Mari Collier's Blog, page 4
November 23, 2014
Two Babies
When we brought our son home, I was in total distress. My stomach was tied in knots and fear gripped me. I was afraid I would not be able to handle a baby crying for hours on end while tending to another child. We had bought an infant seat (not available when Barbarie was a newborn) and the new special bottles for babies with colic. The brand new pacifier was in a drawer.
My mother-in-law greeted us at the door with coos and ahs. I forget whether she held Lawrence or whether Lanny did. Lawrence had slept all the way from the hospital until we were home. Automobile rides do that. They put babies to sleep.
Once my coat was in the closet and I had hugged Barbarie, Lawrence was handed back to me before I put him in the cradle in the front room. I sat on the sofa to make sure he wasn't wet (diapers only back then). My mother-in-law took Barbarie by the hand and brought her over.
“There’s your little baby brother. Don’t you want to hold him?” she cooed.
“No!” Darling daughter turned away from looking at the interloper and tried to pull her hand away.
“If you put out your arms, I’ll help you hold him,” said their Grandmother.
“No!” And Barbarie stamped away.
Whenever I sat in the rocker to nurse him, she would stand in front of us and cry. In fact, she didn't look at him for three weeks. Then, when she did, she gave him her rattle.
My fears about another crying baby were unfounded. This child slept for four hours, I’d change him, bathe him in the morning, feed him, burp him, and rock him to sleep. He slept for another four hours. I used to run into his room and look to see if he were still alive. I couldn't believe a child that was a textbook baby.
We tried giving him his own pacifier. He took a couple of swigs (at least he tried) and spit it out. There was no food there. If it didn't have milk or water, Lawrence didn't want it and didn't need it.
On Barbarie’s first birthday, it snowed. I do not know if she remembers me holding her up to the window trying to explain snow or not. She is like my father. Her memories of her early days are astounding.
On our first visit to our doctor with our son, Doc hit us with the news that the baby’s foot was a bit twisted. That would happen when the mother’s womb is too small.
“Don’t worry,” the doctor assured us. “If it doesn't straighten out in six weeks, I’ll put a cast on it.” Of course, we worried. The foot did straighten and Lawrence did not need a cast.
This time my milk lasted for three months. As noted before, that was the time when feeding them baby cereal and baby foods were given. This time I did use baby formula.
Barbarie was teething and she drooled constantly. Every picture of her shows her wearing a bib. She would also run a fever. The eighteen month old baby across the street took longer naps than she did. She waited until she was a teenager to sleep.
By this time we had another Weimaraner, but with two babies, I could no longer walk her. One of the neighbor boys did, but his family moved and they did not want another dog. When she (our dog) nearly went for a salesman, I called the vet and ask that they find a place with a large fence. It only took a week. The people not only had a fence, they had five acres and they loved her.
When we had Lawrence baptized, he wound up with three male sponsors. My nephew, Ronald, Lanny’s straight-shooting friend, Charlie, and Lanny’s brother, Joe.
Lanny did not change diapers, but one late afternoon I was fixing dinner and couldn't break off what I was preparing and Lanny offered to do it. Everything was there and I gave directions. "Put a diaper over him when you take the other off."
"As soppy as this one is, he can't do that again."
Of course, he could and he scored a direct hit on Lanny. We both laughed and I said, "Put a diaper over him before you try putting the next one on."
"There's no way he can do that again." Of course he could and this time it hit Lanny's face.
By now, I was hanging on to the counter as I was laughing too hard to stand. Somehow Lanny got a dry diaper on Lawrence and went into the bathroom to clean up. Needless to say, Lanny never changed another diaper. He would take over a dinner preparation if necessary, but no more diapers.
By eighteen months, Barbarie was talking in sentences. At six months, Lawrence was not crawling as his sister did, but was scooting on his butt. Nothing was safe. Not even the diaper pail which was pushed over when I came in the door from hanging clothes. I put him in his room, Barbarie in hers, and myself into the bedroom until the rage within subsided and I could clean up the mess.
About the time Lawrence was six months old, I started into a period of mental stress and complete cessation of what was normal for a woman in her middle twenties. Even our Catholic doctor prescribed birth control pills to replace the hormones that my body wasn't producing.
They worked, but I was more delighted with the ease of not worrying about being pregnant again. Of course, after six months, he refused to prescribe them again as I was “cured.” I went back to the OB. He had no problem writing me a prescription. Yes, we had decided that we would stop with two children. That vague thought in the back of my mind that I would have four just like my parents went into a black hole with the reality of two children.
Lawrence walked at twelve months, but like his sister, he was talking in sentences by eighteen months. He was also climbing. Something Barbarie never did until much later. One day while I was in the bathrooms screams from Lawrence could be heard outside. I heard Barbarie running out the front door yelling, “I’m coming, brother.”
I have never exited a bathroom so rapidly. Outside I found Lawrence up in the china berry tree hanging onto a limb and his tricycle pushed over on the ground. Barbarie was holding onto the tree trunk as though to stop the tree from shaking. I grabbed Lawrence into my arms and said, “How did you get up there?”
He stopped crying long enough to say, “The wind just blowed me up, Mommy.” At which point he began wailing again and I was laughing. Yes, he had stood up on the seat of his tricycle, grabbed the branch, and tried to pull himself up. His exertions had knocked over the trike and he was left dangling in the wind until I “rescued” him.
Yes, he pulled more stunts by climbing, but that will be in a later posting.
My mother-in-law greeted us at the door with coos and ahs. I forget whether she held Lawrence or whether Lanny did. Lawrence had slept all the way from the hospital until we were home. Automobile rides do that. They put babies to sleep.
Once my coat was in the closet and I had hugged Barbarie, Lawrence was handed back to me before I put him in the cradle in the front room. I sat on the sofa to make sure he wasn't wet (diapers only back then). My mother-in-law took Barbarie by the hand and brought her over.
“There’s your little baby brother. Don’t you want to hold him?” she cooed.
“No!” Darling daughter turned away from looking at the interloper and tried to pull her hand away.
“If you put out your arms, I’ll help you hold him,” said their Grandmother.
“No!” And Barbarie stamped away.
Whenever I sat in the rocker to nurse him, she would stand in front of us and cry. In fact, she didn't look at him for three weeks. Then, when she did, she gave him her rattle.
My fears about another crying baby were unfounded. This child slept for four hours, I’d change him, bathe him in the morning, feed him, burp him, and rock him to sleep. He slept for another four hours. I used to run into his room and look to see if he were still alive. I couldn't believe a child that was a textbook baby.
We tried giving him his own pacifier. He took a couple of swigs (at least he tried) and spit it out. There was no food there. If it didn't have milk or water, Lawrence didn't want it and didn't need it.
On Barbarie’s first birthday, it snowed. I do not know if she remembers me holding her up to the window trying to explain snow or not. She is like my father. Her memories of her early days are astounding.
On our first visit to our doctor with our son, Doc hit us with the news that the baby’s foot was a bit twisted. That would happen when the mother’s womb is too small.
“Don’t worry,” the doctor assured us. “If it doesn't straighten out in six weeks, I’ll put a cast on it.” Of course, we worried. The foot did straighten and Lawrence did not need a cast.
This time my milk lasted for three months. As noted before, that was the time when feeding them baby cereal and baby foods were given. This time I did use baby formula.
Barbarie was teething and she drooled constantly. Every picture of her shows her wearing a bib. She would also run a fever. The eighteen month old baby across the street took longer naps than she did. She waited until she was a teenager to sleep.
By this time we had another Weimaraner, but with two babies, I could no longer walk her. One of the neighbor boys did, but his family moved and they did not want another dog. When she (our dog) nearly went for a salesman, I called the vet and ask that they find a place with a large fence. It only took a week. The people not only had a fence, they had five acres and they loved her.
When we had Lawrence baptized, he wound up with three male sponsors. My nephew, Ronald, Lanny’s straight-shooting friend, Charlie, and Lanny’s brother, Joe.
Lanny did not change diapers, but one late afternoon I was fixing dinner and couldn't break off what I was preparing and Lanny offered to do it. Everything was there and I gave directions. "Put a diaper over him when you take the other off."
"As soppy as this one is, he can't do that again."
Of course, he could and he scored a direct hit on Lanny. We both laughed and I said, "Put a diaper over him before you try putting the next one on."
"There's no way he can do that again." Of course he could and this time it hit Lanny's face.
By now, I was hanging on to the counter as I was laughing too hard to stand. Somehow Lanny got a dry diaper on Lawrence and went into the bathroom to clean up. Needless to say, Lanny never changed another diaper. He would take over a dinner preparation if necessary, but no more diapers.
By eighteen months, Barbarie was talking in sentences. At six months, Lawrence was not crawling as his sister did, but was scooting on his butt. Nothing was safe. Not even the diaper pail which was pushed over when I came in the door from hanging clothes. I put him in his room, Barbarie in hers, and myself into the bedroom until the rage within subsided and I could clean up the mess.
About the time Lawrence was six months old, I started into a period of mental stress and complete cessation of what was normal for a woman in her middle twenties. Even our Catholic doctor prescribed birth control pills to replace the hormones that my body wasn't producing.
They worked, but I was more delighted with the ease of not worrying about being pregnant again. Of course, after six months, he refused to prescribe them again as I was “cured.” I went back to the OB. He had no problem writing me a prescription. Yes, we had decided that we would stop with two children. That vague thought in the back of my mind that I would have four just like my parents went into a black hole with the reality of two children.
Lawrence walked at twelve months, but like his sister, he was talking in sentences by eighteen months. He was also climbing. Something Barbarie never did until much later. One day while I was in the bathrooms screams from Lawrence could be heard outside. I heard Barbarie running out the front door yelling, “I’m coming, brother.”
I have never exited a bathroom so rapidly. Outside I found Lawrence up in the china berry tree hanging onto a limb and his tricycle pushed over on the ground. Barbarie was holding onto the tree trunk as though to stop the tree from shaking. I grabbed Lawrence into my arms and said, “How did you get up there?”
He stopped crying long enough to say, “The wind just blowed me up, Mommy.” At which point he began wailing again and I was laughing. Yes, he had stood up on the seat of his tricycle, grabbed the branch, and tried to pull himself up. His exertions had knocked over the trike and he was left dangling in the wind until I “rescued” him.
Yes, he pulled more stunts by climbing, but that will be in a later posting.
