Mari Collier's Blog, page 3
August 26, 2016
The Whys of Certain Writings
Earthbound Book 1, Gather The Children Book 2, and Before We Leave Book 3 of Chronicles of the Maca follow a Thalian/Justine alien as he survives on Earth and rebuilds his shattered House of Don with his Earth wife, Anna, their child, and Anna’s children from a previous marriage to an alien from the planet Justine.
Like many of the people in early America, Anna and her family are immigrants. People have wondered why I chose to make them German Lutheran immigrants. The answer is simple. This family would be strange enough with an alien from the stars as the husband. I had to know how the rest of the family would react during a crisis or celebratory event.
When I read a chapter from Earthbound to the local writing group, one member could not believe that was what a mother would think of doing after miscarrying a living baby not old enough to survive. She was wrong. That is exactly what my German-Lutheran grandmothers thought of doing and they had the midwife perform the baptismal ritual. They did not know each other as they lived hundreds of miles apart. It was simply what needed to be done. I do not know how another woman from a different culture would have reacted.
The same holds true for any crisis. There had been a slight breech in our family and when it was healed we celebrated at home with God’s word, hymns, prayers, laughter, games, and, of course, a huge meal. I have no idea how other families do this.
I knew I had succeeded in presenting the family as a unit when one of my nieces told me that she could “hear them.” She was perhaps hearing my fictional family, but she was also hearing us as we sang, laughed, and argued as a family.
Some of the stories have been with me from childhood. Others I had no intentions of writing, but the characters would not go away and scenes kept repeating in my head. You know you are losing the battle of not writing when you can see the wheels on a buggy turning in your mind and hear the words of the people sitting on the buggy seat. I not only heard their words, but I could see how they were dressed and smell the musk coming up from MacDonald.
The scene of Anna battling the raid in Schmidt’s Corner was another one that kept repeating. Then there was the scene of MacDonald rescuing Olga’s organ from the burning house. That scene had been with me from the time I was thirteen or fourteen. The only way to cleanse the mind is to write the scenes into a tale. It doesn’t matter if you use paper or the computer screen as long as it is written as part of the rest of the story.
I kept trying to create a long, happy love-life for Margareatha, but that did not happen. She loved passionately, but death took her first husband and twin sons. The time was the blizzard of 1888 and her husband and sons were on their bed, their faces white from death and cold and the pox scars on their faces and any uncovered portion of skin. She could not bury them as the ground was frozen.
The other Earth husband was the special agent she had married. When mobster killers arrived at their home ready to get rid of him, Margareatha used her mind and brought them to their knees, one man vomiting as he went down. That scene would even bring up the smell of the vomit. It had to be written down to expunge it from my mind.
The series is based on two men. One from the planet Thalia, but he is also part Justine. He is marooned on a primitive Earth and learns to survive, find friendship, and a true love. Earth beings do not live as long as Thalians or Justines. Earthbound Book 1 Chronicles of the Maca covers those years.
The other man is a boy when you first meet him. He is Earth and Justine. He has the Justine two hearts and their mind ability to enter other minds and control them. Gather The Children is his coming of age novel.
Each novel advances the trials and triumphs of this strange Earth/Thalian/Justine family. The Maca Returns begins their adventures on Thalia. You’ll find all the Chronicles of Maca here on Goodreads.
The novel that I meant to be the last to involve the Thalians was not written last. I knew it would be the most violent one. When my beloved Lanny Dee died, I, like many of those left behind became angry. To erase the red rage and the red-hot iron claw dragging at my insides, I wrote Man, True Man. It was finished before any of the other novels. It was not published until after Return of the Maca.
Life is full of surprises for an author. Instead of being the last, it has become in my mind the first for a new series about the planet Tonath and its inhabitants. The second is now a work-in-progress and is tentatively titled The Silver and the Green.
Take a look at my novels and anthologies listed here on Goodreads or go to my website at http://maricollier.com/
Like many of the people in early America, Anna and her family are immigrants. People have wondered why I chose to make them German Lutheran immigrants. The answer is simple. This family would be strange enough with an alien from the stars as the husband. I had to know how the rest of the family would react during a crisis or celebratory event.
When I read a chapter from Earthbound to the local writing group, one member could not believe that was what a mother would think of doing after miscarrying a living baby not old enough to survive. She was wrong. That is exactly what my German-Lutheran grandmothers thought of doing and they had the midwife perform the baptismal ritual. They did not know each other as they lived hundreds of miles apart. It was simply what needed to be done. I do not know how another woman from a different culture would have reacted.
The same holds true for any crisis. There had been a slight breech in our family and when it was healed we celebrated at home with God’s word, hymns, prayers, laughter, games, and, of course, a huge meal. I have no idea how other families do this.
I knew I had succeeded in presenting the family as a unit when one of my nieces told me that she could “hear them.” She was perhaps hearing my fictional family, but she was also hearing us as we sang, laughed, and argued as a family.
Some of the stories have been with me from childhood. Others I had no intentions of writing, but the characters would not go away and scenes kept repeating in my head. You know you are losing the battle of not writing when you can see the wheels on a buggy turning in your mind and hear the words of the people sitting on the buggy seat. I not only heard their words, but I could see how they were dressed and smell the musk coming up from MacDonald.
The scene of Anna battling the raid in Schmidt’s Corner was another one that kept repeating. Then there was the scene of MacDonald rescuing Olga’s organ from the burning house. That scene had been with me from the time I was thirteen or fourteen. The only way to cleanse the mind is to write the scenes into a tale. It doesn’t matter if you use paper or the computer screen as long as it is written as part of the rest of the story.
I kept trying to create a long, happy love-life for Margareatha, but that did not happen. She loved passionately, but death took her first husband and twin sons. The time was the blizzard of 1888 and her husband and sons were on their bed, their faces white from death and cold and the pox scars on their faces and any uncovered portion of skin. She could not bury them as the ground was frozen.
The other Earth husband was the special agent she had married. When mobster killers arrived at their home ready to get rid of him, Margareatha used her mind and brought them to their knees, one man vomiting as he went down. That scene would even bring up the smell of the vomit. It had to be written down to expunge it from my mind.
The series is based on two men. One from the planet Thalia, but he is also part Justine. He is marooned on a primitive Earth and learns to survive, find friendship, and a true love. Earth beings do not live as long as Thalians or Justines. Earthbound Book 1 Chronicles of the Maca covers those years.
The other man is a boy when you first meet him. He is Earth and Justine. He has the Justine two hearts and their mind ability to enter other minds and control them. Gather The Children is his coming of age novel.
Each novel advances the trials and triumphs of this strange Earth/Thalian/Justine family. The Maca Returns begins their adventures on Thalia. You’ll find all the Chronicles of Maca here on Goodreads.
The novel that I meant to be the last to involve the Thalians was not written last. I knew it would be the most violent one. When my beloved Lanny Dee died, I, like many of those left behind became angry. To erase the red rage and the red-hot iron claw dragging at my insides, I wrote Man, True Man. It was finished before any of the other novels. It was not published until after Return of the Maca.
Life is full of surprises for an author. Instead of being the last, it has become in my mind the first for a new series about the planet Tonath and its inhabitants. The second is now a work-in-progress and is tentatively titled The Silver and the Green.
Take a look at my novels and anthologies listed here on Goodreads or go to my website at http://maricollier.com/
July 15, 2016
Country Schooling
From Kindergarten through March of my third grade, I attended a consolidated school in Gray, IA. It combined Kindergarten through high school in one two story brick building. The high schoolers were on the second floor and we rarely saw them except for when we had fire drills. Everyone envied them coming down the slide attached to the side of the building.
We had excellent tutelage, but I hated the reading books with the simplistic See Jane, etc. I had read the Bobbsey Twins and a Child’s Garden of Verses (at least as much as I could of the latter), and had tried my older brother’s The Hardy Boys. Those I had to put aside until later.
My third grade teacher impressed me the most as she worked with an older teen student who was unable to pass the eighth grade. While we waited for the bus outside, we could hear them through the open window while she used flash cards to teach him words and multiplication. Her hard work paid off. He passed. The next time I saw him in town, he was walking down the street in his U. S. Army uniform. That teacher was dedicated as he was not in her class any longer. I really wish I could remember her name. I think it was Miss Sunberg, but when we moved I never saw her again.
Then my maternal grandmother became ill and Mama took my younger brother and me with her to Waterloo to help care for her. I was able to attend the Lutheran school where my cousin went. I loved it! Their readers had actual stories in them. Unfortunately, my brother became ill and we had to return home.
In March, we moved to the farm my parents had purchased. That meant my younger brother and I would be going to a one room schoolhouse. There were never more than eleven students at a time in this school. We were the new kids on the block. My brother had had rheumatic fever and was not really recovered. The other boys picked on him during recess and held him down in the snow. Mama was furious and insisted Papa go speak with the teacher. The teacher was a year out of college and had taken the country school only as a stopgap before finding employment in the city. She really didn’t know how to handle the situation and the bullying continued. I knew that left me as the protector. I pulled out my father’s wrestling book, his weight lifting book, and his Jujitsu book. Poor Gordie. I practiced on him, but by next year I was ready for them and won the fights.
When we arrived in March, the school was at the same place in the history book, the arithmetic (multiplication tables), the same place in the English book. There was also a reading class, music class, art class, and, of course, a class for Palmer Penmanship. The teacher would read us a story from a book suitable for second through eighth grade for fifteen minutes after our lunch hour. School hours were from 8:30 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. The older students in the sixth through eighth grades were supposed to go after water. Unfortunately, that meant the two oldest students went every day.
During the fourth year, we had another teacher. This one was a little older. In her late twenties or early thirties. She was a WWII widow. Her husband had been shot down by the German Luftwaffe. To complicate matters, we were the only ones of German descent in that school. Geography was added to the list of subjects we studied.
What I truly loved was that once a month the book mobile from the county would arrive and leave a month’s supply for students from kindergarten through eighth grade. I would start with the eighth grade ones, work my way through the pile. Once they were read, I turned to the dictionary or the encyclopedias. The third grade introduced us to Mark Twain with the famous fence painting chapter. Then each year there would be another more difficult chapter from Tom Sawyer or by the seventh and eighth grade, Huckleberry Finn.
Fourth graders and through eighth graders also took the Binet Intelligence tests twice a year. These had been developed by or from Alfred Binet’s intelligence tests for children. I would place in the top five or ten per cent of the students in the county.
The next two years we had the same teacher, and the subjects stayed the same. We would just have the new book for our correct grade level. Our writing, essay problems grew longer. By the sixth grade we were also studying Iowa history, writing stories, and learning to outline. I managed to arouse the teacher’s ire by refusing to write my ts and rs the way she wanted. The Palmer’s Penmanship Book clearly stated both ways were correct. She began giving me Fs on all of my subjects because of the penmanship. Now someone that wasn’t a stubborn German would have obeyed the adult, but I had beat her at a “speed” reading we did. She refused to believe I had done so and gave me a special test. The F was for my penmanship, not my answers. This just made me more stubborn.
