Paula Shablo's Blog: From Em's Pen, page 2
March 19, 2018
From Em's Pen 6
June 8, 1974
Dear Diary,
It seems weird to be here in Nampa and not be eating warm peach pie with ice cream. Aunt Connie has always made us peach pie when we visit.
But she's not here. That's the weirdest part of all.
Grandpa keeps excusing himself and going out to the garage. I know he's crying; we all know, but no one is talking about it. He keeps looking at me, and I see the question in his eyes: "Is she with us?"
But she's not here. I have been all through the house, and I have called for her when I can be sure no one is listening, but there's been no answer. I don't see her anywhere.
Grandpa told me once that his father could see the ancestors. It's good to know that I'm not the only one, but it doesn't mean that Grandpa can tell me anything. There's no rule book. There's no magic incantation to bring someone to you.
Well, not that I know of, anyway. And I don't know much, that's for sure.
I want so much to be able to tell Grandpa something--anything. That's his sister. I know how I would feel if it was my sister. I would be making deals with God, probably.
God doesn't make deals.
You know what, Diary? I didn't know I could feel so sad about someone I saw maybe once a year. But I'm here in her house, and helping my Aunts go through her things and pack them away, and I miss her so much.
It has nothing to do with peach pie, but the smell of that baking is painfully absent. I have never been in her house without smelling that. I have never sat in her front room and not heard the heavy clomping of her heels--she wore shoes with these thick heels. No one else I have ever known wore heels like that.
And her laugh...she had a loud laugh, you know.
No one is laughing in here today.
I don't think she would like that. She would want people laughing in her house.
I believe she will come to me someday, you know. I just wish it could be today. Grandpa needs something...and all I can offer is a hug.
I guess for now, that will have to be enough.
I'm going out to the garage now.
Your friend,
Emma
Dear Diary,
It seems weird to be here in Nampa and not be eating warm peach pie with ice cream. Aunt Connie has always made us peach pie when we visit.
But she's not here. That's the weirdest part of all.
Grandpa keeps excusing himself and going out to the garage. I know he's crying; we all know, but no one is talking about it. He keeps looking at me, and I see the question in his eyes: "Is she with us?"
But she's not here. I have been all through the house, and I have called for her when I can be sure no one is listening, but there's been no answer. I don't see her anywhere.
Grandpa told me once that his father could see the ancestors. It's good to know that I'm not the only one, but it doesn't mean that Grandpa can tell me anything. There's no rule book. There's no magic incantation to bring someone to you.
Well, not that I know of, anyway. And I don't know much, that's for sure.
I want so much to be able to tell Grandpa something--anything. That's his sister. I know how I would feel if it was my sister. I would be making deals with God, probably.
God doesn't make deals.
You know what, Diary? I didn't know I could feel so sad about someone I saw maybe once a year. But I'm here in her house, and helping my Aunts go through her things and pack them away, and I miss her so much.
It has nothing to do with peach pie, but the smell of that baking is painfully absent. I have never been in her house without smelling that. I have never sat in her front room and not heard the heavy clomping of her heels--she wore shoes with these thick heels. No one else I have ever known wore heels like that.
And her laugh...she had a loud laugh, you know.
No one is laughing in here today.
I don't think she would like that. She would want people laughing in her house.
I believe she will come to me someday, you know. I just wish it could be today. Grandpa needs something...and all I can offer is a hug.
I guess for now, that will have to be enough.
I'm going out to the garage now.
Your friend,
Emma
February 25, 2018
From Em's Pen 5
May 4, 1970
Dear Diary,
Today is my birthday, and I am 10 years old. Double digits.
I don't feel any different. But, what the heck--cake and ice cream!
Great Grandpa sent me a card and a crisp, new five dollar bill. Usually I get $2.00 from him. He's the one who said "double digits". I guess that means I get a raise! Anyway, like always, he signed the card "Love, Great-G-Pa and G-Ma." He does that with all the cards and presents, like she's not gone from this world.