November 2, 2014
ONCE WASN'T ENOUGH
The instructions from the doctor before I was released to go home with Barbarie, were explicit about what to expect and when we could resume a normal married life. I don’t believe I've mentioned that there was never anything normal about my system.
I presumed everything was going according to clockwork, but did use precautions. That a certain cycle had happened only once in four months after Barbarie, didn't raise any alarms as that was normal for me.
Whether you have discerned it from my other posts or from reading my novels, I belong to a Lutheran congregation. Somehow I didn't manage to get Barbarie baptized at three weeks, but the Pastor paid us a visit and arrangements were made. Lanny sat there listening and said, “I've never been baptized.”
Pastor Schaller was a bit startled and asked him about his beliefs, which were Christian. Once Lanny found out the baptism would mean that he was baptized a Christian and not into a denomination, it was arranged he should be baptized the same day as Barbarie. Mama, my sister-by-marriage, Edna, and Lanny’s mother prepared most of the food for that day just six weeks after Barbarie's birth.
Barbarie remained a “fussy” baby, but she rolled over at three months, sat up by five months, presented me with her first tooth as a Mother's Day present,and crawled at six months. She would take off with that pacifier in her mouth and giggle at the same time. She had outgrown the cradle by three months and was in a regular crib. We also had a high chair and a bounce seat. I did not have a playpen. I thought they were terrible.
One morning after the baby’s bath and feeding, I was house cleaning and the hemorrhaging started. This time I had enough sense to put Barbarie in her jumper and me on the sofa with my feet up in the air. After about fifteen minutes, she began screaming as loud as possible. Since this was Phoenix and the month of May, the door was open. I assumed someone would hear her, but no one did.
After another fifteen minutes, I was able to get up and tend to things. Once that was done, I called the OB again and made an appointment. I was told to go to the hospital if that started again. In the meantime, I wasn't to lift anything. Yeah, right. I had a six month old baby and no dryer. All the clothes were hung outside which meant I was lugging the wet laundry from the washer to the clothesline besides lifting my little girl.
I do not remember whether it was two or three days before I saw Dr. Gullen. After the examination, he grinned at me. “You are five months pregnant. The baby will be born on November 28th. My nurse will set up the appointments.”
For a moment I stared at him. This was ridiculous. My youngest brother and I are but eleven months and three weeks apart. I had told my Mother that I would never do such a thing. This meant my children would be eleven months and two weeks apart. God must have really been laughing at that one. It pretty well ended my using the word never. Then another scenario hit me.
“Since I had a rather severe bout of hemorrhaging, will that affect my baby?”
“I can’t answer that question until the baby is born. You know that,” was his reply.
Yes, I did know that and spent the next four months worrying and praying.
It was as though once the secret was out, my body expanded. Actually, it filled up like a water balloon. Anywhere you touched me would leave and indentation. The medical answer then was to prescribe water pills. They really didn't make any difference. They also suggested compression stockings. I tried that and thought I was going to die of heat suffocation in the hot summer time of Phoenix. For the first time in my life I was feeling the heat more than others.
This time the abnormal craving was for grapefruit. I happen to be allergic to grapefruit. If I ingest it, it returns immediately at a much more rapid pace than when devoured. I refused to buy any, but finally the yearning became so acute, I purchased a can of pineapple grapefruit juice under the premise that the pineapple would hide the grapefruit. I put the can in the fridge and waited until it cooled, opened the can, swigged it down, put the can down on the kitchen table, and ran out the back door. I made it to the edge of the carport before I did an imitation of a baby’s projectile vomiting.
Barbarie started saying words at nine months. “Ock” was clock, “oggie goggie” was doggie (yes, we had Willie at that time), “Dada” was Daddy, and “no” was no. I would read to her, sing, and play counting games. She would hear Lanny’s truck and go, “Dada.” I would say, “That’s right, now say, “Mama.”
Darling daughter would look at me and say, “No.” Yes, she was a Daddy’s girl.
I didn't bother telling the doctor that Lawrence would be born before the 28th, but I did tell him it would be a boy. Of course, he chuckled at that. He did tell me to go to the hospital the minute the pains started. Let the hospital call him.
Thanksgiving that year came early and we celebrated it over at my mother-in-law’s house. By this time, Barbarie was eleven months and walking. She also had quite a vocabulary. I was miserable and bloated. I barely ate anything. Both Lanny and my Mother-by-marriage were worried about me. That night the pains started at about 1:20 p.m. It took longer to gather everything this time as we had to wrap Barbarie up against the chill of the evening. She was not happy about leaving her bed.
Once she was safely at Lanny’s Mother's place, we headed for the hospital. At that time Grand Avenue and Thomas could be blocked by trains. Of course, we were. I swear if we would have had a car instead of a pickup truck, I would have crawled in the back and had my baby.
This time I didn't argue when Lanny carried me into the hospital. The people took one look at me, put me in the wheelchair and rushed me to the delivery room. Once again, no prepping and no time to call my doctor. The resident was called in again.
I was really disgusted that this time there were two mirrors and I couldn't watch. They did give me a shot of something as this baby was larger and it was necessary to do what they called “cut.” I ended up with two stitches. One wouldn't think seven ounces would make that much difference, but it did.
They placed the cleaned baby on my chest. He looked perfect to me. His hair wasn't long or curly, but he had hair. His legs looked really scrawny compared to his sister’s, but he had the huge shoulders and hands of my husband. Lawrence Duane Collier was born at 4:30 a.m. I had been in labor just a tad over four hours.
I presumed everything was going according to clockwork, but did use precautions. That a certain cycle had happened only once in four months after Barbarie, didn't raise any alarms as that was normal for me.
Whether you have discerned it from my other posts or from reading my novels, I belong to a Lutheran congregation. Somehow I didn't manage to get Barbarie baptized at three weeks, but the Pastor paid us a visit and arrangements were made. Lanny sat there listening and said, “I've never been baptized.”
Pastor Schaller was a bit startled and asked him about his beliefs, which were Christian. Once Lanny found out the baptism would mean that he was baptized a Christian and not into a denomination, it was arranged he should be baptized the same day as Barbarie. Mama, my sister-by-marriage, Edna, and Lanny’s mother prepared most of the food for that day just six weeks after Barbarie's birth.
Barbarie remained a “fussy” baby, but she rolled over at three months, sat up by five months, presented me with her first tooth as a Mother's Day present,and crawled at six months. She would take off with that pacifier in her mouth and giggle at the same time. She had outgrown the cradle by three months and was in a regular crib. We also had a high chair and a bounce seat. I did not have a playpen. I thought they were terrible.
One morning after the baby’s bath and feeding, I was house cleaning and the hemorrhaging started. This time I had enough sense to put Barbarie in her jumper and me on the sofa with my feet up in the air. After about fifteen minutes, she began screaming as loud as possible. Since this was Phoenix and the month of May, the door was open. I assumed someone would hear her, but no one did.
After another fifteen minutes, I was able to get up and tend to things. Once that was done, I called the OB again and made an appointment. I was told to go to the hospital if that started again. In the meantime, I wasn't to lift anything. Yeah, right. I had a six month old baby and no dryer. All the clothes were hung outside which meant I was lugging the wet laundry from the washer to the clothesline besides lifting my little girl.
I do not remember whether it was two or three days before I saw Dr. Gullen. After the examination, he grinned at me. “You are five months pregnant. The baby will be born on November 28th. My nurse will set up the appointments.”
For a moment I stared at him. This was ridiculous. My youngest brother and I are but eleven months and three weeks apart. I had told my Mother that I would never do such a thing. This meant my children would be eleven months and two weeks apart. God must have really been laughing at that one. It pretty well ended my using the word never. Then another scenario hit me.
“Since I had a rather severe bout of hemorrhaging, will that affect my baby?”
“I can’t answer that question until the baby is born. You know that,” was his reply.
Yes, I did know that and spent the next four months worrying and praying.
It was as though once the secret was out, my body expanded. Actually, it filled up like a water balloon. Anywhere you touched me would leave and indentation. The medical answer then was to prescribe water pills. They really didn't make any difference. They also suggested compression stockings. I tried that and thought I was going to die of heat suffocation in the hot summer time of Phoenix. For the first time in my life I was feeling the heat more than others.
This time the abnormal craving was for grapefruit. I happen to be allergic to grapefruit. If I ingest it, it returns immediately at a much more rapid pace than when devoured. I refused to buy any, but finally the yearning became so acute, I purchased a can of pineapple grapefruit juice under the premise that the pineapple would hide the grapefruit. I put the can in the fridge and waited until it cooled, opened the can, swigged it down, put the can down on the kitchen table, and ran out the back door. I made it to the edge of the carport before I did an imitation of a baby’s projectile vomiting.
Barbarie started saying words at nine months. “Ock” was clock, “oggie goggie” was doggie (yes, we had Willie at that time), “Dada” was Daddy, and “no” was no. I would read to her, sing, and play counting games. She would hear Lanny’s truck and go, “Dada.” I would say, “That’s right, now say, “Mama.”
Darling daughter would look at me and say, “No.” Yes, she was a Daddy’s girl.
I didn't bother telling the doctor that Lawrence would be born before the 28th, but I did tell him it would be a boy. Of course, he chuckled at that. He did tell me to go to the hospital the minute the pains started. Let the hospital call him.
Thanksgiving that year came early and we celebrated it over at my mother-in-law’s house. By this time, Barbarie was eleven months and walking. She also had quite a vocabulary. I was miserable and bloated. I barely ate anything. Both Lanny and my Mother-by-marriage were worried about me. That night the pains started at about 1:20 p.m. It took longer to gather everything this time as we had to wrap Barbarie up against the chill of the evening. She was not happy about leaving her bed.
Once she was safely at Lanny’s Mother's place, we headed for the hospital. At that time Grand Avenue and Thomas could be blocked by trains. Of course, we were. I swear if we would have had a car instead of a pickup truck, I would have crawled in the back and had my baby.
This time I didn't argue when Lanny carried me into the hospital. The people took one look at me, put me in the wheelchair and rushed me to the delivery room. Once again, no prepping and no time to call my doctor. The resident was called in again.
I was really disgusted that this time there were two mirrors and I couldn't watch. They did give me a shot of something as this baby was larger and it was necessary to do what they called “cut.” I ended up with two stitches. One wouldn't think seven ounces would make that much difference, but it did.