After the last of the year’s Binet Tests, my grades went back to As and Bs except, of course, for the penmanship. Then we heard the gossip. The County Superintendent had called her in and demanded to know how my grades could be so bad if I were in the top five to ten percent of all the county students taking those tests. It seems she was the one that ordered the change in grading. It was a small community. That winter the teacher married one of the bachelor brothers living in the home where she boarded during the year. She resigned. Our teacher for the last few months was once again a recent graduate from the University of Iowa, but this one was male. Like the other young person, he secured a position elsewhere. Yes, it was becoming difficult to find teachers for the country schools.
That fall a neighbor’s wife and family friend had secured an emergency certificate to teach. We all thought school would be wonderful. Wrong. She was woefully inadequate to handle a school of seven boys and four girls. Neither did she have the knowledge for the science, history, civics, English novels and poetry, or the geography that was for the seventh grade. The mental problems she had suffered previously re-emerged and she snapped. I’m not going into details, but she was fired and the school closed. The students were divided between two other country schools.
We had another emergency teacher, but she had graduated from a normal school and had taught school for many years. Her English, Literary, History, Civics, and Geography skills were excellent. Yes, Civics were now added to the list of subjects we studied. She admitted she was deficient in the new science course and then for the eighth grade, algebra. It really didn’t matter as I had missed so much school, I would have flunked in a town eighth grade, but rural children had to go into town and do more testing from nine to noon for three days. Most of the tests were essay questions. The history one asked “Who do you consider the five best Presidents of the United States?” The answer had to be backed with historical facts.
The teacher had laid the algebra answer book on the end of her desk and said, “Anyone that wishes to use this for study is welcome to do so. I will not see you.”
One of the girls in the class, an original student at that school, was a genius. She should have been moved into higher classes years earlier, but her parents felt she was not ready for that emotionally or socially and had prevented her from advancing. She studied the answer book, figured out how to work the algebra problems backwards and taught the other ones in the class. We were the only two to pass the county math tests and be entered in the high school first level algebra class. Thanks Marlene.
We had excellent tutelage, but I hated the reading books with the simplistic See Jane, etc. I had read the Bobbsey Twins and a Child’s Garden of Verses (at least as much as I could of the latter), and had tried my older brother’s The Hardy Boys. Those I had to put aside until later.
My third grade teacher impressed me the most as she worked with an older teen student who was unable to pass the eighth grade. While we waited for the bus outside, we could hear them through the open window while she used flash cards to teach him words and multiplication. Her hard work paid off. He passed. The next time I saw him in town, he was walking down the street in his U. S. Army uniform. That teacher was dedicated as he was not in her class any longer. I really wish I could remember her name. I think it was Miss Sunberg, but when we moved I never saw her again.
Then my maternal grandmother became ill and Mama took my younger brother and me with her to Waterloo to help care for her. I was able to attend the Lutheran school where my cousin went. I loved it! Their readers had actual stories in them. Unfortunately, my brother became ill and we had to return home.
In March, we moved to the farm my parents had purchased. That meant my younger brother and I would be going to a one room schoolhouse. There were never more than eleven students at a time in this school. We were the new kids on the block. My brother had had rheumatic fever and was not really recovered. The other boys picked on him during recess and held him down in the snow. Mama was furious and insisted Papa go speak with the teacher. The teacher was a year out of college and had taken the country school only as a stopgap before finding employment in the city. She really didn’t know how to handle the situation and the bullying continued. I knew that left me as the protector. I pulled out my father’s wrestling book, his weight lifting book, and his Jujitsu book. Poor Gordie. I practiced on him, but by next year I was ready for them and won the fights.
When we arrived in March, the school was at the same place in the history book, the arithmetic (multiplication tables), the same place in the English book. There was also a reading class, music class, art class, and, of course, a class for Palmer Penmanship. The teacher would read us a story from a book suitable for second through eighth grade for fifteen minutes after our lunch hour. School hours were from 8:30 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. The older students in the sixth through eighth grades were supposed to go after water. Unfortunately, that meant the two oldest students went every day.
During the fourth year, we had another teacher. This one was a little older. In her late twenties or early thirties. She was a WWII widow. Her husband had been shot down by the German Luftwaffe. To complicate matters, we were the only ones of German descent in that school. Geography was added to the list of subjects we studied.
What I truly loved was that once a month the book mobile from the county would arrive and leave a month’s supply for students from kindergarten through eighth grade. I would start with the eighth grade ones, work my way through the pile. Once they were read, I turned to the dictionary or the encyclopedias. The third grade introduced us to Mark Twain with the famous fence painting chapter. Then each year there would be another more difficult chapter from Tom Sawyer or by the seventh and eighth grade, Huckleberry Finn.
Fourth graders and through eighth graders also took the Binet Intelligence tests twice a year. These had been developed by or from Alfred Binet’s intelligence tests for children. I would place in the top five or ten per cent of the students in the county.
The next two years we had the same teacher, and the subjects stayed the same. We would just have the new book for our correct grade level. Our writing, essay problems grew longer. By the sixth grade we were also studying Iowa history, writing stories, and learning to outline. I managed to arouse the teacher’s ire by refusing to write my ts and rs the way she wanted. The Palmer’s Penmanship Book clearly stated both ways were correct. She began giving me Fs on all of my subjects because of the penmanship. Now someone that wasn’t a stubborn German would have obeyed the adult, but I had beat her at a “speed” reading we did. She refused to believe I had done so and gave me a special test. The F was for my penmanship, not my answers. This just made me more stubborn.
After the last of the year’s Binet Tests, my grades went back to As and Bs except, of course, for the penmanship. Then we heard the gossip. The County Superintendent had called her in and demanded to know how my grades could be so bad if I were in the top five to ten percent of all the county students taking those tests. It seems she was the one that ordered the change in grading. It was a small community. That winter the teacher married one of the bachelor brothers living in the home where she boarded during the year. She resigned. Our teacher for the last few months was once again a recent graduate from the University of Iowa, but this one was male. Like the other young person, he secured a position elsewhere. Yes, it was becoming difficult to find teachers for the country schools.
That fall a neighbor’s wife and family friend had secured an emergency certificate to teach. We all thought school would be wonderful. Wrong. She was woefully inadequate to handle a school of seven boys and four girls. Neither did she have the knowledge for the science, history, civics, English novels and poetry, or the geography that was for the seventh grade. The mental problems she had suffered previously re-emerged and she snapped. I’m not going into details, but she was fired and the school closed. The students were divided between two other country schools.
We had another emergency teacher, but she had graduated from a normal school and had taught school for many years. Her English, Literary, History, Civics, and Geography skills were excellent. Yes, Civics were now added to the list of subjects we studied. She admitted she was deficient in the new science course and then for the eighth grade, algebra. It really didn’t matter as I had missed so much school, I would have flunked in a town eighth grade, but rural children had to go into town and do more testing from nine to noon for three days. Most of the tests were essay questions. The history one asked “Who do you consider the five best Presidents of the United States?” The answer had to be backed with historical facts.
The teacher had laid the algebra answer book on the end of her desk and said, “Anyone that wishes to use this for study is welcome to do so. I will not see you.”
One of the girls in the class, an original student at that school, was a genius. She should have been moved into higher classes years earlier, but her parents felt she was not ready for that emotionally or socially and had prevented her from advancing. She studied the answer book, figured out how to work the algebra problems backwards and taught the other ones in the class. We were the only two to pass the county math tests and be entered in the high school first level algebra class. Thanks Marlene.
May 9, 2016
Mama's Gutsy Move
My two older brothers were mostly or completely gone from the farm when I grew up. Fifteen and fourteen years separated us. I do have a younger brother, but he had rheumatic fever. That meant he could not do much of the work required on a farm until he completely recovered.
When someone sees me today, they comment on how petite I am, but while I was under twelve, I was as tall as the rest of my contemporaries. After surviving bouts of scarlet fever and a nasty case of measles, the only diseases I had during my childhood were colds and bouts of flu. I was also strong and wondered why I was a girl instead of a boy. I could climb higher, spit farther, and fight just as well as any male my age.
That also meant I worked at helping Mama with the gardening, the cooking, caning, and did what part of the chores I could. My Uncle (Papa’s youngest brother) always helped with our haying and Papa would help with his. Papa set me to stacking bales in the barn. Uncle Oscar was horrified and insisted I go to the house. I couldn’t figure out why since it was no problem to lift and stack them. The bales might have been anywhere from fifty to eighty-five pounds as they were not the huge, monstrous ones the new machines create.
When I was eleven I came down with a nasty case of poison oak. Then appendicitis took me down. I was hospitalized in time and it didn’t burst, but it did become infected. They opened me up again. My collarbone became dislodged and if that wasn’t enough, my thyroid went off, but none of the doctors recognized what was wrong. My symptoms were a huge weight gain and migraine headaches which drove me out of the house screaming and then back in as I could stand the light outside. One doctor suggested I was an overwrought female. One doctor admitted he didn’t know what was causing the problems and suggested a tonic. Another suggested a diet and more exercise. Folks, I was working in the fields, and my physical culturists parents had us doing exercises at night before we went to bed. At this time, I could use the 100 pound barbell and lift it up over my head.
Finally my folks took me to the osteopathic doctor (DO) in Manning. As I turned towards him after taking off my coat, he said, “That girl has a goiter.” The only treatment for that then was ten drops of iodine in a full eight ounce glass of water taken in the morning. That was the most vile concoction that I have ever ingested. Now I take kelp tablets, but that is another story.
Things went well until the eighth grade and I fell while roller skating at the local rink on a Sunday evening. I don’t remember the reason for the occasion, I just remember my ankle swelled up green and purple and I couldn’t walk the next morning. Into the doctor’s office for an X-ray.
“Just a sprain,” they said. “No, broken bones.”
I could not walk for two weeks which meant no school. Just as I was ready to return, I came down with chicken pox. That meant another week of no school. I spent my time reading my brother’s copies of the Four George’s by William Thackeray and Thackeray’s, Becky Sharp. I also studied Norman’s Latin high school book which he had left at home. The only reason I passed eighth grade (I’d missed too much school for any other grade) was the fact I had gone to a country one room schoolhouse. That meant we went into the county seat and had tests in all the subjects for either two or three mornings. I passed in the top five percent.
During harvest time for the oat field, I was out there helping to stack the sheaves. A new malady hit full-force and I began sneezing. I could not stop. Then the coughing began, the eyes watered, and my nose was joining the stream. Mama sent me back to the house. I retreated in disgrace; at least I felt disgraced.
The allergies did not let up. One doctor tried the new allergy tests and then the shots. That seemed to make things worse. Now they know you cannot give someone five foot two and three/quarters of an inch the same dosage as an adult man weighing one hundred and fifty pounds or more. That is who was used for the original tests before the medication was approved.
By the end of November my constitution was so weakened, that I had had walking pneumonia three times. One doctor in town felt that my allergy symptoms were all in my head and that I would need to go into an insane asylum (that is what they called them) someday.
The antihistamine tablet one doctor gave me sent my heart racing so fast Mama was ready to take me to the emergency room thirty miles away, but the doctor assured her I would be all right as long as I kept quiet and didn’t move. He was sorry, but there was nothing more he could do.