My Grandpa told me his father saw ancestors, too, but Great-Grandpa is not his father, he is Grandma's father. Still, I wonder if he sees her, sometimes. He acts like he does. And he is not losing his marbles or anything. He's sharp as a tack!
If he does see Great Grandma, I sure wish he would tell me. She never said anything about talking to him, but I haven't seen her for a long time.
Anyway, Diary, Mama is making spaghetti for my birthday dinner. Yummy-yum! Melody sang to me 5 times already. I hope I get colored pencils and drawing paper!
Happy Birthday to me!
Love,
Emmy
Note from Paula:
No colored pencils, but a big, 64 count box of Crayola crayons. Blue violet became the new favorite color.
Dear Diary,
Today is my birthday, and I am 10 years old. Double digits.
I don't feel any different. But, what the heck--cake and ice cream!
Great Grandpa sent me a card and a crisp, new five dollar bill. Usually I get $2.00 from him. He's the one who said "double digits". I guess that means I get a raise! Anyway, like always, he signed the card "Love, Great-G-Pa and G-Ma." He does that with all the cards and presents, like she's not gone from this world.
My Grandpa told me his father saw ancestors, too, but Great-Grandpa is not his father, he is Grandma's father. Still, I wonder if he sees her, sometimes. He acts like he does. And he is not losing his marbles or anything. He's sharp as a tack!
If he does see Great Grandma, I sure wish he would tell me. She never said anything about talking to him, but I haven't seen her for a long time.
Anyway, Diary, Mama is making spaghetti for my birthday dinner. Yummy-yum! Melody sang to me 5 times already. I hope I get colored pencils and drawing paper!
Happy Birthday to me!
Love,
Emmy
Note from Paula:
No colored pencils, but a big, 64 count box of Crayola crayons. Blue violet became the new favorite color.
February 19, 2018
From Em's Pen 4
Monday, Sept. 11, 1972
Dear Diary,
I hate seeing Mom so sick still. Her ears are so plugged up she can't hear anything, and the doctor won't give her any good medicine because they could harm the baby.
Last night at dinner I was trying and trying to tell her something, and she kept saying, "What? What?" and so I just yelled it at her.
I swear it wasn't anything mean, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but she started crying and left the room saying everyone keeps yelling at her. I tried to follow her, but Dad stopped me. He said being pregnant makes women emotional anyway, and adding this bad ear infection to the mix has really been hard on her.
Then he went to talk to her, and she came back and told me she was sorry. I had written her a little note while they talked, and it just said I was sorry, I didn't mean to yell at her, I just wanted her to be able to hear me and we hugged.
And guess what? While we were hugging, the baby kicked me! It was amazing! I can't wait for it to get born!
I wish she could have some medicine. After I took mine for a week I started feeling better, and didn't have to miss too much school. But I wouldn't want anything to happen to the baby, so...dang!
Candy and Cherry have been really nice to me lately. I wonder if I should just enjoy it, or if I should be worried. It's kind of nice to have someone to talk to every day. But it's weird, too.
Some guy has been watching me from the corners lately, and I haven't figured out who he is yet. I probably won't be able to until he decides to talk to me, but it is kind of creepy. I hope he's reading over my shoulder right now so he'll know it is okay to talk.
Catechism class tomorrow--I think I will stop after and light a candle for Mama, before I go to the library.
Your friend,
Emma
Dear Diary,
I hate seeing Mom so sick still. Her ears are so plugged up she can't hear anything, and the doctor won't give her any good medicine because they could harm the baby.
Last night at dinner I was trying and trying to tell her something, and she kept saying, "What? What?" and so I just yelled it at her.
I swear it wasn't anything mean, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but she started crying and left the room saying everyone keeps yelling at her. I tried to follow her, but Dad stopped me. He said being pregnant makes women emotional anyway, and adding this bad ear infection to the mix has really been hard on her.
Then he went to talk to her, and she came back and told me she was sorry. I had written her a little note while they talked, and it just said I was sorry, I didn't mean to yell at her, I just wanted her to be able to hear me and we hugged.