They placed the cleaned baby on my chest. He looked perfect to me. His hair wasn't long or curly, but he had hair. His legs looked really scrawny compared to his sister’s, but he had the huge shoulders and hands of my husband. Lawrence Duane Collier was born at 4:30 a.m. I had been in labor just a tad over four hours.
October 26, 2014
Parenting 101
As this was our first baby, I was entitled to “rooming in” by the hospital. That was back in the day when giving birth meant you were in the hospital for three days. All this was paid for by the insurance company.
By the time I was ensconced in the hospital room and Barbarie, our daughter, in the “baby” room portion, it was after 7:30 p.m. and I was hungry. I asked the nurse, “When is breakfast served.”
“Why, dear, breakfast is over. You can’t be hungry. You just had a baby.”
Of course, I was hungry. I had worked hard all night. Somehow I wrangled some jello out of the kitchen and then spent the morning with my baby girl. There was no one else in the room. The doctor that was supposed to deliver her dropped by and said for me to come in for an exam after six weeks unless something went wrong before then. Of course, no sex for that time. Something I had pretty much figured out.
Then someone came by with the forms for name and signature. I had to spell out her name. Lanny’s selection of the name from a folk song had to be explained. Instead of Barbarie Allen, I had it written down as Barbarie Ellen. The sound was similar and at least feminine. Lanny came by the evening. How he made it, I don’t know as the man had been up all night and then went to work as soon as he knew I was okay.
After we kissed, I handed him Barbarie. He stood straight and stiff as a wood soldier with her in his arms. It was as though he was afraid to he would drop her. I have no idea why as I was the clumsy one. He handed her back in a few minutes, relief washing over his face that she was still intact.
When I returned home with her, I really wasn't worried. I had read one or two baby books and was nursing her. I did have bottles for later, but had not bought any of the one or two baby formulas available in the stores. They were expensive. I did have evaporated milk on hand in case of an emergency. I was free of worries as I have always been able to do most things as well or better than others and in the few things where I resemble someone lacking brain cells and physical coordination had nothing to do with raising a child. I really didn't believe a baby slept for four hours, was fed, cleaned, and burped before sleeping another fours to be true. With our daughter it certainly wasn't.
This beautiful, pink, blue-eyed child rapidly gained her eyelashes, the dark hair fell out and was replaced by golden curls, she gained weight, and could cry for hours on end. We took her to the doctor. Of course, the ride in the car would put her to sleep.
When we carried her into the office, the nurse receptionist let Dr. Crotty know we were there and began to admire Barbarie and asked her name. As I said it, Doc walked into the office and asked, “What, don’t you mean Barbara.”
“Oh, no,” said the nurse from Arkansas. “That’s from the folk song, Barbarie Allen.” That was one of the few times that I know of anyone recognizing the name.
After checking darling daughter, “It’s colic,” our doctor announced. When she is three months old we can start her on baby cereal.” Yes, they started them that early on food then.
All fine and good, but it did nothing to make the crying stop. Within three-and-one-half weeks, I was bone dry. I called the doctor’s office in a panic and the nurse gave the formula for mixing the evaporated milk and Karo syrup. I continued to use that rather than the baby formula that was available at the time. Mainly because my mother didn't trust them and she had used evaporated milk. My husband thought it reasonable as when he had used evaporated milk for calves that needed milk.
If anything, Barbarie cried more. I could only feed her every so often and she usually ignored water. No, I didn't use jello water as my mother-by-marriage suggested as the doctor said the digestive system wasn't ready for that. I didn't use a pacifier either on the grounds that it would become germ infested.
One day I timed the crying. She had been crying almost continuously for eleven hours except when I fed her or bathed her. Lanny worked late that day. It was dark outside when he walked in the door, I was in the rocker with her and I must have looked as exhausted and spent as I felt. He took one look, turned around and went back out the door. I assumed it was more than he could handle and would not be back. No, I did not cry. I was too exhausted. I just kept rocking back and forth.
Within twenty minutes, I heard the truck pull back into the driveway and his door slam. He must have figured out there was nowhere to go or he doesn't have any money, I thought.
This time he marched into the house, came over to us, and plopped an unwrapped pacifier into her screaming mouth. Silence filled the room, her eyes closed, and the exhausted child went sound asleep.
“She’s not crying,” I whispered afraid that I would wake her. I looked up at Lanny and he just grinned at me.
Needless to say, she used a pacifier until she was eighteen months old, but that episode will be in a later post.
By the time I was ensconced in the hospital room and Barbarie, our daughter, in the “baby” room portion, it was after 7:30 p.m. and I was hungry. I asked the nurse, “When is breakfast served.”
“Why, dear, breakfast is over. You can’t be hungry. You just had a baby.”
Of course, I was hungry. I had worked hard all night. Somehow I wrangled some jello out of the kitchen and then spent the morning with my baby girl. There was no one else in the room. The doctor that was supposed to deliver her dropped by and said for me to come in for an exam after six weeks unless something went wrong before then. Of course, no sex for that time. Something I had pretty much figured out.
Then someone came by with the forms for name and signature. I had to spell out her name. Lanny’s selection of the name from a folk song had to be explained. Instead of Barbarie Allen, I had it written down as Barbarie Ellen. The sound was similar and at least feminine. Lanny came by the evening. How he made it, I don’t know as the man had been up all night and then went to work as soon as he knew I was okay.
After we kissed, I handed him Barbarie. He stood straight and stiff as a wood soldier with her in his arms. It was as though he was afraid to he would drop her. I have no idea why as I was the clumsy one. He handed her back in a few minutes, relief washing over his face that she was still intact.
When I returned home with her, I really wasn't worried. I had read one or two baby books and was nursing her. I did have bottles for later, but had not bought any of the one or two baby formulas available in the stores. They were expensive. I did have evaporated milk on hand in case of an emergency. I was free of worries as I have always been able to do most things as well or better than others and in the few things where I resemble someone lacking brain cells and physical coordination had nothing to do with raising a child. I really didn't believe a baby slept for four hours, was fed, cleaned, and burped before sleeping another fours to be true. With our daughter it certainly wasn't.
This beautiful, pink, blue-eyed child rapidly gained her eyelashes, the dark hair fell out and was replaced by golden curls, she gained weight, and could cry for hours on end. We took her to the doctor. Of course, the ride in the car would put her to sleep.
When we carried her into the office, the nurse receptionist let Dr. Crotty know we were there and began to admire Barbarie and asked her name. As I said it, Doc walked into the office and asked, “What, don’t you mean Barbara.”
“Oh, no,” said the nurse from Arkansas. “That’s from the folk song, Barbarie Allen.” That was one of the few times that I know of anyone recognizing the name.
After checking darling daughter, “It’s colic,” our doctor announced. When she is three months old we can start her on baby cereal.” Yes, they started them that early on food then.
All fine and good, but it did nothing to make the crying stop. Within three-and-one-half weeks, I was bone dry. I called the doctor’s office in a panic and the nurse gave the formula for mixing the evaporated milk and Karo syrup. I continued to use that rather than the baby formula that was available at the time. Mainly because my mother didn't trust them and she had used evaporated milk. My husband thought it reasonable as when he had used evaporated milk for calves that needed milk.
If anything, Barbarie cried more. I could only feed her every so often and she usually ignored water. No, I didn't use jello water as my mother-by-marriage suggested as the doctor said the digestive system wasn't ready for that. I didn't use a pacifier either on the grounds that it would become germ infested.
One day I timed the crying. She had been crying almost continuously for eleven hours except when I fed her or bathed her. Lanny worked late that day. It was dark outside when he walked in the door, I was in the rocker with her and I must have looked as exhausted and spent as I felt. He took one look, turned around and went back out the door. I assumed it was more than he could handle and would not be back. No, I did not cry. I was too exhausted. I just kept rocking back and forth.
Within twenty minutes, I heard the truck pull back into the driveway and his door slam. He must have figured out there was nowhere to go or he doesn't have any money, I thought.
This time he marched into the house, came over to us, and plopped an unwrapped pacifier into her screaming mouth. Silence filled the room, her eyes closed, and the exhausted child went sound asleep.
“She’s not crying,” I whispered afraid that I would wake her. I looked up at Lanny and he just grinned at me.
Needless to say, she used a pacifier until she was eighteen months old, but that episode will be in a later post.
October 19, 2014
Nine Months
Now that I was expecting, I had to find a different doctor. Our family doctor recommended the doctor next door. Since this was close to where I worked, I went ahead and made an appointment. No one would have to drive me. No, I didn't drive at that time. That came later in my life.
I was there five minutes before the appointment. I have a fixation about being on time and other people being on time. For some reason the doctor was running late, a not unusual occurrence for a maternity doctor. Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes crept by, but I was next. A young man came in the door, and asked the nurse receptionist, “Is he in?”
“Yes, he’ll be glad to see you.”
Said young man went in and the next thing one hears are the voices of two males talking and laughing. After fifteen minutes of that and my lunch hour ending, I stood up and went to the receptionist desk.
“You might tell the doctor to be more considerate of his patients. I’m leaving and I will not be back.” I left her sputtering something about, “But your pregnant. You can’t do that.”
I made an appointment with the OB who had done the D and C at the hospital. Everything was fine. Lanny went back to work and slowly we worked our way out of the financial hole again. Of course, I had to quit work when I was three months pregnant. That was the rule back then. They seemed to think sitting on a chair making telephone calls, typing out reports, and occasionally helping in the cashier/bookkeeping section far more strenuous than work at home.
The only hiccup during the pregnancy was my sudden urge to eat seafood. Lanny did not like seafood except for tuna. That didn't do it. I wanted shrimp, clams, and oysters. My niece was over that morning and for some reason we had a 1954 Oldsmobile and a pickup truck. Before I became pregnant, the plan was for me to learn to drive. You see I could drive a tractor, but my father didn't think a woman should drive a car and my mother agreed with him as she knew she was too nervous to drive. Years later, I figured out it wasn't nerves. My wonderful, loving mother would have been consumed by road rage if anyone had ever tried to cut her off.
The urge for seafood would not subside, and I looked at my teenage niece and said, “Do you want to ride to the store?” Sorry, Edna, but your daughter went with me. I picked up two cans of shrimp, and one each of smoked clams and smoked oysters. When we were back at our house, we consumed all three cans.