As Christmas neared I could not keep anything in my stomach, nor could I breathe. The Doctor who given the allergy shots suggested the University of Iowa and exploratory brain surgery to see what caused the headaches. The next doctor suggested I was going mad, and the next one told Mama to take me home and let me die.
Once we were home, Mama went down on her knees and prayed. When she arose, she announced, “I’m taking her West.”
The plan was to do this in stages as we had to ride the bus. We would stop in Denver to stay a day or two with friends, and let me regain strength. Then the next stop would be Phoenix, and then Modesto, California our final destination to stay with more friends while Mama found a job.
I slept for twenty-four hours when we reached Denver. I do not remember disembarking the bus, going into the house, or getting into bed. The next morning I could eat and breathe again. We almost stayed there, but it was January and the cold air hurt every time I took a breath.
On we went after four days. When I walked out of the bus station in Phoenix, I could not believe how the air filled my lungs and soul. Then a strange phenomenon happened. There was an unprecedented snowstorm and the way to California was blocked by snow. One week of feeling great and I collapsed. Another trip to a doctor.
This one focused on the bronchial tubes instead of the lungs. “Her bronchial tubes are filled with infection. That is why the constant coughing (with blood as it tore at the throat). I am not giving her anymore penicillin. She already reeks of it (a true statement). Do not take her to California. Let her sit out in the desert sun like the lungers of long-a-go.”
Mama cashed in the bus tickets and went looking for a job. I sat out in the sun and healed.
When someone sees me today, they comment on how petite I am, but while I was under twelve, I was as tall as the rest of my contemporaries. After surviving bouts of scarlet fever and a nasty case of measles, the only diseases I had during my childhood were colds and bouts of flu. I was also strong and wondered why I was a girl instead of a boy. I could climb higher, spit farther, and fight just as well as any male my age.
That also meant I worked at helping Mama with the gardening, the cooking, caning, and did what part of the chores I could. My Uncle (Papa’s youngest brother) always helped with our haying and Papa would help with his. Papa set me to stacking bales in the barn. Uncle Oscar was horrified and insisted I go to the house. I couldn’t figure out why since it was no problem to lift and stack them. The bales might have been anywhere from fifty to eighty-five pounds as they were not the huge, monstrous ones the new machines create.
When I was eleven I came down with a nasty case of poison oak. Then appendicitis took me down. I was hospitalized in time and it didn’t burst, but it did become infected. They opened me up again. My collarbone became dislodged and if that wasn’t enough, my thyroid went off, but none of the doctors recognized what was wrong. My symptoms were a huge weight gain and migraine headaches which drove me out of the house screaming and then back in as I could stand the light outside. One doctor suggested I was an overwrought female. One doctor admitted he didn’t know what was causing the problems and suggested a tonic. Another suggested a diet and more exercise. Folks, I was working in the fields, and my physical culturists parents had us doing exercises at night before we went to bed. At this time, I could use the 100 pound barbell and lift it up over my head.
Finally my folks took me to the osteopathic doctor (DO) in Manning. As I turned towards him after taking off my coat, he said, “That girl has a goiter.” The only treatment for that then was ten drops of iodine in a full eight ounce glass of water taken in the morning. That was the most vile concoction that I have ever ingested. Now I take kelp tablets, but that is another story.
Things went well until the eighth grade and I fell while roller skating at the local rink on a Sunday evening. I don’t remember the reason for the occasion, I just remember my ankle swelled up green and purple and I couldn’t walk the next morning. Into the doctor’s office for an X-ray.
“Just a sprain,” they said. “No, broken bones.”
I could not walk for two weeks which meant no school. Just as I was ready to return, I came down with chicken pox. That meant another week of no school. I spent my time reading my brother’s copies of the Four George’s by William Thackeray and Thackeray’s, Becky Sharp. I also studied Norman’s Latin high school book which he had left at home. The only reason I passed eighth grade (I’d missed too much school for any other grade) was the fact I had gone to a country one room schoolhouse. That meant we went into the county seat and had tests in all the subjects for either two or three mornings. I passed in the top five percent.
During harvest time for the oat field, I was out there helping to stack the sheaves. A new malady hit full-force and I began sneezing. I could not stop. Then the coughing began, the eyes watered, and my nose was joining the stream. Mama sent me back to the house. I retreated in disgrace; at least I felt disgraced.
The allergies did not let up. One doctor tried the new allergy tests and then the shots. That seemed to make things worse. Now they know you cannot give someone five foot two and three/quarters of an inch the same dosage as an adult man weighing one hundred and fifty pounds or more. That is who was used for the original tests before the medication was approved.
By the end of November my constitution was so weakened, that I had had walking pneumonia three times. One doctor in town felt that my allergy symptoms were all in my head and that I would need to go into an insane asylum (that is what they called them) someday.
The antihistamine tablet one doctor gave me sent my heart racing so fast Mama was ready to take me to the emergency room thirty miles away, but the doctor assured her I would be all right as long as I kept quiet and didn’t move. He was sorry, but there was nothing more he could do.
As Christmas neared I could not keep anything in my stomach, nor could I breathe. The Doctor who given the allergy shots suggested the University of Iowa and exploratory brain surgery to see what caused the headaches. The next doctor suggested I was going mad, and the next one told Mama to take me home and let me die.
Once we were home, Mama went down on her knees and prayed. When she arose, she announced, “I’m taking her West.”
The plan was to do this in stages as we had to ride the bus. We would stop in Denver to stay a day or two with friends, and let me regain strength. Then the next stop would be Phoenix, and then Modesto, California our final destination to stay with more friends while Mama found a job.
I slept for twenty-four hours when we reached Denver. I do not remember disembarking the bus, going into the house, or getting into bed. The next morning I could eat and breathe again. We almost stayed there, but it was January and the cold air hurt every time I took a breath.
On we went after four days. When I walked out of the bus station in Phoenix, I could not believe how the air filled my lungs and soul. Then a strange phenomenon happened. There was an unprecedented snowstorm and the way to California was blocked by snow. One week of feeling great and I collapsed. Another trip to a doctor.
This one focused on the bronchial tubes instead of the lungs. “Her bronchial tubes are filled with infection. That is why the constant coughing (with blood as it tore at the throat). I am not giving her anymore penicillin. She already reeks of it (a true statement). Do not take her to California. Let her sit out in the desert sun like the lungers of long-a-go.”
Mama cashed in the bus tickets and went looking for a job. I sat out in the sun and healed.
December 21, 2015
How Not To Celebrate Holidays
Life was good in 1973. Lanny was working. I was working. We had a nice home with a huge flagstone fireplace between the living room and the family room/ dining area, and an acre of land. Horse for everyone, but me. I no longer had the desire to ride.
Most of our friends were those that like Lanny were in the construction trade. Those people worked hard and we celebrated by going to steakhouses or huge parties at someone’s home. Lanny had a penchant for saying, “You all come.” That meant the liquor cabinet and food flowed.
One New Year’s Eve, we and others from the development company where he worked, were invited to someone’s house. We decided to drop by after dining at a steak house. It looked rather dark when drove up, but the man person of the other couple decided to knock before we returned to our cars. This roused the inhabitants and lights were everywhere as they invited us into their home.
Then next thing we noticed was that various people were getting up from the floor and sofa. The host was placing some kind of dried, leafy spices in a row on the cabinet. My mind rejected spices and I realized he was putting out different batches of marijuana. I looked at Lanny who was shaking his head.
As we walked into their living room the strobe lights came on and the heavy metal music. By this time, Lanny was as torn as I was about remaining. That is when another guest walked into the living room carrying a bottle of Wild Strawberry wine. The contents should have been a reddish color, but the wine had been fortified with something else.
He was a scrawny individual with long, stringy, probably blonde hair. It looked too greasy to really be certain. He was staggering, his blue eyes clouded, and the whites the most blood-shot eyes I have ever seen.
Lanny and I looked at each other, and made polite, “Thank you,” noises and mentioned having to go to another party. I knew another one of the construction people was giving a party, but didn’t know where. This one was given by one-half of another developer we knew from high school days and was north of where we lived.
Their house was larger than ours, but they didn’t have the acre of land and horses. There were at least thirty or more people milling around or setting down in the sunken living room, family area, or the bar downstairs. We did know many of the party goers but not all. We breathed a sigh of relief. These were more our age and no one was doing drugs other than alcohol. It seemed there was a constant stream of people coming and leaving.
Before long, I had an acquaintance crying on my shoulder telling me that she wanted what I had. Then she asked for advice on how to attain that level of peace and happiness. After I explained, she said, “I can’t do that.” That pretty much ended that conversation and I went looking for Lanny.
He was down in the barroom pouring drinks. The host had been summoned upstairs by his wife and he didn’t trust anyone else with the liquor as they were all too drunk. I watched with amazement as another woman at the bar began crying while asking for another drink; a 7 7. Lanny set another drink in front of her and she began babbling about that being the best drink she had had all evening. At which point, I thought it would be a good thing if we left. I knew how strong Lanny could pour any drink made with whiskey.
I managed to convey that message to Lanny and as soon as the host returned, we made our adieus. Once in the pickup (Lanny would drive nothing but a pickup), he started to laugh.
“Do you know what was in that best drink of all night according to the crying woman?”
“I assumed it was what she asked for.”
“Naw, I just poured her straight 7 Up. She had had enough to drink.”
Once we were safely home, we both decided we were very fortunate. There were people out there driving who were stoned, drugged, or drunk. Many of them had indulged in all three, yet, were out there driving around, going to another party, and/or trying to get home. That ended our going out in the big city on holiday eves. We did go out years later on a New Year’s Eve when we were in a small town area, but the designated driver never drank.
Most of our friends were those that like Lanny were in the construction trade. Those people worked hard and we celebrated by going to steakhouses or huge parties at someone’s home. Lanny had a penchant for saying, “You all come.” That meant the liquor cabinet and food flowed.
One New Year’s Eve, we and others from the development company where he worked, were invited to someone’s house. We decided to drop by after dining at a steak house. It looked rather dark when drove up, but the man person of the other couple decided to knock before we returned to our cars. This roused the inhabitants and lights were everywhere as they invited us into their home.
Then next thing we noticed was that various people were getting up from the floor and sofa. The host was placing some kind of dried, leafy spices in a row on the cabinet. My mind rejected spices and I realized he was putting out different batches of marijuana. I looked at Lanny who was shaking his head.
As we walked into their living room the strobe lights came on and the heavy metal music. By this time, Lanny was as torn as I was about remaining. That is when another guest walked into the living room carrying a bottle of Wild Strawberry wine. The contents should have been a reddish color, but the wine had been fortified with something else.
He was a scrawny individual with long, stringy, probably blonde hair. It looked too greasy to really be certain. He was staggering, his blue eyes clouded, and the whites the most blood-shot eyes I have ever seen.
Lanny and I looked at each other, and made polite, “Thank you,” noises and mentioned having to go to another party. I knew another one of the construction people was giving a party, but didn’t know where. This one was given by one-half of another developer we knew from high school days and was north of where we lived.