And guess what? While we were hugging, the baby kicked me! It was amazing! I can't wait for it to get born!
I wish she could have some medicine. After I took mine for a week I started feeling better, and didn't have to miss too much school. But I wouldn't want anything to happen to the baby, so...dang!
Candy and Cherry have been really nice to me lately. I wonder if I should just enjoy it, or if I should be worried. It's kind of nice to have someone to talk to every day. But it's weird, too.
Some guy has been watching me from the corners lately, and I haven't figured out who he is yet. I probably won't be able to until he decides to talk to me, but it is kind of creepy. I hope he's reading over my shoulder right now so he'll know it is okay to talk.
Catechism class tomorrow--I think I will stop after and light a candle for Mama, before I go to the library.
Your friend,
Emma
February 8, 2018
From Em's Pen 3
October 18, 1972
Dear Diary,
I thought chicken pox was a fairly easy sickness! I mean, Mel and Dana and Matt were laughing and playing, even though they were an itchy, red & puffy and pus-yucky mess.
Not me, tho. I got this terrible fever and when I stood up I got dizzy. And when I tried to go to the bathroom, I got all faint and Daddy had to take me. Then he stood outside the door calling, "You okay, Emmy? Do you need help, Emmy?"
Who can pee with that going on?
We don't have a bathtub in this house, just two showers. So Mama got this big tin tub and filled it with warm water and baking soda and made me take a bath in it, trying to make my skin break out with the blisters. She said once the blisters pop out the fever would break.
But they never did pop out and I just stayed sick for about four days.
So today, I came back to school, and I'm all pale and stuff, and Lenore Wallace comes up to me and goes, "Oh, you lost weight! Good for you!"
And, Dear Diary, I'm not sure how to feel about that! What was she really saying? That I'm fat? That I NEEDED to lose weight?
I didn't bother to tell her I've been sick. She probably didn't even notice I was gone the last two days. Besides, let her think I lost weight on purpose.
I don't know why I'm letting this bug me. She was probably just being nice.
Which would be weird...
Ya know what, dear diary? I still don't feel great and I'm giving myself a headache worrying about something so dumb. So that'll do me for today.
Your friend,
Emma
Dear Diary,
I thought chicken pox was a fairly easy sickness! I mean, Mel and Dana and Matt were laughing and playing, even though they were an itchy, red & puffy and pus-yucky mess.
Not me, tho. I got this terrible fever and when I stood up I got dizzy. And when I tried to go to the bathroom, I got all faint and Daddy had to take me. Then he stood outside the door calling, "You okay, Emmy? Do you need help, Emmy?"
Who can pee with that going on?
We don't have a bathtub in this house, just two showers. So Mama got this big tin tub and filled it with warm water and baking soda and made me take a bath in it, trying to make my skin break out with the blisters. She said once the blisters pop out the fever would break.
But they never did pop out and I just stayed sick for about four days.
So today, I came back to school, and I'm all pale and stuff, and Lenore Wallace comes up to me and goes, "Oh, you lost weight! Good for you!"
And, Dear Diary, I'm not sure how to feel about that! What was she really saying? That I'm fat? That I NEEDED to lose weight?
I didn't bother to tell her I've been sick. She probably didn't even notice I was gone the last two days. Besides, let her think I lost weight on purpose.
I don't know why I'm letting this bug me. She was probably just being nice.
Which would be weird...
Ya know what, dear diary? I still don't feel great and I'm giving myself a headache worrying about something so dumb. So that'll do me for today.
Your friend,
Emma
February 4, 2018
From Em's Pen 2
May 10, 1968
Dear Diary,
Wow! I am so glad to have you, dear diary!
When I came home from school today, Mama told me I got a package in the mail for my birthday, and it was you. Grandma and Grandpa sent you to me from Idaho.
My Grandma knows me real well, for sure! And Grandpa put a note in you that says I can keep track of visitors in you.