The next occurrence was a bit more than a hiccup. At the beginning of nine months the little darling made a complete turn making every rib in my body hurt. Of course, we were in the pickup and all I could do was sit there and gasp, “Ouch!”
The OB told me that I would have the baby on Christmas Day or the day after. I looked at him and said, “No, she’ll be born on December 5th.”
He gave a chuckle, “You are wrong and you can’t be certain the baby will be a girl.” He did warn me that when the pains were twenty to fifteen minutes apart to head for the hospital.
We sold the Oldsmobile and bought an automatic washer. My father promptly labeled it the water waster. I just knew I would need it for diapers as the disposable diapers were still in the future. Of course, I told everyone that we were having a girl and all the things I made or bought were pink. The cradle had belonged to my paternal grandparents. My brother had brought it with them when they moved. I was busy stripping and refinishing it right up to the day I said the baby would be born. I did take time off to mop and wax the floors.
Darling daughter was not born on the day I said, but the pains started at 11:30 p.m. that evening. I brought the clock out from the bedroom and played solitaire. Within fifteen minutes they were back. I went in and woke Lanny. You realize that he had to be up by six a.m. to be on the job in time. I did tell him that the pains had started at fifteen minutes apart, but maybe we should wait for the third one.
By this time he was pulling on his boots and looked up at me. “Old girl, you wake me at almost midnight because the pains are fifteen minutes apart, you are going to the hospital.”
The bag was packed and waiting so I shrugged into my coat and we were off across town. Sure enough those pains were fifteen minutes apart. Lanny carried me into the hospital. I told him I could walk, but I might as well have talked to the cement.
Before I knew it, I was in hospital garb and a room with the nurse explaining it would probably be another twelve hours or more. She told me my doctor was at another hospital delivering another baby, but he would be here in plenty of time. I could see Lanny debating on whether to go home or wait it out. When she left, I told him. “She is wrong. It will be sooner.”
I drifted into sleep and Lanny went out to the waiting room. When I woke up, I realized that I needed to use the bathroom and hit the call button. “I need to use the bathroom,” I said when the nurse poked her head in.
“Oh, no, dear. It just feels that way when you are having a baby. You don’t want to get up and walk now, you might fall.” She disappeared.
Contrary to medical opinion, I did what was necessary and hit the call button again. As soon as I saw her head and part of her body in the doorway, I said, “I just eliminated and there is a mess on the bed. I told you I had to go and now the baby is coming.”
She walked over took one look and went running. The next thing I saw was four people running in with a gurney and I was cleaned and lifted onto the gurney. That was a wild ride down to the delivery room. Of course, there was no time for them to prep me or give me a shot. I was lucky, as the mirror was positioned so I could watch the birth. In case you are wondering, I did scream once and decided that was silly. I had had worse pain from headaches in Iowa.
The doctor introduced himself as my doctor was still at the other hospital. Darling daughter was almost there when all the contractions stopped and I rested for a minute. They kept telling me to push and I said, “Why, I’m waiting for the next contraction.” It started and then she was out and I heard the surprised cry from the slap. They cleaned her and laid her in my arms. I ignored the rest of the birth procedure. I was looking at a perfect little girl with three eyelashes on each eye lid, but she had a head of black, curly hair just like I had had (according to my mother). She also had Lanny’s dimple in her chin.
They wheeled us out and Lanny was waiting for us. I found out later they had told him that it would be another eight hours at least because this was our first one. It seems they were wrong for twenty minutes later they were back saying, “You have a new daughter, Mr. Collier.”
He was in the hall waiting for us. I told Lanny that she had his dimple.
He smiled at us both and said, “At least she’ll never have to shave it.”
I was there five minutes before the appointment. I have a fixation about being on time and other people being on time. For some reason the doctor was running late, a not unusual occurrence for a maternity doctor. Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes crept by, but I was next. A young man came in the door, and asked the nurse receptionist, “Is he in?”
“Yes, he’ll be glad to see you.”
Said young man went in and the next thing one hears are the voices of two males talking and laughing. After fifteen minutes of that and my lunch hour ending, I stood up and went to the receptionist desk.
“You might tell the doctor to be more considerate of his patients. I’m leaving and I will not be back.” I left her sputtering something about, “But your pregnant. You can’t do that.”
I made an appointment with the OB who had done the D and C at the hospital. Everything was fine. Lanny went back to work and slowly we worked our way out of the financial hole again. Of course, I had to quit work when I was three months pregnant. That was the rule back then. They seemed to think sitting on a chair making telephone calls, typing out reports, and occasionally helping in the cashier/bookkeeping section far more strenuous than work at home.
The only hiccup during the pregnancy was my sudden urge to eat seafood. Lanny did not like seafood except for tuna. That didn't do it. I wanted shrimp, clams, and oysters. My niece was over that morning and for some reason we had a 1954 Oldsmobile and a pickup truck. Before I became pregnant, the plan was for me to learn to drive. You see I could drive a tractor, but my father didn't think a woman should drive a car and my mother agreed with him as she knew she was too nervous to drive. Years later, I figured out it wasn't nerves. My wonderful, loving mother would have been consumed by road rage if anyone had ever tried to cut her off.
The urge for seafood would not subside, and I looked at my teenage niece and said, “Do you want to ride to the store?” Sorry, Edna, but your daughter went with me. I picked up two cans of shrimp, and one each of smoked clams and smoked oysters. When we were back at our house, we consumed all three cans.
The next occurrence was a bit more than a hiccup. At the beginning of nine months the little darling made a complete turn making every rib in my body hurt. Of course, we were in the pickup and all I could do was sit there and gasp, “Ouch!”
The OB told me that I would have the baby on Christmas Day or the day after. I looked at him and said, “No, she’ll be born on December 5th.”
He gave a chuckle, “You are wrong and you can’t be certain the baby will be a girl.” He did warn me that when the pains were twenty to fifteen minutes apart to head for the hospital.
We sold the Oldsmobile and bought an automatic washer. My father promptly labeled it the water waster. I just knew I would need it for diapers as the disposable diapers were still in the future. Of course, I told everyone that we were having a girl and all the things I made or bought were pink. The cradle had belonged to my paternal grandparents. My brother had brought it with them when they moved. I was busy stripping and refinishing it right up to the day I said the baby would be born. I did take time off to mop and wax the floors.
Darling daughter was not born on the day I said, but the pains started at 11:30 p.m. that evening. I brought the clock out from the bedroom and played solitaire. Within fifteen minutes they were back. I went in and woke Lanny. You realize that he had to be up by six a.m. to be on the job in time. I did tell him that the pains had started at fifteen minutes apart, but maybe we should wait for the third one.
By this time he was pulling on his boots and looked up at me. “Old girl, you wake me at almost midnight because the pains are fifteen minutes apart, you are going to the hospital.”
The bag was packed and waiting so I shrugged into my coat and we were off across town. Sure enough those pains were fifteen minutes apart. Lanny carried me into the hospital. I told him I could walk, but I might as well have talked to the cement.
Before I knew it, I was in hospital garb and a room with the nurse explaining it would probably be another twelve hours or more. She told me my doctor was at another hospital delivering another baby, but he would be here in plenty of time. I could see Lanny debating on whether to go home or wait it out. When she left, I told him. “She is wrong. It will be sooner.”
I drifted into sleep and Lanny went out to the waiting room. When I woke up, I realized that I needed to use the bathroom and hit the call button. “I need to use the bathroom,” I said when the nurse poked her head in.
“Oh, no, dear. It just feels that way when you are having a baby. You don’t want to get up and walk now, you might fall.” She disappeared.
Contrary to medical opinion, I did what was necessary and hit the call button again. As soon as I saw her head and part of her body in the doorway, I said, “I just eliminated and there is a mess on the bed. I told you I had to go and now the baby is coming.”
She walked over took one look and went running. The next thing I saw was four people running in with a gurney and I was cleaned and lifted onto the gurney. That was a wild ride down to the delivery room. Of course, there was no time for them to prep me or give me a shot. I was lucky, as the mirror was positioned so I could watch the birth. In case you are wondering, I did scream once and decided that was silly. I had had worse pain from headaches in Iowa.
The doctor introduced himself as my doctor was still at the other hospital. Darling daughter was almost there when all the contractions stopped and I rested for a minute. They kept telling me to push and I said, “Why, I’m waiting for the next contraction.” It started and then she was out and I heard the surprised cry from the slap. They cleaned her and laid her in my arms. I ignored the rest of the birth procedure. I was looking at a perfect little girl with three eyelashes on each eye lid, but she had a head of black, curly hair just like I had had (according to my mother). She also had Lanny’s dimple in her chin.
They wheeled us out and Lanny was waiting for us. I found out later they had told him that it would be another eight hours at least because this was our first one. It seems they were wrong for twenty minutes later they were back saying, “You have a new daughter, Mr. Collier.”
He was in the hall waiting for us. I told Lanny that she had his dimple.
He smiled at us both and said, “At least she’ll never have to shave it.”
October 5, 2014
The Next Two Years
I’ll not bore you with the more mundane things that happened in our life as I've already told you about my dog, Diablo. Some of the events are condensed. Our next door neighbors to the East were a couple we knew from high school days. The man was one of Lanny’s best friends. We had double dated before our marriage.
One weekend the four of us took a trip to Bisbee to see an old timer we had heard about. The man was amazing. He was eighty-four years old, towered over both my husband and friend. He had walked from Mexico to Alaska when younger. A mule had been his pack animal. He still stood ram-rod straight and worked in one of the mines up in Bisbee area. He was married to a woman fifty years his junior and she was expecting twins. He looked at Lanny and his friend and said, “And those babies are mine.” It was as if he was daring them to say they weren't.
Instead they asked questions about the early days of mining. It was then something made me so weak and nauseated I had to go back to the car and lie down. My head was pounding. I assumed it was the altitude. I do not remember the trip back home, but went straight to bed when we arrived.
Later that night I ran to the bathroom and lost our first baby. It was unformed and had no limbs. I was so upset I was vomiting and flushing it all down the toilet. I didn't know I was supposed to save it to prove I had a miscarriage. Then I started crying. That brought Lanny running as he knew I never cried, but at the time there was such an empty void, a horrific feeling of loss that I could not stop and wanted to be alone. Somehow I explained what happened.
“Well, if it makes you feel better, go ahead and cry.” was all he said.
