had even said she should sell her home sewn things because she was such a good seamstress. Such different points of view. You just never know what is said and what is felt from two different stand points. Besides that, I loved my pajamas.
Happy New Year! I know many of you have new pajamas. Wear them with pride!

Christmas Memories Through The Years

Good morning. Once again I find myself thinking of Christmas long ago vs. Christmas 2019. What a difference just seventy plus years make. It seemed not so very long ago I was a five year old wondering what was going to be in my little brown paper sack that Santa always gave away at the church program on Christmas Eve. It was always fun to see an apple or orange and mixed nuts and peanuts in the shell. Ribbon candy was always part of that sack. Apples and oranges and mixed nuts were not the norm for my family so our little brown paper sacks were precious. I can remember coming home from church and mom getting out a big bowl. She and dad emptied out their sacks into the bowl. We had the option of adding ours to the bowl or keeping it to ourselves. Well, the little five year old LuAnne most definitely wanted to keep it to myself. I knew that I could make it last a long time, but the angel on my shoulder started clearing her throat and yes, I did empty my bag into the bowl as well.

This is a picture of main street of my little town of Cherokee, Iowa when I was just a little girl. It was all decked out for Christmas. I can remember getting thirty-five cents a week allowance when I was ten years old. I saved a quarter every week and spent the dime on a movie with popcorn on Saturday afternoons if I was lucky enough to get to go. I can remember my daddy telling me that he would match the money I saved. He was a bit shocked when I showed him all the money I had saved towards my Christmas shopping spree. I have a feeling he was hard put to match that money now that I look back at it.

We had a J.C.Penny store on the right hand side of main street. I found my mama a beautiful house dress for just a little over two dollars. It was pink. She was so pleased. I bought my daddy a tie that was red with a yellow horn on it. He wore it to church and received a lot of ribbing for his flashy tie. In those days men wore a lot of black, brown and navy. That tie was still in my mother's dresser drawer when she moved to the nursing home. Tears.

I remember a Christmas that I had two gifts under the tree. One was big and one was very very small. I really wanted to open the big one and save the little one for Christmas morning, but I could tell my mama wanted me to open the little one. She kept saying, "It is said that little packages often contain large gifts." Well, I opened it. It was a Timex watch. She had wanted me to wear it to the Christmas Eve program. It didn't work. Sad faces. Tears.
As time went on my Christmas memories were happy and sad. Missing family members started being the norm instead of the exception. When I was a teenager, I lost both of my grandparents.
I married at a very young age and Christmas time found me with seven dollars to spend. There was a store that was closing in my little village. I spent  a quarter on a big yellow mixing bowl. I put a box cake mix in it and wrapped it for my mother. She often talked about that mixing bowl. When I cleaned out her cupboards that mixing bowl had been well used. It was rubber and showed the use it had had over the years.
Now I talk about the lean years when my children were little. Poor was the word. Poor but oh so very happy with my little family of two children and a loving husband and father. One year I had ten dollars to spend on each of my children. Then and now nothing has changed. If you spend ten dollars or a hundred, the children would count how many packages they each had. Everything was fine if they each had the same "count" they called it. That year they each got ten gifts; you see the trend?
Today I watched the news on television which of course, we didn't have when I was a child. I told my husband this morning I don't think I even knew what war was until I was a young adult. I was watching a city that had been bombed beyond recognition because it was a Christian city and disposable and easy to claim.
I can remember watching Edward R. Merle on the news that started before the movies, but really I can remember the cigarette he was smoking rather than the content of his news. I had never seen anyone smoke a cigarette except our neighbor man.
Now today I again am a combination of sad and happy. My Christmas will be bittersweet because I have company coming for the holidays, but know of a small homeless child that probably won't have a Christmas because of poor decision making of some of her family members. I have put the word out, so Santa if you hear me and do in fact make wishes come true, please make the homeless a better day than yesterday and tomorrow a better day yet.

Mind Reminiscing: Hot Spots

When you get to be as old as I am you start "mind reminiscing." Sometimes just a question, a picture, or hearing someone laugh can send my mind reeling into good times and bad times. I can remember things I probably should have put out of my mind permanently and can't find the things that I really should remember.
Such as yesterday my niece asked me if I could re-post a post from long ago about my late husband's family in war time. I didn't have a clue about what I had written or when or which blog.