What a good idea!
I just know you are going to be my very best friend, dear diary.
Now I have to go write a thank you note for G & G. and another for Grams and Papa, who sent me money. I do love money. I will buy comic books, probly.
Good bye for now.
Your friend,
Emma
(A note from Paula)
2-4-2018
In 1968 Emma turned 8 years old. The visitors her grandpa mentioned are ghosts of ancestors who come and tell her stories or ask for help in solving mysteries from the past.
She seems to have lots to say, but she's 8. Please give her some slack for 2nd grade spelling!
Thanks!
Dear Diary,
Wow! I am so glad to have you, dear diary!
When I came home from school today, Mama told me I got a package in the mail for my birthday, and it was you. Grandma and Grandpa sent you to me from Idaho.
My Grandma knows me real well, for sure! And Grandpa put a note in you that says I can keep track of visitors in you.
What a good idea!
I just know you are going to be my very best friend, dear diary.
Now I have to go write a thank you note for G & G. and another for Grams and Papa, who sent me money. I do love money. I will buy comic books, probly.
Good bye for now.
Your friend,
Emma
(A note from Paula)
2-4-2018
In 1968 Emma turned 8 years old. The visitors her grandpa mentioned are ghosts of ancestors who come and tell her stories or ask for help in solving mysteries from the past.
She seems to have lots to say, but she's 8. Please give her some slack for 2nd grade spelling!
Thanks!
February 3, 2018
From Em's Pen 1
June 20, 1988
Dear Diary,
Everywhere I went today, I was bombarded by the sight of all those ugly election signs.
Sweetwater County is certainly taking sides! George H.W. Bush on one lawn, Michael Dukakis on the next.
House after house.
They're ugly. Such an eyesore. And what's the use? Do our votes even count for anything?
But I have to tell you, I ended up getting a really great laugh as we turned onto our street coming back from the dentist.
Our neighbors, the Whites and the Greens--hey, you can't make this stuff up!--have rival signs on their lawns. Mr. White is seriously Red, and Mr. Green is deep Blue. The signs are side-by-side on a strip of lawn between their driveways.
Someone (I can't say for certain that it was Mr. Green--it could have been anyone) has painted a hand on Bush pointing to Dukakis, and a dialogue bubble from Bush's mouth with "I'm voting for that guy!" printed boldly inside.
I grabbed my camera and captured the image, because you know as soon as Mr. White sees it, it's coming down.
Ami and Abe laughed right along with me the whole time, even though they have no idea what's so funny.
I hope it's still there when Jake gets home. But if not, I have the picture!! Yay, me!
Election years. Sheesh!
Dear Diary,
Everywhere I went today, I was bombarded by the sight of all those ugly election signs.
Sweetwater County is certainly taking sides! George H.W. Bush on one lawn, Michael Dukakis on the next.
House after house.
They're ugly. Such an eyesore. And what's the use? Do our votes even count for anything?
But I have to tell you, I ended up getting a really great laugh as we turned onto our street coming back from the dentist.
Our neighbors, the Whites and the Greens--hey, you can't make this stuff up!--have rival signs on their lawns. Mr. White is seriously Red, and Mr. Green is deep Blue. The signs are side-by-side on a strip of lawn between their driveways.
Someone (I can't say for certain that it was Mr. Green--it could have been anyone) has painted a hand on Bush pointing to Dukakis, and a dialogue bubble from Bush's mouth with "I'm voting for that guy!" printed boldly inside.
I grabbed my camera and captured the image, because you know as soon as Mr. White sees it, it's coming down.
Ami and Abe laughed right along with me the whole time, even though they have no idea what's so funny.
I hope it's still there when Jake gets home. But if not, I have the picture!! Yay, me!
Election years. Sheesh!
From Em's Pen
Emma Knight-Kramer, the main character of my book series, Emma: Ancestor's Tales, keeps track of goings on in her little corner of Wyoming, while chasing twins and conversing with the ghosts of ancest
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