Then began weeks of dragging and not feeling well. I went to the neighborhood doctor and he gave me vitamin B-12 shots. Of course, I would go home and work like a mad person for two weeks until the shot wore off and I was once again a weakling.
About this time, my brother, his wife, and two children arrived from Phoenix. They were relocating. We opened our home to them as there was ample room. Although my niece and nephew weren't too sure since they had to temporarily share a bedroom.
One night I collapsed in our bedroom. Lanny came in and found me. He picked me up as he muttered, “Aw, sweetheart, what did you do that for?”
“I’m hemorrhaging again,” I managed to say. He then carried me through the house, told my sister-by-marriage (who was fixing dinner for all) and my brother that he was taking me to the emergency room.
The doctor, of course, did a D and C (I think that is what he called it) and sent me home. I did have one appointment with him and he explained that he couldn't verify a miscarriage without the fetus (baby in my mind), but it was common for small women to miscarry on their first child.
Fast forward. Both my sister (by marriage) and my brother found work, their house in Council Bluffs sold, and they bought a house about five or six blocks from us. I think my niece and nephew may have been happiest about the move.
We both found a different doctor than the one in our neighborhood. We were finally saving money again when the union went on strike. We did get a smidgen from the union, but to make ends meet, Lanny went back to work for the stockyards. While carrying a bale of hay, he stepped through a hole in the hay. The effort to hang onto the bale and the sudden downward plunge caused a hernia. He went into the hospital for an operation and I went back to work.
Somehow I managed to procure a position as a credit checker for a loan company that made loans to individuals and businesses. Someday I’ll have to devote a whole blog to that experience, but one should suffice.
One of the farmers on the fringes of Phoenix was behind in the automobile payments. The collector set up a meeting with them and they arrived with a friend. They introduced him as their lawyer. I did a double take. No way could that young man have been a lawyer. He had dropped out of school when he was a sophomore as the school made it plain he was not wanted. He had gotten into trouble with the law for forging driver’s licenses and other documents and had to go on the run. The collector never permitted interruptions while with a client and I was busy making telephone calls.
When I came up for air, everyone at the other desk was shaking hands and the farmer, his wife, and lawyer walked out with a new loan. I was surprised. Usually that collector saw through every attempt at fraud. I went over and asked why he had written a new loan.
“The man had his attorney with him and the lawyer could have caused a lot of problems and costs. This is less costly in the long run.”
“No, it isn't.” I mentioned the so-called lawyer’s name and said, “He dropped out of school and there hasn't been enough years for him to have a law degree.”
“He’s brilliant,” the collector stated. “He even gave me his card.”
“Of course, he did. He’s been printing and forging cards since he was a freshman in high school.” That was the first and only time I saw that collector’s mouth drop.
Lanny recovered, the strike was over, and it looked like we could start saving again when I realized something was wrong with my system and went to our doctor. The doctor listened and determined I needed to leave a sample.
Three days later, our doctor called me at work. “Congratulations, Collier, the rabbit died.”
One weekend the four of us took a trip to Bisbee to see an old timer we had heard about. The man was amazing. He was eighty-four years old, towered over both my husband and friend. He had walked from Mexico to Alaska when younger. A mule had been his pack animal. He still stood ram-rod straight and worked in one of the mines up in Bisbee area. He was married to a woman fifty years his junior and she was expecting twins. He looked at Lanny and his friend and said, “And those babies are mine.” It was as if he was daring them to say they weren't.
Instead they asked questions about the early days of mining. It was then something made me so weak and nauseated I had to go back to the car and lie down. My head was pounding. I assumed it was the altitude. I do not remember the trip back home, but went straight to bed when we arrived.
Later that night I ran to the bathroom and lost our first baby. It was unformed and had no limbs. I was so upset I was vomiting and flushing it all down the toilet. I didn't know I was supposed to save it to prove I had a miscarriage. Then I started crying. That brought Lanny running as he knew I never cried, but at the time there was such an empty void, a horrific feeling of loss that I could not stop and wanted to be alone. Somehow I explained what happened.
“Well, if it makes you feel better, go ahead and cry.” was all he said.
Then began weeks of dragging and not feeling well. I went to the neighborhood doctor and he gave me vitamin B-12 shots. Of course, I would go home and work like a mad person for two weeks until the shot wore off and I was once again a weakling.
About this time, my brother, his wife, and two children arrived from Phoenix. They were relocating. We opened our home to them as there was ample room. Although my niece and nephew weren't too sure since they had to temporarily share a bedroom.
One night I collapsed in our bedroom. Lanny came in and found me. He picked me up as he muttered, “Aw, sweetheart, what did you do that for?”
“I’m hemorrhaging again,” I managed to say. He then carried me through the house, told my sister-by-marriage (who was fixing dinner for all) and my brother that he was taking me to the emergency room.
The doctor, of course, did a D and C (I think that is what he called it) and sent me home. I did have one appointment with him and he explained that he couldn't verify a miscarriage without the fetus (baby in my mind), but it was common for small women to miscarry on their first child.
Fast forward. Both my sister (by marriage) and my brother found work, their house in Council Bluffs sold, and they bought a house about five or six blocks from us. I think my niece and nephew may have been happiest about the move.
We both found a different doctor than the one in our neighborhood. We were finally saving money again when the union went on strike. We did get a smidgen from the union, but to make ends meet, Lanny went back to work for the stockyards. While carrying a bale of hay, he stepped through a hole in the hay. The effort to hang onto the bale and the sudden downward plunge caused a hernia. He went into the hospital for an operation and I went back to work.
Somehow I managed to procure a position as a credit checker for a loan company that made loans to individuals and businesses. Someday I’ll have to devote a whole blog to that experience, but one should suffice.
One of the farmers on the fringes of Phoenix was behind in the automobile payments. The collector set up a meeting with them and they arrived with a friend. They introduced him as their lawyer. I did a double take. No way could that young man have been a lawyer. He had dropped out of school when he was a sophomore as the school made it plain he was not wanted. He had gotten into trouble with the law for forging driver’s licenses and other documents and had to go on the run. The collector never permitted interruptions while with a client and I was busy making telephone calls.
When I came up for air, everyone at the other desk was shaking hands and the farmer, his wife, and lawyer walked out with a new loan. I was surprised. Usually that collector saw through every attempt at fraud. I went over and asked why he had written a new loan.
“The man had his attorney with him and the lawyer could have caused a lot of problems and costs. This is less costly in the long run.”
“No, it isn't.” I mentioned the so-called lawyer’s name and said, “He dropped out of school and there hasn't been enough years for him to have a law degree.”
“He’s brilliant,” the collector stated. “He even gave me his card.”
“Of course, he did. He’s been printing and forging cards since he was a freshman in high school.” That was the first and only time I saw that collector’s mouth drop.
Lanny recovered, the strike was over, and it looked like we could start saving again when I realized something was wrong with my system and went to our doctor. The doctor listened and determined I needed to leave a sample.
Three days later, our doctor called me at work. “Congratulations, Collier, the rabbit died.”
September 14, 2014
The Desert Writers Guild
Many of you know that I belong to the Desert Writers Guild of Twentynine Palms. This year we have fifteen members, but it is rare that all are at the meeting. The Guild was started in 1988 by a writer with the pen name of Desert Rose, a reporter for the Desert Trail, and a retiree from Paramount Studios who owned her own publishing company in Wonder Valley.
The Guild has gone from three members to twenty-eight, down to six, and back to our present membership. They started publishing an annual in 1991 and that has continued, but now I call it our anthology as it is more than an annual. The genres run from personal recollections, fantasy horror, science fiction, humor, and children’s stories. Two things have remained the same: desert based stories and Desert Rose. She may be in her nineties, but she can still write and critique.
Through the years the support and critiques have helped two of us publish novels, one has published an account of eighteen years of sailing, and Desert Rose is still publishing an article now and then.
We are awaiting the delivery of our latest publication, Half Baked Desert Tales and Full Baked Recipes. We’re hoping it will be as successful as our last recipe based story anthology published four years ago. This is a sample from the anthology.
To Seek Man
Deeton adjusted the scanning probe. Once the male came into focus, she locked in and headed down. The male grew larger on screen. His arm was upraised, his hand clenching the spear, his muscles rigid while the desert wind whipped his blue cloak against his full athletic body.
His sturdy legs were bare and this allowed Deeton the opportunity to appraise every aspect of the well balanced creature. Ah, he was a glorious example. How had OraCom known to predict this land and that male so exactly? The Sisters had not consulted the OraCom for centuries. They had no need of its predictions. They had the sperm banks. Who needed to seek a man?
If only Acta hadn’t indulged so liberally while consuming that Krenlian buzz liquid. She had remained under its influence while hallucinating for days. No one minded. Acta had muttered such fantastic rhymes, spouted the most hilarious tidbits of gossip, and had offered all manner of ribald observations on the ways of the ancients.
They thought the effects had ended after two weeks, but Acta had become obsessed with finding a male and imitating the ancients. She had searched for a man, ransacking each and every chamber in her section. She pulled out costly equipment in a mad frenzy. She was put into restraints and sustenance withheld. Medical ran a feeding tube down her throat.
One month later, she begged to be released. She assured everyone that she was sane again and did not want a live, physical man. Sperm was good enough for her.
For two days she had tended to her duties perfectly. Then while everyone slept, she crept into the Biosphere and wrecked four centuries of waiting, frozen sperm. It was a disaster for our people. Only one male child had been allotted to breeders this century and there were but two Sisters carrying. Both of their embryos were female. Our race would end with the death of the youngest.
If you are interested in finishing this story, a recipe to die for, or any of our older anthologies, let me know in the comments.
The Guild has gone from three members to twenty-eight, down to six, and back to our present membership. They started publishing an annual in 1991 and that has continued, but now I call it our anthology as it is more than an annual. The genres run from personal recollections, fantasy horror, science fiction, humor, and children’s stories. Two things have remained the same: desert based stories and Desert Rose. She may be in her nineties, but she can still write and critique.
Through the years the support and critiques have helped two of us publish novels, one has published an account of eighteen years of sailing, and Desert Rose is still publishing an article now and then.
We are awaiting the delivery of our latest publication, Half Baked Desert Tales and Full Baked Recipes. We’re hoping it will be as successful as our last recipe based story anthology published four years ago. This is a sample from the anthology.