Their house was larger than ours, but they didn’t have the acre of land and horses. There were at least thirty or more people milling around or setting down in the sunken living room, family area, or the bar downstairs. We did know many of the party goers but not all. We breathed a sigh of relief. These were more our age and no one was doing drugs other than alcohol. It seemed there was a constant stream of people coming and leaving.
Before long, I had an acquaintance crying on my shoulder telling me that she wanted what I had. Then she asked for advice on how to attain that level of peace and happiness. After I explained, she said, “I can’t do that.” That pretty much ended that conversation and I went looking for Lanny.
He was down in the barroom pouring drinks. The host had been summoned upstairs by his wife and he didn’t trust anyone else with the liquor as they were all too drunk. I watched with amazement as another woman at the bar began crying while asking for another drink; a 7 7. Lanny set another drink in front of her and she began babbling about that being the best drink she had had all evening. At which point, I thought it would be a good thing if we left. I knew how strong Lanny could pour any drink made with whiskey.
I managed to convey that message to Lanny and as soon as the host returned, we made our adieus. Once in the pickup (Lanny would drive nothing but a pickup), he started to laugh.
“Do you know what was in that best drink of all night according to the crying woman?”
“I assumed it was what she asked for.”
“Naw, I just poured her straight 7 Up. She had had enough to drink.”
Once we were safely home, we both decided we were very fortunate. There were people out there driving who were stoned, drugged, or drunk. Many of them had indulged in all three, yet, were out there driving around, going to another party, and/or trying to get home. That ended our going out in the big city on holiday eves. We did go out years later on a New Year’s Eve when we were in a small town area, but the designated driver never drank.
August 21, 2015
My Week of Making Paper
One year, my youngest brother and I were able to attend Vacation Bible School (VBS) at our Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church. It was a bit less than one quarter of a mile to the West of what I always thought of as my Grandmother’s farm.
Grandmother was no longer living, but my youngest Uncle had bought out all of his siblings to remain on the original homestead. He also promised all of this brothers and sisters that my youngest Aunt would be provided for the rest of her life. Neither my youngest Uncle nor my youngest Aunt were married. It was assumed then, that the woman needed someone to care for her.
Somehow my youngest brother and I wrangled a concession out of our parents that we could stay for a week with our Uncle and Aunt while we attended Vacation Bible School. That meant we would have one whole week away from our chores. We both loved our Aunt and Uncle. To us, they were fun to be around as they joked with us and Aunt Dorothy would always bake something special for us.
Uncle Oscar loved to joke with us and would also play card games, checkers, and dominoes. Not that my parents didn’t, but it was different when your Uncle and Aunt did. Oscar also had a fabulous Phillips radio in a cabinet so unlike that small unit we had at our house.
There were ample bedrooms. My Aunt was now using the one downstairs that had been their parent’s, then Grandma’s bedroom. It was small and set at the right side of the short hall that led to the living room on the left.
I loved going to VBS as I was in the class for the oldest students and that meant Pastor Kaning taught us. He was a fantastic teacher as he would describe the history relating to the scenes in our book and our Bible. After classes were over we would walk to our Uncle’s and Aunt’s home and have our dinner. Yes, dinner was at noon, supper at night. I’m not sure what my brother did for helping with chores as Uncle Oscar had installed a red pump over the kitchen sink. Grandma would and did consider that an extravagant used of money. It was not allowed while she lived. I, of course, helped Aunt Dorothy in the kitchen.
After dinner we were allowed to go out and play. There were not the chores for us on Uncle’s dairy farm that there would have been at home. Uncle Oscar told us he milked wood stones, but he smiled as he did so. He then explained that wood stone was the translation for Holstein.
The land between the fenced house, washhouse, and garden was open to the lane and to the fence that surrounded and met with the barn. To the side of the barn where the fence started again was a large stone enclosed tank and another pump. Water was kept there for the horses and cattle. By this time, my uncle did not keep horses. The corn cribs, garage, and granary were set towards the west in front of the fence that kept the cattle from running loose.
The crabapple tree in front of the house fence was in fine shape, but an old cottonwood that once abutted to the fence between Uncle’s property and the road had been felled by lightning. It was a huge massive trunk several feet long. Uncle was still clearing the branches away and had not started on the main portion. It was a fine place to climb and pretend. I noticed that inside of the lightning caused gash was pulp mixed with water. We had been studying about the Israelites in Egypt. Pastor had explained how they made paper from papyrus: pounded out pulp mixed with water.
I dipped out several handfuls of pinkish beige pulp and made two rather large balls after squeezing out the water. For the rest of the week in the afternoons, Gordie and I would pound away at the pulp. By the fourth day, the pulp was a beige color and fairly smooth. I used a ball point pen to write on it. It didn’t matter that the “paper” was rough and bumpy in spots. You could see my name. We went home with full stomachs from Aunt Dorothy’s cakes, pies, cookies, and biscuits. It had been a wonderful summer.
If you want to see the church, http://www.davidkusel.com/manning1/tr... I’ve provided a link. Scroll down and you will see how it looked then. The bits of the farm house and farm yard I’ve described are described more in my novel Earthbound http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00THSCXOC and soon to be re-released Gather The Children.
Grandmother was no longer living, but my youngest Uncle had bought out all of his siblings to remain on the original homestead. He also promised all of this brothers and sisters that my youngest Aunt would be provided for the rest of her life. Neither my youngest Uncle nor my youngest Aunt were married. It was assumed then, that the woman needed someone to care for her.
Somehow my youngest brother and I wrangled a concession out of our parents that we could stay for a week with our Uncle and Aunt while we attended Vacation Bible School. That meant we would have one whole week away from our chores. We both loved our Aunt and Uncle. To us, they were fun to be around as they joked with us and Aunt Dorothy would always bake something special for us.
Uncle Oscar loved to joke with us and would also play card games, checkers, and dominoes. Not that my parents didn’t, but it was different when your Uncle and Aunt did. Oscar also had a fabulous Phillips radio in a cabinet so unlike that small unit we had at our house.
There were ample bedrooms. My Aunt was now using the one downstairs that had been their parent’s, then Grandma’s bedroom. It was small and set at the right side of the short hall that led to the living room on the left.
I loved going to VBS as I was in the class for the oldest students and that meant Pastor Kaning taught us. He was a fantastic teacher as he would describe the history relating to the scenes in our book and our Bible. After classes were over we would walk to our Uncle’s and Aunt’s home and have our dinner. Yes, dinner was at noon, supper at night. I’m not sure what my brother did for helping with chores as Uncle Oscar had installed a red pump over the kitchen sink. Grandma would and did consider that an extravagant used of money. It was not allowed while she lived. I, of course, helped Aunt Dorothy in the kitchen.
After dinner we were allowed to go out and play. There were not the chores for us on Uncle’s dairy farm that there would have been at home. Uncle Oscar told us he milked wood stones, but he smiled as he did so. He then explained that wood stone was the translation for Holstein.
The land between the fenced house, washhouse, and garden was open to the lane and to the fence that surrounded and met with the barn. To the side of the barn where the fence started again was a large stone enclosed tank and another pump. Water was kept there for the horses and cattle. By this time, my uncle did not keep horses. The corn cribs, garage, and granary were set towards the west in front of the fence that kept the cattle from running loose.
The crabapple tree in front of the house fence was in fine shape, but an old cottonwood that once abutted to the fence between Uncle’s property and the road had been felled by lightning. It was a huge massive trunk several feet long. Uncle was still clearing the branches away and had not started on the main portion. It was a fine place to climb and pretend. I noticed that inside of the lightning caused gash was pulp mixed with water. We had been studying about the Israelites in Egypt. Pastor had explained how they made paper from papyrus: pounded out pulp mixed with water.
I dipped out several handfuls of pinkish beige pulp and made two rather large balls after squeezing out the water. For the rest of the week in the afternoons, Gordie and I would pound away at the pulp. By the fourth day, the pulp was a beige color and fairly smooth. I used a ball point pen to write on it. It didn’t matter that the “paper” was rough and bumpy in spots. You could see my name. We went home with full stomachs from Aunt Dorothy’s cakes, pies, cookies, and biscuits. It had been a wonderful summer.
If you want to see the church, http://www.davidkusel.com/manning1/tr... I’ve provided a link. Scroll down and you will see how it looked then. The bits of the farm house and farm yard I’ve described are described more in my novel Earthbound http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00THSCXOC and soon to be re-released Gather The Children.
April 6, 2015
My Slightly Wacky Family
An incident on Facebook reminded me how much my family loved to argue. Perhaps the lack of television and such things as cellphones meant that we had to interacted so much with each other. Everything was up for discussion: memories, politics, events heard on the radio, what we had read, and history. We could discuss religion, but it that would be centered on the leaders of the day or yesteryear. We did not argue about what we believed or what was in the Word of God,
The discussions could become quite loud with one or more pounding the table to emphasize their point. Once the discussion was over or there was an interruption, the participants would be back to laughing and joking.
We did not take umbrage or have our feelings hurt that someone we loved disagreed with our position. We were all individuals and all of us had egos enough to know we were right no matter what the other person believed.
When we played Monopoly or Pinochle, it would be the same loud pattern of talking and laughing. My oldest sister-by-marriage fit right into the group. After all, it was her father that broke a little finger when trumping a hand with the last card played. In fact, it was downright brutal playing with Edna and my father. Both of them would remember every card melded or played.
I cannot see that happening in today’s world. If you happen to express an opinion different from someone else, they don’t say, “I disagree with you, but support your right to have your own opinion.” Oh, no! Someone would go home angry and the participants would never speak to one another again. To make their statement even more final, they would probably unfriend them on Facebook and say it is because they do not suffer fools. To me, they are both behaving as fools. One thing we did not do was insult the intelligence of the other for believing as they did. We believed everyone had a right to their own opinion.
My mother’s family was perhaps louder and more raucous than my father’s family, but that didn't mean they did not have arguments. They just didn't yell as loud or laugh as loud, except my father. His voice would carry for miles and his laughter infect everyone around him.
My husband and one sister-by-marriage were more Southern in heritage. They were completely baffled by my family’s loud shenanigans. Once when some of my maternal relatives from Iowa were visiting there must have been close to twenty people in our living room and we were all having a great time. My husband and said sister-by-marriage escaped to the outside. They couldn't handle the noise we were all making. Thank goodness the neighbors didn't complain.
It was impossible to get Lanny (my husband) into a heated discussion. In his family, people came to blows if the argument became that loud. We always discussed things, but heated discussions were out. The type of argument I so enjoyed didn’t happen. It seems strange now as people are reluctant to even discuss issues.
The last time I had a really good, rousing argument was the November I went back to Iowa. My father was in the hospital and not expected to live. I stayed with my cousin at her home. My cousin would drop me off at the hospital in the morning. I would sit with Papa until late afternoon when she would pick me up on her way home.
For Thanksgiving, my cousin and husband had been invited to a friend’s home and they took me along. Did I mention that I’m Lutheran and so are my cousin and her husband. I even taught Sunday School one morning at their church. The people that were throwing the Thanksgiving dinner were Catholics and there was a Catholic priest in attendance. This meant he was a Democrat and, of course, I was a Republican.