The "mind reminiscing" also makes no sense to anyone but me. For instance that particular question made me think of Christmas years ago on the farm when I was just a little girl. Why? Because I thought, "Old girl, you are really in a hot spot because you can't remember as much as you should." I instantly could see our old dining room. In the middle of the room was an old coal stove. You could see the fire through isinglass. Does anyone but me remember isinglass? That was our hot spot for sure. If you stepped four feet away from the stove you were cold. This picture is almost the perfect replica of the stove that warmed our fronts for awhile then we turned and warmed our backs. If we would have known the word rotisserie back then we were the "chickens."

I was an avid reader from the time I was seven years old. I asked my poor mother so many questions I'm sure she went to bed weary not only from her daily hard work, but from her inquisitive child. I can remember asking her why one word had more than one meaning. That made no sense to me. I'm sure she gritted her teeth and said with a smile. "I have heard that the English language is the hardest for people from other countries to learn because of just such things as homonyms." I can remember asking her why do the trees outside have bark and Poochie, our dog barks. That was completely beyond a seven year old girl's comprehension.  I can clearly remember going to bed as a child thinking, "I bet if I was a grownup I could think of different words to mean the same thing so people wouldn't get confused." Yes, I did that; a lot. As I got older I started to realize that phrases, not only words took on different meanings.
I can remember my children's father talking about the war and being in a hot spot more than once. I can remember hearing on the radio and television that Korea, Vietnam and Afghanistan and wildfires in California were hot spots. I also remember the terrible age of race riots they called them. Hot spots in college campuses. Kent College comes to mind if I remember correctly. Shooting and wild fighting started in protest of the Vietnam War. That was definitely a hot spot. That set off college campus strikes throughout the country.

As I continued to age I found myself in a world of technology that was only a nightmare to an older lady of fifty-eight or so. A lady that was sick with a neurological disease making learning new facts and ideas very very difficult. And at times impossible to grasp. A mouse, a mouse pad. Computers can only count to one? Huh? No not for me. However, here I am with a mouse on a mouse pad on my computer desk.

 My brother was a guru in computers and traveled around the world teaching people what he knew about the mysterious world of computers. My daughter did data entry when she was out of school for extra money for college. What was data entry? I had no clue.
Then I found myself hearing about hot spots again. What in the world were people talking about; hot spots? "Lu, you should check to see if your cell phone is capable of being a hot spot." What? My world continues to rattle my brain. Now uptown there is a place called Hot Spot. It is a convenience store that gives me a discount if I pay cash. Now that I understand.
Talk to you later!

Jerry, The Bull

It's interesting to me that the older I get the more memories seem to pop up in my mind with little to no prompting. I was just posting one of my children's stories this morning and all of a sudden I thought of Jerry. Jerry was the biggest meanest bull ever, or so I thought when I was a little girl.

As I have said, we walked about a quarter of a mile to the highway where we caught the bus. I am beginning to think that I was a little wimp when I think back to those days.  I was afraid of mice, wasps in the outhouse but most especially Jerry.
Jerry was a Hereford bull. He had a white face and a red body and the meanest eyes this little girl had ever seen. He was big. Jerry would come running to the fence to greet us when we were walking down the driveway. In my little girl estimation it was not a greeting of "Hello, I am so glad to see you." It was more like, "Hey, you kids. If you get close enough I am going to eat you."

One day my dad came in the house and told mom that Jerry had gotten out of the fence. We needed to stay in the house until he and the neighbor man could get him back in the field. He was in a terrible hurry to not only get him back in the pasture, but to get the fence fixed. In my grownup mind our fences weren't the best. I can remember fence posts being tree limbs mixed in with regular posts.

Like most of my stories, they end up well. They got Jerry back in the pasture where he belonged, but here is the kicker. My dad said he needed help mending fences. My mom was way too busy baking for the grocery store and taking care of my little brother and probably a hundred other things, so dad took me along to hand him these little "U" shaped things that fastened the fencing to the posts. Yes, Jerry was watching our every move planning his next escape. I was terrified and kept telling my daddy that the fence was fixed good enough and that we should go back to the house.

I just Googled the proper name for those U shaped nails. They are called Fencing Staples. There are even YouTube videos explaining the correct way to use them. Nowadays they have a battery operated tool that farmers use instead of a hammer that often times missed the staple and hit my dad's thumb.That would have tickled my dad because he loved to invent things even up into his sixties.

Where Jerry got his name I will never know. We didn't know anyone named Jerry, but as time went by as it always does a baby Hereford calf came to live on an acreage that my husband Wally and I owned. I had gone to an auction. It was an adventure for me. He was a bottle baby that hated milk. I bought him for two dollars. He would drink milk replacer, but he never grew any taller than a mini horse. Of course, we named him Jerry after his fierce ancestor or as it was his mean namesake, because he too, was an escape artist and was often found in the house yard.