To Seek Man
Deeton adjusted the scanning probe. Once the male came into focus, she locked in and headed down. The male grew larger on screen. His arm was upraised, his hand clenching the spear, his muscles rigid while the desert wind whipped his blue cloak against his full athletic body.
His sturdy legs were bare and this allowed Deeton the opportunity to appraise every aspect of the well balanced creature. Ah, he was a glorious example. How had OraCom known to predict this land and that male so exactly? The Sisters had not consulted the OraCom for centuries. They had no need of its predictions. They had the sperm banks. Who needed to seek a man?
If only Acta hadn’t indulged so liberally while consuming that Krenlian buzz liquid. She had remained under its influence while hallucinating for days. No one minded. Acta had muttered such fantastic rhymes, spouted the most hilarious tidbits of gossip, and had offered all manner of ribald observations on the ways of the ancients.
They thought the effects had ended after two weeks, but Acta had become obsessed with finding a male and imitating the ancients. She had searched for a man, ransacking each and every chamber in her section. She pulled out costly equipment in a mad frenzy. She was put into restraints and sustenance withheld. Medical ran a feeding tube down her throat.
One month later, she begged to be released. She assured everyone that she was sane again and did not want a live, physical man. Sperm was good enough for her.
For two days she had tended to her duties perfectly. Then while everyone slept, she crept into the Biosphere and wrecked four centuries of waiting, frozen sperm. It was a disaster for our people. Only one male child had been allotted to breeders this century and there were but two Sisters carrying. Both of their embryos were female. Our race would end with the death of the youngest.
If you are interested in finishing this story, a recipe to die for, or any of our older anthologies, let me know in the comments.
September 4, 2014
The Next Six Months
Last time I wrote about our first six months as man and wife. I left out two things. Our first two arguments. The first one happened when we returned from our honeymoon and he had to get up and to work. Like a good Iowa farm girl, I was up first and prepared the breakfast.
Lanny came out of the shower and looked at the table and said, “I don’t eat breakfast.”
I looked at him and said, “If I get up at 4:30 in the morning and fix breakfast, you are by damn going to eat it.”
He grinned and we both ate breakfast and he continued to do so the rest of his life. I could even live with the fact that he liked gravy on his scrambled eggs.
The next time it was over money. Once again as a good Iowa farm girl of German descent, I thought the man should handle the money. Now bear in mind, when we married, I was the one who had money in the bank. In fact, his mother had borrowed one hundred dollars from me. We must have argued back and forth for about five minutes over who had this responsibility, when Lanny put both hands in his pockets and brought them up and tossed his hands like he was throwing something into the wind.
“Honey, that’s what I do with money.”
That scared me and I agreed to handle the money and the checkbook. Little did I know that one day I would also be handling the books for his business. Score: I won one and he won one. Our next argument didn't happen until seventeen years later.
We did acquire one special item from our friends that owned the trailer and cabanas. They presented us with a three-month-old Weimaraner puppy. It was love at first sight. This was my dog. He had beautiful blue eyes, floppy ears, and a beautiful grey coat.
As I mentioned, we were house hunting, but it seemed like everything was too expensive, too old, or not in a neighborhood where we wanted to live and raise any children we might have. A friend mentioned a new development out in the thirty-nine hundred block just north of MacDonald. The house there were all under eight thousand dollars.
We checked it out. The three bedroom home was of cinder block, no insulation or drywall, the heater was on the living room wall, and a swamp cooler on the roof for summer cooling. It had one bathroom and the closets were wooden boxes set in each bedroom and between the kitchen and living room. The closets did have a door on them The kitchen cabinets were metal, the kitchen and eating area was covered with asphalt tile and the rest of the floors were colored cement, but it sat on one-third of an acre and cost but $6,800.00. All they wanted was a one hundred dollar down payment. That was something we could do.
After we filled out the preliminary papers the salesman looked at Lanny and then at me and cleared his throat. “Mr. Collier, you aren’t twenty-one, we’ll need a co-signer.” Trust me, even the teachers had been calling Lanny Mr. Collier since he was fifteen years old. He could write his own school absences notes; which, of course, he did. School was not one of his favorite places. He managed to pass by almost acing his tests. One of my girlfriends used to copy off his test paper in biology.
Big mouth me objected to the salesperson’s statement. “Arizona law says that I am a legal adult and can sign those paper for a binding contract. The man looked at Lanny and like most people he wasn't about to challenge him. We got the house in our names and no cosigner.
My parents were horrified. They were certain that we were on the road to bankruptcy. His mother and step-father were delighted. We thought we would be in by March, but it rained and rained. Materials were delayed. The good thing? We saved enough to have a kitchen nook built in to help separate the small kitchen/eating area from the living room. We had to buy the stove and washing machine. The washing machine was a Speed Queen and it had to sit outside. There was no pantry. Somehow Lanny’s mother convinced us to buy a freezer and have the six month food deliveries. Once again my parents were horrified.
We weren't able to move in until the first part of June. On my first anniversary, I was on my hands and knees scrubbing and waxing our floors. We did go for breakfast that morning. I forgot to mention one of Lanny’s friends and his wife lived right next door to us. Neither she nor I worked outside the home, but we had very little in common. She watched soap operas and didn't read. I read everything I could get my hands on.
Our living room set was a fake leather sofa and a matching chair. That too was purchased on credit. For window coverings, we bought venetian blinds. The salesman assured me all I needed to do was clean then with alcohol. Right! This was Phoenix. Dust blew in like crazy. After those purchases we could not afford a television so we went without one.
When Lanny’s worked slowed in the winter it looked like my parents may have been right. We had taken on more than we could handle financially. I offered to return to work. Lanny did not want that, so he swallowed his pride and went to see his father.
The upshot of that visit meant that he was in the Carpenters Union, listed as an apprentice, working as a framer during the day, and enrolled in night school. This time Lanny even received an award for attendance, learned to do square root, and graduated with the class.
It was about this time my dog became ill. We took him to the veterinarian and I learned a sad thing. In the desert, you must make sure your dog is vaccinated against distemper. Unlike the Midwest where the rain washed the culprit into the ground, the desert doesn't have that rain and dogs are susceptible. Somehow I nursed my Diablo through that, but it left him weakened and the next thing we knew, he had what the Vet said was Wheeler’s Disease. He said there was no hope, but he tried to save the dog. He felt that Diablo was one of the most intelligent dogs he had ever worked with. My world didn't end when we went in the next afternoon and the Vet told us that Diablo was gone. Lanny did have to grab me to keep me from falling over. We did not have another dog for almost five years.
Lanny came out of the shower and looked at the table and said, “I don’t eat breakfast.”
I looked at him and said, “If I get up at 4:30 in the morning and fix breakfast, you are by damn going to eat it.”
He grinned and we both ate breakfast and he continued to do so the rest of his life. I could even live with the fact that he liked gravy on his scrambled eggs.
The next time it was over money. Once again as a good Iowa farm girl of German descent, I thought the man should handle the money. Now bear in mind, when we married, I was the one who had money in the bank. In fact, his mother had borrowed one hundred dollars from me. We must have argued back and forth for about five minutes over who had this responsibility, when Lanny put both hands in his pockets and brought them up and tossed his hands like he was throwing something into the wind.
“Honey, that’s what I do with money.”
That scared me and I agreed to handle the money and the checkbook. Little did I know that one day I would also be handling the books for his business. Score: I won one and he won one. Our next argument didn't happen until seventeen years later.
We did acquire one special item from our friends that owned the trailer and cabanas. They presented us with a three-month-old Weimaraner puppy. It was love at first sight. This was my dog. He had beautiful blue eyes, floppy ears, and a beautiful grey coat.
As I mentioned, we were house hunting, but it seemed like everything was too expensive, too old, or not in a neighborhood where we wanted to live and raise any children we might have. A friend mentioned a new development out in the thirty-nine hundred block just north of MacDonald. The house there were all under eight thousand dollars.
We checked it out. The three bedroom home was of cinder block, no insulation or drywall, the heater was on the living room wall, and a swamp cooler on the roof for summer cooling. It had one bathroom and the closets were wooden boxes set in each bedroom and between the kitchen and living room. The closets did have a door on them The kitchen cabinets were metal, the kitchen and eating area was covered with asphalt tile and the rest of the floors were colored cement, but it sat on one-third of an acre and cost but $6,800.00. All they wanted was a one hundred dollar down payment. That was something we could do.
After we filled out the preliminary papers the salesman looked at Lanny and then at me and cleared his throat. “Mr. Collier, you aren’t twenty-one, we’ll need a co-signer.” Trust me, even the teachers had been calling Lanny Mr. Collier since he was fifteen years old. He could write his own school absences notes; which, of course, he did. School was not one of his favorite places. He managed to pass by almost acing his tests. One of my girlfriends used to copy off his test paper in biology.
Big mouth me objected to the salesperson’s statement. “Arizona law says that I am a legal adult and can sign those paper for a binding contract. The man looked at Lanny and like most people he wasn't about to challenge him. We got the house in our names and no cosigner.
My parents were horrified. They were certain that we were on the road to bankruptcy. His mother and step-father were delighted. We thought we would be in by March, but it rained and rained. Materials were delayed. The good thing? We saved enough to have a kitchen nook built in to help separate the small kitchen/eating area from the living room. We had to buy the stove and washing machine. The washing machine was a Speed Queen and it had to sit outside. There was no pantry. Somehow Lanny’s mother convinced us to buy a freezer and have the six month food deliveries. Once again my parents were horrified.
We weren't able to move in until the first part of June. On my first anniversary, I was on my hands and knees scrubbing and waxing our floors. We did go for breakfast that morning. I forgot to mention one of Lanny’s friends and his wife lived right next door to us. Neither she nor I worked outside the home, but we had very little in common. She watched soap operas and didn't read. I read everything I could get my hands on.
Our living room set was a fake leather sofa and a matching chair. That too was purchased on credit. For window coverings, we bought venetian blinds. The salesman assured me all I needed to do was clean then with alcohol. Right! This was Phoenix. Dust blew in like crazy. After those purchases we could not afford a television so we went without one.
When Lanny’s worked slowed in the winter it looked like my parents may have been right. We had taken on more than we could handle financially. I offered to return to work. Lanny did not want that, so he swallowed his pride and went to see his father.
The upshot of that visit meant that he was in the Carpenters Union, listed as an apprentice, working as a framer during the day, and enrolled in night school. This time Lanny even received an award for attendance, learned to do square root, and graduated with the class.