The era was that of the Reagan Presidency and Nancy Reagan was busy redecorating the White House. He made a disparaging remark about Mrs. Reagan and the money she was spending. I said, “Wait a minute, she is using donations, not tax payer funds like Jackie Kennedy did. The battle was on when someone mentioned seeing it on a television show about the Kennedy’s and the Priest made mockery of me watching television.
I promptly informed him I had not watched that show and that the funds for Mrs. Kennedy had been granted by an Act of Congress. The battle progressed from there and somehow the Republicans and the South were included when he said, “the Reconstruction Act of 1865 and I corrected him by saying that the Act was not passed until 1867. By this time we were pounding the table and all the other guests were moving away. We realized it was time to stop.
Later the priest stopped by and apologized. He had looked up when the Reconstruction Act was passed. He must have used their encyclopedias and there was no Google Search then, let alone an Ask Jeeves. He admitted that he would have to look the other up and apparently I knew history. Fortunately, my cousins laughed about the incident on the way home.
They were truly super to have let me stay so long. What a blessing to have family like that. Thanks, Wanda and Don.
I had called my brothers and advised them that Papa could not last much longer. My oldest brother and wife arrived and so did one of my boisterous maternal cousins and his wife. My cousin Wanda and Don went to visit family in Missouri and my oldest brother and wife stayed at their home too. The other couple stayed at a motel and then left the next day. My brother, his wife, and I remained and were with Papa when he stopped breathing.
The discussions could become quite loud with one or more pounding the table to emphasize their point. Once the discussion was over or there was an interruption, the participants would be back to laughing and joking.
We did not take umbrage or have our feelings hurt that someone we loved disagreed with our position. We were all individuals and all of us had egos enough to know we were right no matter what the other person believed.
When we played Monopoly or Pinochle, it would be the same loud pattern of talking and laughing. My oldest sister-by-marriage fit right into the group. After all, it was her father that broke a little finger when trumping a hand with the last card played. In fact, it was downright brutal playing with Edna and my father. Both of them would remember every card melded or played.
I cannot see that happening in today’s world. If you happen to express an opinion different from someone else, they don’t say, “I disagree with you, but support your right to have your own opinion.” Oh, no! Someone would go home angry and the participants would never speak to one another again. To make their statement even more final, they would probably unfriend them on Facebook and say it is because they do not suffer fools. To me, they are both behaving as fools. One thing we did not do was insult the intelligence of the other for believing as they did. We believed everyone had a right to their own opinion.
My mother’s family was perhaps louder and more raucous than my father’s family, but that didn't mean they did not have arguments. They just didn't yell as loud or laugh as loud, except my father. His voice would carry for miles and his laughter infect everyone around him.
My husband and one sister-by-marriage were more Southern in heritage. They were completely baffled by my family’s loud shenanigans. Once when some of my maternal relatives from Iowa were visiting there must have been close to twenty people in our living room and we were all having a great time. My husband and said sister-by-marriage escaped to the outside. They couldn't handle the noise we were all making. Thank goodness the neighbors didn't complain.
It was impossible to get Lanny (my husband) into a heated discussion. In his family, people came to blows if the argument became that loud. We always discussed things, but heated discussions were out. The type of argument I so enjoyed didn’t happen. It seems strange now as people are reluctant to even discuss issues.
The last time I had a really good, rousing argument was the November I went back to Iowa. My father was in the hospital and not expected to live. I stayed with my cousin at her home. My cousin would drop me off at the hospital in the morning. I would sit with Papa until late afternoon when she would pick me up on her way home.
For Thanksgiving, my cousin and husband had been invited to a friend’s home and they took me along. Did I mention that I’m Lutheran and so are my cousin and her husband. I even taught Sunday School one morning at their church. The people that were throwing the Thanksgiving dinner were Catholics and there was a Catholic priest in attendance. This meant he was a Democrat and, of course, I was a Republican.
The era was that of the Reagan Presidency and Nancy Reagan was busy redecorating the White House. He made a disparaging remark about Mrs. Reagan and the money she was spending. I said, “Wait a minute, she is using donations, not tax payer funds like Jackie Kennedy did. The battle was on when someone mentioned seeing it on a television show about the Kennedy’s and the Priest made mockery of me watching television.
I promptly informed him I had not watched that show and that the funds for Mrs. Kennedy had been granted by an Act of Congress. The battle progressed from there and somehow the Republicans and the South were included when he said, “the Reconstruction Act of 1865 and I corrected him by saying that the Act was not passed until 1867. By this time we were pounding the table and all the other guests were moving away. We realized it was time to stop.
Later the priest stopped by and apologized. He had looked up when the Reconstruction Act was passed. He must have used their encyclopedias and there was no Google Search then, let alone an Ask Jeeves. He admitted that he would have to look the other up and apparently I knew history. Fortunately, my cousins laughed about the incident on the way home.
They were truly super to have let me stay so long. What a blessing to have family like that. Thanks, Wanda and Don.
I had called my brothers and advised them that Papa could not last much longer. My oldest brother and wife arrived and so did one of my boisterous maternal cousins and his wife. My cousin Wanda and Don went to visit family in Missouri and my oldest brother and wife stayed at their home too. The other couple stayed at a motel and then left the next day. My brother, his wife, and I remained and were with Papa when he stopped breathing.
March 1, 2015
Mama's Revolt
I know I've mentioned growing up on the farm without electricity, indoor plumbing, and on one farm, no running water into the house. The farm my parents bought, however, did have water coming into the house and into the washhouse. That meant Mama no longer had to carry bucket after bucket of water into the house for dishes, drinking, or bathing.
By having it directly into the washhouse, she could use a hose to run the water into the huge copper tub on the stove. Then once the water was hot, she did have to use buckets to put the water into the washing machine. She could use a hose to run the cold water into the galvanized tubs for rinsing. There was even a drain in the washhouse for the dirty wash water. The washing machine was a gas run Maytag. Not quite an electric machine, but it functioned as one.
Then came the day that Mama had to take me out of Iowa. It was a place where I could no longer breathe, sleep, or eat. Somehow the Good Lord arranged it that we would remain in Phoenix rather than going on to Modesto, California.
The first year we were there, Mama bought an electric iron. She took this back to Iowa rather than leave it, and then brought it back to Phoenix in the fall when it became obvious that I was losing all the health I had regained in Phoenix. Thank goodness Greyhound Bus did not charge for weight in your suitcase.
We rented a house that year, but Mama still wouldn't buy more electronics. That didn't happen until the third year my father came out to spend the winter and found a job at a factory that built parts for Boeing. His eyesight was still so good he could do fine milling. They bought a small house in that economically depressed area of Phoenix. Mama went on a buying spree.
She bought a television (black and white), an electric coffee pot, and an electric skillet. She may have even bought a new iron, but I doubt it. They continued to spend the winter in Phoenix and the growing and harvesting seasons in Iowa. Then Lanny and I married and the children arrived.
Mama worked in the winter time until she turned sixty-nine. She worked in a care facility (called nursing home in those politically incorrect times) many times caring for people that were younger than she. Papa continued working part-time as he wasn't farming the full acreage. He “retired” from the job in Phoenix when he was seventy-one. The rent from the acreage he wasn't farming made up the difference.
In the summer of 1970, I took the children, age eight and nine, back to Iowa to see the farm and to celebrate my parents’ Golden Wedding Anniversary. I made arrangements with a cousin for the cake and had set the celebration up at Black Hawk Lake. That way Papa would agree to go as he had insisted to Mama that there would be no 50th Anniversary Party. He would not expect one at a lake. Mama was really upset that I had ignored his wishes. She was being the good “frau.” It was too late to dissuade me, however, as I had sent out invitations to all the relatives. I did instruct my little darlings not to tell Grandpa or to mention it.
Of course, we were there a few days early and went to see relatives. While visiting Uncle Oscar and Aunt Dorothy, my little darling, blue-eyed angel asked, “Aunt Dorothy, are you going to Black Hawk Lake too to celebrate Grandpa and Grandma’s Anniversary?” (Yes, my children talked like that.)
Of course, Papa was left sputtering and threatened not to go. At which point I told him, he could stay home and we would ride with someone else. His sister Dorothy said, “Gus, everyone is going to be there. You can’t disappoint them.” He went.
Then in 1973, Papa decided they should sell the Phoenix place and stay in Iowa all year rather than drive back and forth. That did it. Mama quit being the good frau.
“Not without my electric iron, my electric coffee pot, my electric frying pan, my electric washing machine, and my television set. I’ll just stay here all year.”
Once again Papa spluttered and continued as though Mama would do as he said. Of course, she didn't and refused to even talk to reality people about selling the place. It was drawing close to spring planting time when Papa agreed to putting electricity in the farm house, but it was too late to sell the Phoenix house.
That summer our son went to spend the summer on the farm with them and Barbarie went with her other Grandmother to Ohio. She was there to keep an eye on a younger cousin and on her Grandmother who could get confused. Lanny and I did a happy dance. We had more than two weeks of being alone without children.
Of course, we spoke with them occasionally over the telephone, but other than that they were on their own. When Lawrence returned, he reported that Papa had complained the entire time the electrician was there installing the wires. Papa felt he only had a year or two to live and someone else would enjoy all the money he was spending. Mama, of course, ignored that since Papa’s health was excellent.
The farm was sold sometime between December of 1975 or January of 1976. They bought a retirement home in Manning as Mama already had her checking account there. The bank in Audubon had insisted she couldn't have an account in her name. She walked out of there in a huff. She had had a checking account in Phoenix in her name for years. The people that bought the farm, tore down that old farmhouse. Part of it had been built in the 1880’s and the other part in 1910. A new tri-level house appeared in its place. They even tore out the magnificent lilac bush to make room for it.
My parents did return to Phoenix every winter until Mama died. They even flew up to Washington to see our home and to California to see my other brother’s home. After Mama died, Papa sold the Phoenix house and returned alone to Iowa and the retirement house they had bought. He never returned to Phoenix.
By having it directly into the washhouse, she could use a hose to run the water into the huge copper tub on the stove. Then once the water was hot, she did have to use buckets to put the water into the washing machine. She could use a hose to run the cold water into the galvanized tubs for rinsing. There was even a drain in the washhouse for the dirty wash water. The washing machine was a gas run Maytag. Not quite an electric machine, but it functioned as one.
Then came the day that Mama had to take me out of Iowa. It was a place where I could no longer breathe, sleep, or eat. Somehow the Good Lord arranged it that we would remain in Phoenix rather than going on to Modesto, California.
The first year we were there, Mama bought an electric iron. She took this back to Iowa rather than leave it, and then brought it back to Phoenix in the fall when it became obvious that I was losing all the health I had regained in Phoenix. Thank goodness Greyhound Bus did not charge for weight in your suitcase.
We rented a house that year, but Mama still wouldn't buy more electronics. That didn't happen until the third year my father came out to spend the winter and found a job at a factory that built parts for Boeing. His eyesight was still so good he could do fine milling. They bought a small house in that economically depressed area of Phoenix. Mama went on a buying spree.