One day a Sears repair man had come out to do a maintenance check on my washer. Jerry, the little bull was very interested in the tools and parts in the back end of the van the technician was getting out. I saw what was happening and I said, "Jerry, get out of there. How many times do I have to take you back to the pasture?" The technician straightened up and there was Jerry; A Sears technician I worked with. We had a good laugh that day.
 Oh the memories continue to pop up. I'll probably see you soon with another.
                                                   *******
The picture of the bull is a Wiki picture, but in my mind's eye it resembles Jerry to a T.

Leave A Dish

I decided to do some dishes by hand this morning. I enjoy doing dishes. It has always been a time for me to have fun with my sister-in-laws, my sister, my mother and my kids. They often didn't want to do the dishes when they were teens, but almost always once we got started we talked about their day at school or at work.
My mom would tell me stories and I can even remember doing dishes with my grandmother. Yes, dishes is a short time out of the day for me to solve the world's problems, to worry about my children, and to think about others who have brought food to my table.

This being the holiday season when often folks bring side dishes to your home or when you take food to theirs leave the dish with a smile and say, "You keep it. I had such a good time today. Think of me when you wash it." Well, that is exactly what was happening this morning. As I was thinking about my Thanksgiving Day menu I found myself washing a dish that my late mother-in-law left me one day. She had brought something for a meal. I can remember telling her, "Just a minute I'll quick wash up your dish so you can take it home with you." She said, "Ah, just keep it. It may come in handy some day." I use that dish almost every day and every day I think of her.

I have very old dishes that belonged to my grandmother and my mother. I have given many of them away so others may enjoy them, it being my "golden years" I want them to go to exactly the right folks.
I still have the dish that my mother made home made cottage cheese in when we were just children out on the farm. She would clabber milk on the back of the corn cob cook stove, then she would put it in cheese cloth and hang it from the clothes line. When it was completely dry she would bring it in and mix it with whipping cream and put it in the ice box. Yes, ice box. Oh the memories I have from that first eleven years of my life. They are full of stories, both hard times and fun times. The milk pitcher that you see with sunflowers was on our kitchen table three times a day. We always had milk with our meals often with bits of cream floating on the top. (Probably not so good for our arteries, but no one knew about cholesterol in those days.) Right beside it are three refrigerator dishes that mother always put her churned butter in and possibly some leftovers.

My big computer sits right by my china cupboard. I just turned and looked and there in the back behind the "cottage cheese dish" is a silver crumb brush that belonged to my children's Grandmother Grafing. I'm sure it was part of a set at one time.

Nowadays it is so much easier to take dishes in disposable pans and dishes that can just be thrown away. I agree it is much easier, but if that had always been the case, many of my prized possessions wouldn't now be sitting in my everyday and  company only china cupboards for me to remember the special person while I am doing the dishes.
Happy Thanksgiving, folks. Have a wonderful and safe holiday season.

Thinking Of You

This morning I was working on my children's story blog for next week when I thought, "Oh, I need to send my husband's aunt a card. She is in a nursing home because of a bad fall.
I can remember taking care of my mother-in-law for a long time. The highlight of her day was her mail.

There were days and sometimes weeks without cards in the mail for her. She was almost deaf so telephone calls were frustrating for her as well as the caller, I'm sure. When she passed away I found totes and sacks, and bags full of saved cards from throughout the years; birthday cards, get well cards, Christmas cards, and thinking of you cards. She saved her great grandchildren's coloring pages as well. Those cards meant the world to her. They were on display on her cedar chest right next to her chair. (The most recent ones.) Most days she would take them out of their little holder and re-read them. She often would tell me stories about the person that had sent them to her, whether it be a grandchild, great grandchild, sister, brother, niece nephew or child. After she read them she would put them back on her cedar chest and either stare out her window remembering those folks or crochet when she was able. She was able to read her stories I put in her own blog until she was well over 102 years of age.

My featured child in my children's story blog is Marlee. She is three years old. Her mama not too long ago started working for a nursing home. She posted the other day, that the residents tell her every day that they would love/need visitors. I worked as an Activity Director, and an Administrator of Skilled Nursing Homes for twenty years. I heard the folks say the same thing. Sometimes the people that were able would share their cards and pictures with their friends they had made in the facility.
 People get busy with their own lives and forget, so I decided to remind you all that they need to be remembered by their family and friends; Their neighbors, their church family and even the mail delivery person, the meals on wheels people that used to stop and visit several times a week. They need you.

So if you can't visit please remember them with your cards, pictures and letters. They are thinking of you, so please think of them.