It was about this time my dog became ill. We took him to the veterinarian and I learned a sad thing. In the desert, you must make sure your dog is vaccinated against distemper. Unlike the Midwest where the rain washed the culprit into the ground, the desert doesn't have that rain and dogs are susceptible. Somehow I nursed my Diablo through that, but it left him weakened and the next thing we knew, he had what the Vet said was Wheeler’s Disease. He said there was no hope, but he tried to save the dog. He felt that Diablo was one of the most intelligent dogs he had ever worked with. My world didn't end when we went in the next afternoon and the Vet told us that Diablo was gone. Lanny did have to grab me to keep me from falling over. We did not have another dog for almost five years.
August 24, 2014
Our First Six Months
When we married, Lanny was eighteen and I was nineteen. In Arizona, a woman was a legal adult at the age of eighteen, but a male had to wait until he was twenty-one. That meant I could sign for our marriage license, but Lanny’s Mother had to sign for him. This did not make him overjoyed, but he took handled it with grace.
We kept the apartment I had for three months so my folks would have a place to live when they returned to Phoenix. Mama would come first to start her job in the school cafeteria and Papa would come later when the crops were in and stored.
Lanny was working at a plant the manufactured swamp coolers and A/C units. The only good thing about the job was that it was a night shift and he was not a morning person.
I took his first paycheck and bought him clothes. He had but two pair of Levis, three pairs of underwear and socks, and three shirts, and his suit. Lanny thought I was a bit nutty, but then he appreciated what I had managed to buy. Food City was two blocks away and the best grocery store in the state.
Our friends offered us their trailer and cabana when they heard we needed another place to live. This was a really small trailer with a cabana on two sides. The full bathroom was on one side with space for furniture, but that cabana lacked heat or cooling. I stacked the boxes of wedding gifts on one side as there wasn't room to unpack all the pots, dishes, and linens we had received.
The house trailer was old, but it had a full sized bed and small closet. The kitchen could be described as a small galley. At least there was space for a small table and four chairs. The other cabana held the sofa sectional that his mother gave us and a stand with his record player and a small gun cabinet for his guns. The good thing about this place was the rent: $25.00 per month. I started saving for a house of our own.
By this time, I had discovered that my slender, but broad shouldered husband with the six-pack abs could devour more food than normal people. I would fix spaghetti and heap the spaghetti in a ten inch pie plate. I’d take what I wanted and he would eat the rest. Yes, I cooked the sauce and meatballs separately. As a midnight snack, he would eat half a loaf of bread with spam, peanut butter, cheese, or lunch meat (whatever we had) and down it all with another pint or so of milk.
The only thing that saved our grocery bill from eating up the savings I was accumulating was the fact that the neighbor of his mother and step-father worked at a dairy. This thrifty German soul could not bear to see things thrown out. He would bring home cottage cheese, milk, cream, half and half, and sour cream and give them to my Mother-in-law who then passed them on to us.
Lanny had always wanted to be a cattleman. He had worked at the stockyards while in high school and raised calves in the back of his mother’s place. He would buy the calves at the stockyards and bring them home and raise them up to a selling age. Just before we were married, he sold two and had a profit of $140.00. I was thinking of all the things that could buy. Silly me, my Western man bought a revolver.
About this time a call came in offering him a job as a hand on a northern ranch. Thirty dollars a month, beans and cheese, and they supply the horse. All he needed was the saddle which he had. Please don’t ask why he would have a saddle and not a horse. Of course, he accepted. Then he told me about it and he must have seen my eyebrows meeting my hairline. It suddenly struck him that he did not want me to go to work. The rent was twenty-five dollars per month and we both smoked. He might smoke roll-your- own, but I would not.
He looked at me and said, “That ain’t going to work, is it?”
“Nooo, it won’t,” was all I said. He called the man back and turned down the job.
Fortunately, the place where he worked gave him another raise and by October we were house hunting. That’s the next installment.
Our first Thanksgiving was in this small space and we invited my mother and one of her co-workers from the school cafeteria to celebrate with us. Mabel drove Mama over to our place.
I’m not sure how I managed to get a turkey in that small oven, but I did. Lanny wouldn't hear of my favorite: a goose. The pumpkin pie I had made the day before.
Everything was a success, but Lanny did manage to grumble that the pie would have been better if it were chocolate.
“Why didn't you make a chocolate pie?” Mama’s tone was horrified. A wife not making the husband’s favorite was unheard of in her realm.
“I didn't buy the chocolate pie mix as I had spent the holiday money,” was my righteous answer.
Mother rose to her full height (which was taller than mine). “You don’t need a mix.” She sniffed and began a search of my cabinet. Now Lanny’s mother worked. She used mixes. That was what he was accustomed to eating.
“See, you have cocoa, flour, sugar, and vanilla.” She hauled down the box, sacks, and bottle. Then she opened the fridge. “See, you have cream, eggs, and butter. Where is your lard?”
“I use Crisco.”
“Hmmph that will have to do.” Yes, folks, my mother made another pie that day and topped it with meringue.
Lanny took one bite and said, “Don’t ever use a mix again.”
Mama, of course just beamed at him. Thanks, Mama. I never used a mix again for anything.
We kept the apartment I had for three months so my folks would have a place to live when they returned to Phoenix. Mama would come first to start her job in the school cafeteria and Papa would come later when the crops were in and stored.
Lanny was working at a plant the manufactured swamp coolers and A/C units. The only good thing about the job was that it was a night shift and he was not a morning person.
I took his first paycheck and bought him clothes. He had but two pair of Levis, three pairs of underwear and socks, and three shirts, and his suit. Lanny thought I was a bit nutty, but then he appreciated what I had managed to buy. Food City was two blocks away and the best grocery store in the state.
Our friends offered us their trailer and cabana when they heard we needed another place to live. This was a really small trailer with a cabana on two sides. The full bathroom was on one side with space for furniture, but that cabana lacked heat or cooling. I stacked the boxes of wedding gifts on one side as there wasn't room to unpack all the pots, dishes, and linens we had received.
The house trailer was old, but it had a full sized bed and small closet. The kitchen could be described as a small galley. At least there was space for a small table and four chairs. The other cabana held the sofa sectional that his mother gave us and a stand with his record player and a small gun cabinet for his guns. The good thing about this place was the rent: $25.00 per month. I started saving for a house of our own.
By this time, I had discovered that my slender, but broad shouldered husband with the six-pack abs could devour more food than normal people. I would fix spaghetti and heap the spaghetti in a ten inch pie plate. I’d take what I wanted and he would eat the rest. Yes, I cooked the sauce and meatballs separately. As a midnight snack, he would eat half a loaf of bread with spam, peanut butter, cheese, or lunch meat (whatever we had) and down it all with another pint or so of milk.
The only thing that saved our grocery bill from eating up the savings I was accumulating was the fact that the neighbor of his mother and step-father worked at a dairy. This thrifty German soul could not bear to see things thrown out. He would bring home cottage cheese, milk, cream, half and half, and sour cream and give them to my Mother-in-law who then passed them on to us.
Lanny had always wanted to be a cattleman. He had worked at the stockyards while in high school and raised calves in the back of his mother’s place. He would buy the calves at the stockyards and bring them home and raise them up to a selling age. Just before we were married, he sold two and had a profit of $140.00. I was thinking of all the things that could buy. Silly me, my Western man bought a revolver.
About this time a call came in offering him a job as a hand on a northern ranch. Thirty dollars a month, beans and cheese, and they supply the horse. All he needed was the saddle which he had. Please don’t ask why he would have a saddle and not a horse. Of course, he accepted. Then he told me about it and he must have seen my eyebrows meeting my hairline. It suddenly struck him that he did not want me to go to work. The rent was twenty-five dollars per month and we both smoked. He might smoke roll-your- own, but I would not.
He looked at me and said, “That ain’t going to work, is it?”
“Nooo, it won’t,” was all I said. He called the man back and turned down the job.
Fortunately, the place where he worked gave him another raise and by October we were house hunting. That’s the next installment.
Our first Thanksgiving was in this small space and we invited my mother and one of her co-workers from the school cafeteria to celebrate with us. Mabel drove Mama over to our place.
I’m not sure how I managed to get a turkey in that small oven, but I did. Lanny wouldn't hear of my favorite: a goose. The pumpkin pie I had made the day before.
Everything was a success, but Lanny did manage to grumble that the pie would have been better if it were chocolate.
“Why didn't you make a chocolate pie?” Mama’s tone was horrified. A wife not making the husband’s favorite was unheard of in her realm.
“I didn't buy the chocolate pie mix as I had spent the holiday money,” was my righteous answer.
Mother rose to her full height (which was taller than mine). “You don’t need a mix.” She sniffed and began a search of my cabinet. Now Lanny’s mother worked. She used mixes. That was what he was accustomed to eating.
“See, you have cocoa, flour, sugar, and vanilla.” She hauled down the box, sacks, and bottle. Then she opened the fridge. “See, you have cream, eggs, and butter. Where is your lard?”
“I use Crisco.”
“Hmmph that will have to do.” Yes, folks, my mother made another pie that day and topped it with meringue.
Lanny took one bite and said, “Don’t ever use a mix again.”
Mama, of course just beamed at him. Thanks, Mama. I never used a mix again for anything.
August 10, 2014
Memories of a Grandmother
My cousins live in a state I left many years ago. I still talk regularly with one of them on the telephone and communicate with another by using social media. The others are a once-a-year Christmas letter.
The telephone conversations were almost ended one year when we argued about our paternal grandmother. She had rather vehemently stated that Grandmother ignored us. I immediately protested.
“That’s not true. She used to pick us up and rock us. She gave us Christmas gifts, and always had a treat for us when we visited.” I didn't mention the treat was zwei back; a twice toasted biscuit. The closest thing to it one can buy now are Wheat Thins or Triscuits. For some reason, these are the only two crackers I still like today. In reality, it is much better the sweets commonly given to grandchildren.
My cousin continued to insist that Grandma never did anything grandmotherly like that. The conversation pretty much ended.
It upset me so much that I contacted my oldest living brother to verify that my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. My brother, of course, remembered a much younger grandmother who did hold them on her lap and even took him and our oldest brother for buggy rides. That would have been in the 1920’s when horses and horse conveyances still shared the roads with vehicles. Now that happens only in the Amish communities.