She bought a television (black and white), an electric coffee pot, and an electric skillet. She may have even bought a new iron, but I doubt it. They continued to spend the winter in Phoenix and the growing and harvesting seasons in Iowa. Then Lanny and I married and the children arrived.
Mama worked in the winter time until she turned sixty-nine. She worked in a care facility (called nursing home in those politically incorrect times) many times caring for people that were younger than she. Papa continued working part-time as he wasn't farming the full acreage. He “retired” from the job in Phoenix when he was seventy-one. The rent from the acreage he wasn't farming made up the difference.
In the summer of 1970, I took the children, age eight and nine, back to Iowa to see the farm and to celebrate my parents’ Golden Wedding Anniversary. I made arrangements with a cousin for the cake and had set the celebration up at Black Hawk Lake. That way Papa would agree to go as he had insisted to Mama that there would be no 50th Anniversary Party. He would not expect one at a lake. Mama was really upset that I had ignored his wishes. She was being the good “frau.” It was too late to dissuade me, however, as I had sent out invitations to all the relatives. I did instruct my little darlings not to tell Grandpa or to mention it.
Of course, we were there a few days early and went to see relatives. While visiting Uncle Oscar and Aunt Dorothy, my little darling, blue-eyed angel asked, “Aunt Dorothy, are you going to Black Hawk Lake too to celebrate Grandpa and Grandma’s Anniversary?” (Yes, my children talked like that.)
Of course, Papa was left sputtering and threatened not to go. At which point I told him, he could stay home and we would ride with someone else. His sister Dorothy said, “Gus, everyone is going to be there. You can’t disappoint them.” He went.
Then in 1973, Papa decided they should sell the Phoenix place and stay in Iowa all year rather than drive back and forth. That did it. Mama quit being the good frau.
“Not without my electric iron, my electric coffee pot, my electric frying pan, my electric washing machine, and my television set. I’ll just stay here all year.”
Once again Papa spluttered and continued as though Mama would do as he said. Of course, she didn't and refused to even talk to reality people about selling the place. It was drawing close to spring planting time when Papa agreed to putting electricity in the farm house, but it was too late to sell the Phoenix house.
That summer our son went to spend the summer on the farm with them and Barbarie went with her other Grandmother to Ohio. She was there to keep an eye on a younger cousin and on her Grandmother who could get confused. Lanny and I did a happy dance. We had more than two weeks of being alone without children.
Of course, we spoke with them occasionally over the telephone, but other than that they were on their own. When Lawrence returned, he reported that Papa had complained the entire time the electrician was there installing the wires. Papa felt he only had a year or two to live and someone else would enjoy all the money he was spending. Mama, of course, ignored that since Papa’s health was excellent.
The farm was sold sometime between December of 1975 or January of 1976. They bought a retirement home in Manning as Mama already had her checking account there. The bank in Audubon had insisted she couldn't have an account in her name. She walked out of there in a huff. She had had a checking account in Phoenix in her name for years. The people that bought the farm, tore down that old farmhouse. Part of it had been built in the 1880’s and the other part in 1910. A new tri-level house appeared in its place. They even tore out the magnificent lilac bush to make room for it.
My parents did return to Phoenix every winter until Mama died. They even flew up to Washington to see our home and to California to see my other brother’s home. After Mama died, Papa sold the Phoenix house and returned alone to Iowa and the retirement house they had bought. He never returned to Phoenix.
January 11, 2015
Struggles
The diaper and teething years passed, but Barbarie persisted in getting every upper respiratory virus or bacteria that whiffed by in that neighborhood of many children. She generously would pass it on to Lawrence. I don’t know how many times I had her tested for strep throat. It was always negative.
The neighbor children were so impressed with Lanny that they believed he must be a cowboy. They would come by and knock on the door and ask if he could come out and play. They were always disappointed when I explained he was working.
If you think that I am leaving out the quarrels between Lanny and I, you would be right if we had had any. We really didn't have quarrels like so many couples. We each realized when the other was really angry and would step back and wait for an hour or so before discussing things. Our main problem at the early stage was money. Barbarie’s constant battle with infections meant doctor visits, antibiotics, and/or throat soothers. We raided my two dollar bills rather than charge at the drugstore.
When she was three and Lawrence was two, I told Lanny that I thought we were ready to try having another dog.
“What size?”
“Oh, something about the size of a beagle.”
I should have known his prompt question meant that he knew someone who had a dog to give away. Keep in mind, he may have been born in the West, but his mother’s people were from Southern Ohio. His father’s people had settled there after leaving Harlem County, Kentucky. That meant, Lanny had a special affection for hound dogs.
He returned from work three days later, a pleased smile on his face, and carrying a puppy; a three month old puppy the size of a full grown beagle. Duchess was part redbone and blue tick, but her spots were the color of a red bone (a hound bred from blood hounds). Her ears were long and floppy like a blood hound’s ears and she had the weird ability to smile. Barbarie, of course, went gaga over her and Duchess over Barbarie. Duchess, however, loved us all as humans meant food. Something Duchess dearly loved.
Lanny built a wooden slat fence around the space from our carport to the property line and back to hold Duchess. We didn’t want her out in the street as the neighborhood had filled in and cars now zoomed down our street faster than they did the previous years.
Lanny’s mother had given us the television set and I would let the children watch Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans. I also let them watch Wallace and Ladmo. Truthfully, I watched both of those shows. The young woman across the street would come bounding over when Wallace and Ladmo were on and demand that I call the station too and complain about the “things” they said on a children’s show. I never really got through to her that I loved what they were doing and saying.
Both children came down with the chicken pox, but Lawrence only had like three on his body and Barbarie’s was quite mild also. I figured that it was a possibility that Lawrence would have them again.
Barbarie’s first time in Sunday School didn't go well. She screamed the entire hour. The next Sunday I stayed. That meant I would also need to stay with her during Vacation Bible School. All this meant was that suddenly I was helping with the lessons or teaching.
One of Barbarie’s bouts with the recurring bugs sent her fever soaring. I fought it all day, but that evening it started going over 104. By the time we got her to the emergency room, it was 105. Can you believe our family doctor met us there? Once they had the fever broken, our doctor advised taking the tonsils and adenoids of both children when they were over the infections. We really wanted to wait until they were older.
Duchess developed the habit of standing up, bracing her feet against the fence post and tearing off the wooden slats far enough for her to escape and go roaming. Of course, the dog catcher (they were still called that then) would get her each time. She was so friendly that she would run up to them smiling. Fortunately, they took the dogs to the nearest veterinarian. Doc knew us and knew our dog. He’d call us, but we would still have to pay for her freedom. Lanny solved that problem by finagling one of the jobs out of the chain link fencing they were going to dispose of when moving on to another site. He dismantled it and brought it home. It took a month for him to get it up. He was also working overtime or on weekends to pay for it and the posts.
Did I mention our children had a lot of toys? One day we told them to pick up the toys or we would pick up half of them and put them up. They could have them back when they learned to pick up the other toys. Four years later, when we moved, we donated that box to the Good Will.
When Barbarie was four, she started to Kindergarten. The schools didn't have it, so we enrolled her in a private one. To pay for that and for the shed Lanny was putting up now that we had a fence protecting our property, he took a weekend job out of town.
Of course, both children came down with chicken pox again. Barbarie had it first and the pox were so huge, I was afraid she had small pox. A frantic call to Dr. Crotty had him soothing me. He assured me it was possible for people to have chicken pox more than once, particularly if they were very young during the first bout and had but a few pox on them.
Once again, Barbarie was really ill, but the pox itched and I was holding her most of the time and rocking her to keep her from scratching. Of course, Lawrence broke out too. Now I had two ill children and not one hour of sleep in twenty-four. I called the doctor again the next day describing the huge pox in Barbarie’s hair, inside her throat, and even on her feet and how she had kept me awake all night.
Since she hadn't slept, he ordered a syrup for her and told me I could only give it to her every eight hours. She should sleep for at least four hours or more after taking it. He had the drugstore deliver it. Yes, this was a long time ago.
When it arrived, I gave it to her. I didn't give it to Lawrence as he was better at resting and sleeping. Within the hour, she fell asleep. I quickly washed up the dirty dishes from yesterday and from the morning. After all, she would sleep for at least four hours. Right. Like her mother, she fought off that sleeping draught and was awake and fussing by the time I finished the dishes.
Somehow I stayed awake until Lanny came home, but we needed groceries since he had left Thursday evening. Our usual shopping foray was Saturday. I had the list ready and by this time the fevers had diminished. Lanny’s mother watched them and we went to the store. I had been without sleep for over thirty hours and didn't bother to put on lipstick. I looked (to me) like walking death. At the checkout counter, I opened my purse to pay for the items, and the clerk said, “I need to see your ID. You’re not old enough to buy beer."
I was but two years away from thirty and absolutely stunned. I handed my billfold to Lanny who was choking back his laugh. No one ever doubted that he was over twenty-one from the time he was fifteen. I really don’t remember much else about that evening except putting the milk and the things that needed to go into the freezer or refrigerator away and crawling into bed.
The neighbor children were so impressed with Lanny that they believed he must be a cowboy. They would come by and knock on the door and ask if he could come out and play. They were always disappointed when I explained he was working.
If you think that I am leaving out the quarrels between Lanny and I, you would be right if we had had any. We really didn't have quarrels like so many couples. We each realized when the other was really angry and would step back and wait for an hour or so before discussing things. Our main problem at the early stage was money. Barbarie’s constant battle with infections meant doctor visits, antibiotics, and/or throat soothers. We raided my two dollar bills rather than charge at the drugstore.
When she was three and Lawrence was two, I told Lanny that I thought we were ready to try having another dog.
“What size?”
“Oh, something about the size of a beagle.”
I should have known his prompt question meant that he knew someone who had a dog to give away. Keep in mind, he may have been born in the West, but his mother’s people were from Southern Ohio. His father’s people had settled there after leaving Harlem County, Kentucky. That meant, Lanny had a special affection for hound dogs.
He returned from work three days later, a pleased smile on his face, and carrying a puppy; a three month old puppy the size of a full grown beagle. Duchess was part redbone and blue tick, but her spots were the color of a red bone (a hound bred from blood hounds). Her ears were long and floppy like a blood hound’s ears and she had the weird ability to smile. Barbarie, of course, went gaga over her and Duchess over Barbarie. Duchess, however, loved us all as humans meant food. Something Duchess dearly loved.
Lanny built a wooden slat fence around the space from our carport to the property line and back to hold Duchess. We didn’t want her out in the street as the neighborhood had filled in and cars now zoomed down our street faster than they did the previous years.
Lanny’s mother had given us the television set and I would let the children watch Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans. I also let them watch Wallace and Ladmo. Truthfully, I watched both of those shows. The young woman across the street would come bounding over when Wallace and Ladmo were on and demand that I call the station too and complain about the “things” they said on a children’s show. I never really got through to her that I loved what they were doing and saying.
Both children came down with the chicken pox, but Lawrence only had like three on his body and Barbarie’s was quite mild also. I figured that it was a possibility that Lawrence would have them again.
Barbarie’s first time in Sunday School didn't go well. She screamed the entire hour. The next Sunday I stayed. That meant I would also need to stay with her during Vacation Bible School. All this meant was that suddenly I was helping with the lessons or teaching.
One of Barbarie’s bouts with the recurring bugs sent her fever soaring. I fought it all day, but that evening it started going over 104. By the time we got her to the emergency room, it was 105. Can you believe our family doctor met us there? Once they had the fever broken, our doctor advised taking the tonsils and adenoids of both children when they were over the infections. We really wanted to wait until they were older.
Duchess developed the habit of standing up, bracing her feet against the fence post and tearing off the wooden slats far enough for her to escape and go roaming. Of course, the dog catcher (they were still called that then) would get her each time. She was so friendly that she would run up to them smiling. Fortunately, they took the dogs to the nearest veterinarian. Doc knew us and knew our dog. He’d call us, but we would still have to pay for her freedom. Lanny solved that problem by finagling one of the jobs out of the chain link fencing they were going to dispose of when moving on to another site. He dismantled it and brought it home. It took a month for him to get it up. He was also working overtime or on weekends to pay for it and the posts.
Did I mention our children had a lot of toys? One day we told them to pick up the toys or we would pick up half of them and put them up. They could have them back when they learned to pick up the other toys. Four years later, when we moved, we donated that box to the Good Will.
When Barbarie was four, she started to Kindergarten. The schools didn't have it, so we enrolled her in a private one. To pay for that and for the shed Lanny was putting up now that we had a fence protecting our property, he took a weekend job out of town.
Of course, both children came down with chicken pox again. Barbarie had it first and the pox were so huge, I was afraid she had small pox. A frantic call to Dr. Crotty had him soothing me. He assured me it was possible for people to have chicken pox more than once, particularly if they were very young during the first bout and had but a few pox on them.
Once again, Barbarie was really ill, but the pox itched and I was holding her most of the time and rocking her to keep her from scratching. Of course, Lawrence broke out too. Now I had two ill children and not one hour of sleep in twenty-four. I called the doctor again the next day describing the huge pox in Barbarie’s hair, inside her throat, and even on her feet and how she had kept me awake all night.
Since she hadn't slept, he ordered a syrup for her and told me I could only give it to her every eight hours. She should sleep for at least four hours or more after taking it. He had the drugstore deliver it. Yes, this was a long time ago.
When it arrived, I gave it to her. I didn't give it to Lawrence as he was better at resting and sleeping. Within the hour, she fell asleep. I quickly washed up the dirty dishes from yesterday and from the morning. After all, she would sleep for at least four hours. Right. Like her mother, she fought off that sleeping draught and was awake and fussing by the time I finished the dishes.
Somehow I stayed awake until Lanny came home, but we needed groceries since he had left Thursday evening. Our usual shopping foray was Saturday. I had the list ready and by this time the fevers had diminished. Lanny’s mother watched them and we went to the store. I had been without sleep for over thirty hours and didn't bother to put on lipstick. I looked (to me) like walking death. At the checkout counter, I opened my purse to pay for the items, and the clerk said, “I need to see your ID. You’re not old enough to buy beer."
I was but two years away from thirty and absolutely stunned. I handed my billfold to Lanny who was choking back his laugh. No one ever doubted that he was over twenty-one from the time he was fifteen. I really don’t remember much else about that evening except putting the milk and the things that needed to go into the freezer or refrigerator away and crawling into bed.
December 28, 2014
The Toddler Years
It may have been the stress of two children. I’m not sure. The perfect mother I really wasn't. Cleaning out a baby’s diaper could cause me vomit once I had the baby cleaned and safe. The broken hours of sleep did nothing for me either. I've always been one to go to bed, say my prayers and wake up five and one-half to six hours later. Nothing short of people shaking me will wake me; not Iowa thunder storms and rain coming in the open window or an earthquake in San Francisco.
Sleeping that soundly doesn't really work with babies. Lawrence, as I mentioned, would wake every four hours. Lanny really wasn't equipped to arise and feed Lawrence and he would shake me awake. I did have baby formula as a supplement on hand just in case. One night I was so groggy I walked down the hall slamming my fist into the wall screaming about needing sleep. That, of course, woke Barbarie too. Lanny, however, came to the rescue. He guided me back to bed and somehow took care of two crying children. Of course, Lawrence was sopping wet in the morning, but I could handle it. I had slept all night.
My weight had dropped over twenty pounds just having Lawrence, yet I was putting on weight and dragging through the day. I asked the OB (if I wasn't really sick, sick, I didn't go to the regular doctor) if he had noticed my thyroid being high. They had finally came out with something other than iodine to give people who had thyroid problems. His response was, “Yes, but it isn't high enough for me to prescribe anything. It’s for people who have gained a lot more weight.”
“Do you mean I have to drag through grey days and gain a hundred pounds before you do anything>”
“Well, yes.”
I had heard about the book Let’s Eat Right to Keep Fit. We bought it at one of the bookstores and I dutifully read every page. It was an effort not to image everything wrong, but I knew it was the thyroid. The symptoms were the same that occurred when the goiter developed as a child. The next time we went to the mall, I went to the health food store and bought kelp tablets. I still take them every day. If I don’t, I gain two pounds a week and the side of the neck starts to become thicker.
Then a new problem developed. I began vomiting after meals again. At first I thought it was the flu, but I had no fever, no cough, no aches or pains except in my gut. In November of 1963 I went to the doctor. Our doctor just looked at me and said, “Collier, I’m treating your brother and your nephew for a bleeding ulcer. Who else in your family has had a bleeding ulcer?”
“My father. He ate rice gruel for six months and glared at us during every meal.”
Dr. Crotty explained what a lower G.I. entailed and sent me home until my stay in the hospital. Yes, back then they kept you for one night. My mother came over to be with the children.
We won’t go into the details. Suffice to say when it was over the diagnosis was a duodenal ulcer. I was sent home with a Malox like liquid and lithium for my nerves.
Barbarie was about two weeks from her third birthday and Lawrence but a couple of days before his second. I walked back into the house and my little girl came running to be lifted up. Walter Cronkite was on TV his voice wracked with emotion as he told the nation that our President had been assassinated. I was so stunned I couldn’t move. Mama and Lanny weren’t really moving either and my little girl was looking at me bewildered. I hadn’t picked her up and she was once again angry with her Mommy. When I was over being stunned I hugged both children.
We spent the next hour listening to the television news. It couldn’t be. The President of the United States had been assassinated. Of course, “right-wingers” were blamed until seventy minutes later, Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested.
The lithium made me feel like crying. I don't cry. On the second day after I took one, I sat down and cried for thirty minutes. Barbarie was crying too because I was crying. I stood up, took the pills and flushed them down the toilet and called the doctor. He laughed and sent out a stronger liquid for the stomach.
Lanny decided that with two children the cab of the pickup truck was becoming crowded and he bought a brand new 1963 Pontiac Tempest. We both loved that car. It felt like one had been hit with zero gravity when he accelerated. In a twist of fate, the salesman involved with the last truck and wrapped part was once again the salesman. Lanny mentioned that the used truck he had bought had sludge in the oil and it took a repair to fix.
The salesman looked at him and asked, “And who was it that wrapped a belt around a connecting rod bearing?”
I have a hunch we didn't get the best deal we could have.
The auto lasted almost a year, but it was difficult for Lanny to carry all his tools in the trunk. Then if we went anywhere or bought groceries, he would have to unpack and lock tools away. Then he had a slight accident on the job. The insurance company evaluated the damage and gave him the option of having it repaired or taking cash and trading the car in on something different. At least that is what Lanny said.
It didn't matter. Lanny had truck fever again, and we soon had a new truck sitting in our driveway. The cab in this one was wider. Barbarie would sit in the middle and I would sit holding Lawrence. I developed a really fast Mom Arm.
The truck fever became a ritual. Every three years, we would make the final payment and Lanny would come down with the disease again. This strange disease lasted until he could no longer work. It didn't really matter to him then.
Sleeping that soundly doesn't really work with babies. Lawrence, as I mentioned, would wake every four hours. Lanny really wasn't equipped to arise and feed Lawrence and he would shake me awake. I did have baby formula as a supplement on hand just in case. One night I was so groggy I walked down the hall slamming my fist into the wall screaming about needing sleep. That, of course, woke Barbarie too. Lanny, however, came to the rescue. He guided me back to bed and somehow took care of two crying children. Of course, Lawrence was sopping wet in the morning, but I could handle it. I had slept all night.
My weight had dropped over twenty pounds just having Lawrence, yet I was putting on weight and dragging through the day. I asked the OB (if I wasn't really sick, sick, I didn't go to the regular doctor) if he had noticed my thyroid being high. They had finally came out with something other than iodine to give people who had thyroid problems. His response was, “Yes, but it isn't high enough for me to prescribe anything. It’s for people who have gained a lot more weight.”
“Do you mean I have to drag through grey days and gain a hundred pounds before you do anything>”
“Well, yes.”
I had heard about the book Let’s Eat Right to Keep Fit. We bought it at one of the bookstores and I dutifully read every page. It was an effort not to image everything wrong, but I knew it was the thyroid. The symptoms were the same that occurred when the goiter developed as a child. The next time we went to the mall, I went to the health food store and bought kelp tablets. I still take them every day. If I don’t, I gain two pounds a week and the side of the neck starts to become thicker.
Then a new problem developed. I began vomiting after meals again. At first I thought it was the flu, but I had no fever, no cough, no aches or pains except in my gut. In November of 1963 I went to the doctor. Our doctor just looked at me and said, “Collier, I’m treating your brother and your nephew for a bleeding ulcer. Who else in your family has had a bleeding ulcer?”
“My father. He ate rice gruel for six months and glared at us during every meal.”
Dr. Crotty explained what a lower G.I. entailed and sent me home until my stay in the hospital. Yes, back then they kept you for one night. My mother came over to be with the children.
We won’t go into the details. Suffice to say when it was over the diagnosis was a duodenal ulcer. I was sent home with a Malox like liquid and lithium for my nerves.
Barbarie was about two weeks from her third birthday and Lawrence but a couple of days before his second. I walked back into the house and my little girl came running to be lifted up. Walter Cronkite was on TV his voice wracked with emotion as he told the nation that our President had been assassinated. I was so stunned I couldn’t move. Mama and Lanny weren’t really moving either and my little girl was looking at me bewildered. I hadn’t picked her up and she was once again angry with her Mommy. When I was over being stunned I hugged both children.
We spent the next hour listening to the television news. It couldn’t be. The President of the United States had been assassinated. Of course, “right-wingers” were blamed until seventy minutes later, Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested.
The lithium made me feel like crying. I don't cry. On the second day after I took one, I sat down and cried for thirty minutes. Barbarie was crying too because I was crying. I stood up, took the pills and flushed them down the toilet and called the doctor. He laughed and sent out a stronger liquid for the stomach.
Lanny decided that with two children the cab of the pickup truck was becoming crowded and he bought a brand new 1963 Pontiac Tempest. We both loved that car. It felt like one had been hit with zero gravity when he accelerated. In a twist of fate, the salesman involved with the last truck and wrapped part was once again the salesman. Lanny mentioned that the used truck he had bought had sludge in the oil and it took a repair to fix.
The salesman looked at him and asked, “And who was it that wrapped a belt around a connecting rod bearing?”
I have a hunch we didn't get the best deal we could have.
The auto lasted almost a year, but it was difficult for Lanny to carry all his tools in the trunk. Then if we went anywhere or bought groceries, he would have to unpack and lock tools away. Then he had a slight accident on the job. The insurance company evaluated the damage and gave him the option of having it repaired or taking cash and trading the car in on something different. At least that is what Lanny said.
It didn't matter. Lanny had truck fever again, and we soon had a new truck sitting in our driveway. The cab in this one was wider. Barbarie would sit in the middle and I would sit holding Lawrence. I developed a really fast Mom Arm.
The truck fever became a ritual. Every three years, we would make the final payment and Lanny would come down with the disease again. This strange disease lasted until he could no longer work. It didn't really matter to him then.
December 7, 2014
Things I Left Out
When Lanny and I first married, we kept the apartment I had been living in for my parents when they would return to Phoenix for the winter. His pickup truck needed mechanical work and his step-father would supervise and help. He still needed to have a vehicle to drive to his job.
I was working at the Palms Theater to help save money for a bigger place and to pay for the mechanical work. The manager knew someone who was selling a 1948 Studebaker for only $100.00. I bought the vehicle, but the catch was I had to drive it home as Lanny was at work. Fortunately, it was an automatic.
I believe I've mentioned, my father wouldn't teach me to drive an automobile and Mama agreed with him. That meant I had never driven in city traffic. I had driven a tractor in the fields, but there really isn't any comparison. Since I was nineteen and could do anything, I got in the vehicle and headed down Central and took the next main artery over to Sixteenth Street and turned South. Somehow I missed all the red lights or at least the few that were there then.
It was about one hour before going home traffic and traffic in 1957 was not what traffic is now in Phoenix. The street took me down to Mohave and I turned right to head for the apartment we rented. It was a studio built onto a home. At least it had a big yard with a fig tree. I realized the overdrive was on and flipped the toggle switch to off. For some reason it became extremely difficult to slow down and turn into the driveway.
The turn was really too wide, but I least I was on the property and hadn't been arrested. The next thing was how to stop the car. My foot was pushing the brake to the floor (burning out the brakes didn't even enter my mind) and I aimed for the huge fig tree and turned the engine off. The maneuver worked and the bumper wasn't damaged.
The landlady came running out of the back part their house and put her grey head through the open window (all the windows were open as this was Phoenix in the summer and no A/C in a vehicle). “My land, ah didn't even know you could drive. Is this youruns?”
Yes, she was from Oklahoma and her hair was pulled tight into a bun. Her clothes were all handmade (except her go-to-meeting outfit) and she wore an apron all day long.
“Yes, it is ours, but I really haven’t driven much.” Not an outright lie. “Lanny will use this while working on his truck.”
Later that night, Lanny told me what went wrong. “You shouldn't have hit that toggle. Whoever put in the overdrive, put in a Mexican overdrive. It’s On when it says Off.”
That statement does not make him or me racist, but I refuse to obliterate history. It was 1957 and that is what it was called. Please bear in mind, that one of our son’s baptismal sponsors’ mother was from Mexico. He called it the same thing. Once the repair work was done on Lanny’s truck, we sold that Studebaker. We really hated to see it go, but we couldn't afford the insurance for two vehicles.
Before we had children, my youngest brother married. Lanny was the Best Man and I was the Matron of Honor. My brother was in the Marine Corps at the time, but still under twenty-one as was Lanny. Lanny and his friend took my brother out for a Bachelor Party. It was a severe disappointment for my brother. Neither Lanny nor his friend imbibed alcohol.
For some reason the Marines had made my youngest brother the Drum Major for the band at his base. He cannot read a note. I have no idea how that happen. When they finally discovered that he couldn't read music, they put him in their post office. His wife was unhappy about being away from her family. When his four years were up, they returned to Phoenix.
This meant my oldest brother, his wife and children and my youngest brother and his wife and baby were all living in Phoenix. Our parents would come out in the winters. When we had a family gathering, Lanny and my youngest brother’s wife would go outside and have a cigarette. They were not accustomed to family members being so noisy while laughing and yes, arguing. The arguing could elevate to shouting. Within minutes all would be back to our notion of calm. Lanny just never understood. In his family arguments like that would have went on to a physical fight.
The year I was expecting Barbarie, my other older brother and his wife came with their two children. We could have a real family reunion.
My youngest brother held a party at his house. One of his friends was there, a lanky young man from the neighborhood. We all had a great time yakking and reminiscing. My oldest brother played his guitar and sang and we joined in. Then music was put on and for some reason they played the Charleston. I proved I could still dance that.
Then the men decided (I think my younger brother instigated it) to arm wrestle. Remember by this time our father was sixty-three years old. He promptly put down the skinny arm friend of my brother and then he proceeded to put down his sons. One son was in his twenties, one was just over forty and the other was at thirty-nine. Then it was Lanny’s turn and Lanny won. All thought that called for another drink.
Later Lanny told me, “Gus let me win.”
“Why would Papa do that?”
“I don’t know, but he had that same little smile on his face as when he deliberately says something to make your mother explode.” He had noticed that whenever Papa said something that would make Mama argue, Papa would turn his face to the side and one corner of the mouth would twitch at the beginning of a smile.
One of the things we bought when the wages from the carpenter jobs increased our spendable income was a 1954 Oldsmobile. It was to be my car when I learned to drive. It was so comfortable and the dashboard was blue leather.
Then something went wrong with Lanny’s truck and he couldn't haul tools in the Olds. Did I mention the man was a horse trader? I never knew what he would bring home. He used those skills when bargaining for a vehicle, but this time there was nothing to use in bargaining but a truck that wouldn't run. That left the Olds, but there wasn't enough equity as we hadn't had it that long.
I’m not a mechanic. It may have had something to do with the drive shaft. Lanny took the Olds, found a truck, came home and spent that afternoon and part of the morning wrapping an old, black with applied grease, leather belt around something underneath the truck. Then he and a friend drove both vehicles down to the auto lot. Yes, he came home with another truck.
I was working at the Palms Theater to help save money for a bigger place and to pay for the mechanical work. The manager knew someone who was selling a 1948 Studebaker for only $100.00. I bought the vehicle, but the catch was I had to drive it home as Lanny was at work. Fortunately, it was an automatic.
I believe I've mentioned, my father wouldn't teach me to drive an automobile and Mama agreed with him. That meant I had never driven in city traffic. I had driven a tractor in the fields, but there really isn't any comparison. Since I was nineteen and could do anything, I got in the vehicle and headed down Central and took the next main artery over to Sixteenth Street and turned South. Somehow I missed all the red lights or at least the few that were there then.
It was about one hour before going home traffic and traffic in 1957 was not what traffic is now in Phoenix. The street took me down to Mohave and I turned right to head for the apartment we rented. It was a studio built onto a home. At least it had a big yard with a fig tree. I realized the overdrive was on and flipped the toggle switch to off. For some reason it became extremely difficult to slow down and turn into the driveway.
The turn was really too wide, but I least I was on the property and hadn't been arrested. The next thing was how to stop the car. My foot was pushing the brake to the floor (burning out the brakes didn't even enter my mind) and I aimed for the huge fig tree and turned the engine off. The maneuver worked and the bumper wasn't damaged.
The landlady came running out of the back part their house and put her grey head through the open window (all the windows were open as this was Phoenix in the summer and no A/C in a vehicle). “My land, ah didn't even know you could drive. Is this youruns?”
Yes, she was from Oklahoma and her hair was pulled tight into a bun. Her clothes were all handmade (except her go-to-meeting outfit) and she wore an apron all day long.
“Yes, it is ours, but I really haven’t driven much.” Not an outright lie. “Lanny will use this while working on his truck.”
Later that night, Lanny told me what went wrong. “You shouldn't have hit that toggle. Whoever put in the overdrive, put in a Mexican overdrive. It’s On when it says Off.”
That statement does not make him or me racist, but I refuse to obliterate history. It was 1957 and that is what it was called. Please bear in mind, that one of our son’s baptismal sponsors’ mother was from Mexico. He called it the same thing. Once the repair work was done on Lanny’s truck, we sold that Studebaker. We really hated to see it go, but we couldn't afford the insurance for two vehicles.
Before we had children, my youngest brother married. Lanny was the Best Man and I was the Matron of Honor. My brother was in the Marine Corps at the time, but still under twenty-one as was Lanny. Lanny and his friend took my brother out for a Bachelor Party. It was a severe disappointment for my brother. Neither Lanny nor his friend imbibed alcohol.
For some reason the Marines had made my youngest brother the Drum Major for the band at his base. He cannot read a note. I have no idea how that happen. When they finally discovered that he couldn't read music, they put him in their post office. His wife was unhappy about being away from her family. When his four years were up, they returned to Phoenix.
This meant my oldest brother, his wife and children and my youngest brother and his wife and baby were all living in Phoenix. Our parents would come out in the winters. When we had a family gathering, Lanny and my youngest brother’s wife would go outside and have a cigarette. They were not accustomed to family members being so noisy while laughing and yes, arguing. The arguing could elevate to shouting. Within minutes all would be back to our notion of calm. Lanny just never understood. In his family arguments like that would have went on to a physical fight.
The year I was expecting Barbarie, my other older brother and his wife came with their two children. We could have a real family reunion.
My youngest brother held a party at his house. One of his friends was there, a lanky young man from the neighborhood. We all had a great time yakking and reminiscing. My oldest brother played his guitar and sang and we joined in. Then music was put on and for some reason they played the Charleston. I proved I could still dance that.
Then the men decided (I think my younger brother instigated it) to arm wrestle. Remember by this time our father was sixty-three years old. He promptly put down the skinny arm friend of my brother and then he proceeded to put down his sons. One son was in his twenties, one was just over forty and the other was at thirty-nine. Then it was Lanny’s turn and Lanny won. All thought that called for another drink.
Later Lanny told me, “Gus let me win.”
“Why would Papa do that?”
“I don’t know, but he had that same little smile on his face as when he deliberately says something to make your mother explode.” He had noticed that whenever Papa said something that would make Mama argue, Papa would turn his face to the side and one corner of the mouth would twitch at the beginning of a smile.
One of the things we bought when the wages from the carpenter jobs increased our spendable income was a 1954 Oldsmobile. It was to be my car when I learned to drive. It was so comfortable and the dashboard was blue leather.
Then something went wrong with Lanny’s truck and he couldn't haul tools in the Olds. Did I mention the man was a horse trader? I never knew what he would bring home. He used those skills when bargaining for a vehicle, but this time there was nothing to use in bargaining but a truck that wouldn't run. That left the Olds, but there wasn't enough equity as we hadn't had it that long.
I’m not a mechanic. It may have had something to do with the drive shaft. Lanny took the Olds, found a truck, came home and spent that afternoon and part of the morning wrapping an old, black with applied grease, leather belt around something underneath the truck. Then he and a friend drove both vehicles down to the auto lot. Yes, he came home with another truck.