I vividly remember Grandma’s narrow kitchen with the huge Kalamazoo iron cook stove and the stand on the left side of the door when you entered the kitchen. That’s where the basin for washing your hands when coming in from the barnyard was set. The towel hung on the side. The hooks for jackets and caps were on the wall and you saw them when you closed the door. The stand also held the bucket of water and dipper for when one was thirsty.
If it was winter and the fire roaring in the stove, the smell of Limburger cheese could be overwhelming. That was another one of her favorites. The Limburger was stored in the cabinet above the stove so it wouldn't freeze.
She would have the entire family over for Sunday dinners. I understand there was a time when the Pastor and/or Vicar would be invited, but when I was little the dinner was limited to the family. Heavens, knows just family meant eleven people at a minimum or as high as twenty. The dining table was in the large room off the kitchen. The front door was there. There was another front door for the living room. The front porch gave access to both. One had to go through a short hall on the inside to get to the living room jutting out towards the lily pond. Grandmother’s bedroom was to the left and the window looked out on the garden and washhouse.
The table was huge and was covered with a white table cloth that would have white crochet worked edges. Grandma kept all the spoons for stirring coffee or for dessert in a lead crystal glass set on the table. I remember her incredible blue eyes gleaming as she smiled at me and let me trace a finger over the beautiful pattern on the glass. I do not remember what she said. I have a hunch that she may have used Platt Deutsch to explain where it came from.
I should mention that Grandma had beautiful white hair. I once asked my father what color her hair had been when she was young. He replied, “How would I know. She was white haired from the time she was twenty-two.”
One Christmas Grandmother gave me a locket with the word Baby inscribed on it. I seem to remember her smiling when Mama snapped it around my neck, but, again, I cannot say it is a true memory. That made me realize that my cousin would have no such memories of my grandmother. My cousin is two years my junior.
By the time I was five years old, I was wondering what was wrong with Grandma. She would be in her bedroom if we visited, or if she visited us after church she would not stay long. Neither would she pick us up any more. She was growing increasingly slimmer and haggard looking. People back then did not mention the word cancer to children.
If I was five, then my cousin would have only been three-years-old. There is no way she could remember anything more than a grandmother that slowly wasted away. I called my cousin the next day to explain what my brother had said and why she could not remember the Grandmother that I knew.
By the way, if any of you have read http://www.amazon.com/Earthbound-Volu... or http://www.amazon.com/Gather-Children..., you have read about my Grandmother’s house. I used the layout for Anna and MacDonald’s ranch house.
The telephone conversations were almost ended one year when we argued about our paternal grandmother. She had rather vehemently stated that Grandmother ignored us. I immediately protested.
“That’s not true. She used to pick us up and rock us. She gave us Christmas gifts, and always had a treat for us when we visited.” I didn't mention the treat was zwei back; a twice toasted biscuit. The closest thing to it one can buy now are Wheat Thins or Triscuits. For some reason, these are the only two crackers I still like today. In reality, it is much better the sweets commonly given to grandchildren.
My cousin continued to insist that Grandma never did anything grandmotherly like that. The conversation pretty much ended.
It upset me so much that I contacted my oldest living brother to verify that my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. My brother, of course, remembered a much younger grandmother who did hold them on her lap and even took him and our oldest brother for buggy rides. That would have been in the 1920’s when horses and horse conveyances still shared the roads with vehicles. Now that happens only in the Amish communities.
I vividly remember Grandma’s narrow kitchen with the huge Kalamazoo iron cook stove and the stand on the left side of the door when you entered the kitchen. That’s where the basin for washing your hands when coming in from the barnyard was set. The towel hung on the side. The hooks for jackets and caps were on the wall and you saw them when you closed the door. The stand also held the bucket of water and dipper for when one was thirsty.
If it was winter and the fire roaring in the stove, the smell of Limburger cheese could be overwhelming. That was another one of her favorites. The Limburger was stored in the cabinet above the stove so it wouldn't freeze.
She would have the entire family over for Sunday dinners. I understand there was a time when the Pastor and/or Vicar would be invited, but when I was little the dinner was limited to the family. Heavens, knows just family meant eleven people at a minimum or as high as twenty. The dining table was in the large room off the kitchen. The front door was there. There was another front door for the living room. The front porch gave access to both. One had to go through a short hall on the inside to get to the living room jutting out towards the lily pond. Grandmother’s bedroom was to the left and the window looked out on the garden and washhouse.
The table was huge and was covered with a white table cloth that would have white crochet worked edges. Grandma kept all the spoons for stirring coffee or for dessert in a lead crystal glass set on the table. I remember her incredible blue eyes gleaming as she smiled at me and let me trace a finger over the beautiful pattern on the glass. I do not remember what she said. I have a hunch that she may have used Platt Deutsch to explain where it came from.
I should mention that Grandma had beautiful white hair. I once asked my father what color her hair had been when she was young. He replied, “How would I know. She was white haired from the time she was twenty-two.”
One Christmas Grandmother gave me a locket with the word Baby inscribed on it. I seem to remember her smiling when Mama snapped it around my neck, but, again, I cannot say it is a true memory. That made me realize that my cousin would have no such memories of my grandmother. My cousin is two years my junior.
By the time I was five years old, I was wondering what was wrong with Grandma. She would be in her bedroom if we visited, or if she visited us after church she would not stay long. Neither would she pick us up any more. She was growing increasingly slimmer and haggard looking. People back then did not mention the word cancer to children.
If I was five, then my cousin would have only been three-years-old. There is no way she could remember anything more than a grandmother that slowly wasted away. I called my cousin the next day to explain what my brother had said and why she could not remember the Grandmother that I knew.
By the way, if any of you have read http://www.amazon.com/Earthbound-Volu... or http://www.amazon.com/Gather-Children..., you have read about my Grandmother’s house. I used the layout for Anna and MacDonald’s ranch house.
August 3, 2014
A Matter of Chemistry
There have been several “Aha” moments while cooking and baking. That is when I gained a better understanding of what I was doing. The finished product could always use an enhancement or adjustment to the recipe.
The first “aha” occurred before I was married and wonderment in the kitchen settled in my mind. What if a different spice or different flavoring were used instead of what the directions specified? Would the taste sensation be enhanced, improved, different, or not good at all? This speculation was easy to test and worked quite well with any type of chili or soup. Such spices as savory, marjoram, nutmeg, cinnamon, lemon juice, or white pepper were some of the ingredients I tried. Gradually, I added other main dishes, vegetables, salads, you name the type, and I added or adjusted something.
The next revelation occurred after my marriage. I was discussing my mother’s disastrous cakes and incredibly delicious pies with a friend during a coffee klatch. Mama always insisted sugar “killed.” She then reduced by ¼ or 1/8 a cup the sugar called for in a recipe for cakes. She did not use a recipe for her wonderful fruit filled pies. The one cake-like dessert she made (called bird’s nest pudding) was also superb. The bird’s nest pudding was essentially a spice cake batter poured over fresh, sliced apples sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. The fruit she was using came from our garden or our orchard. It was not the hard or mushy tasteless fruit found in today’s supermarkets. We picked the fruit when ripe and used it immediately. Since the fruits were filled with their own natural sweetness, they needed far less sugar. Years later I discovered that we called bird’s nest pudding and the desert Southerners called Apple Pan Dowdy were the same.
Once I realized the natural sugar compensated for the sugar she left out, I realized that she cut the volume of dry ingredients in a cake. It couldn't rise properly if the dry ingredients weren't in ratio to the liquid and leavening used while under going a transformation by heat in the oven. I felt like shouting eureka. Heat transformed the batter. It was a form of science and mathematics; in other words chemistry. That meant I could make my own recipes as long as I kept the volume of dry and liquid ingredients in the proper proportion.
The better understanding came when preparing a white sauce. It starts out with a set of measured ingredients rather than the “use the grease from the roast or frying, add flour, mix until thickened and gradually add broth, potato water, and/or milk we did in the farm kitchen. Everything in a white sauce (or any sauce) is measured. Seasonings on the farm were to taste. No matter, I realized that gravy is thus a sauce, but usually made in larger quantities than the recipes in cookbooks, magazines, or the newspapers
Another aha revelation occurred when I was with my mother-in-law while visiting her renters at a home in Phoenix. I looked at the green chili and couldn't help but remark, “You have put peas in your green chili.
Bernice smiled at me. “Of course, but you have to realize that cooking in Mexico is like cooking anywhere. You use the products available. Just remember that Colorado (red) or Verde (green) chili are basically meat stews.”
This opened a whole new venue for my green chili. The red chili I didn't change. It was one of my husband’s favorites and contained nothing but meat, onions, garlic, and red chili peppers. I would occasionally mince bell pepper really fine and throw that in for flavor. The green chili, however, I could experiment and did. I used potatoes, carrots, bell peppers (along with the green chilies canned or fresh), onions, and garlic until I had a dish that we both liked. Later I added cumin.
While in Arizona, I did not have too many chances to experiment as my garden wasn't that large. Working outside the home also took away a big chunk of my time. It was while I was in Washington and not working outside the home that I began to really experiment and this is the story of one of them.
Wild fruit is abundant in Washington and there are farms and farmers markets with field fresh fruit from early spring until late fall at a price that makes canning and preserving cost effective. My mother-in-law lived with us and needed a certain amount of care. We also had an acre of over-grown wild shrubs and berry bushes to clear; plus two teenagers who were traumatized by the move from Arizona. We discovered a building we didn't know was there, several rhododendrons, and huckleberry bushes, both red and blue, while clearing the blackberry brambles. The blue huckleberries from two bushes were as large as blueberries. We did leave a number of the blackberry and the loganberry bushes.
Mark Twain named one of his main characters Huckleberry. Old stories mention huckleberry pie, but there were no recipes for huckleberry pie in modern cookbooks. Red huckleberries were easy to substitute when making jams or jellies, but making a pie was more difficult as huckleberries are not as juicy as blueberries and they are tarter.
I finally combined two of my favorite desserts: fruit pie and cheese cake. The recipe follows. Oh yes, if blue huckleberries are not common in your area, frozen blueberries work just as well. It was necessary to freeze the huckleberries to extract the amount of juice needed while cooking them. It was chemistry.
HUCK FINN CHEESE PIE
2 1/2 Cups frozen blue huckleberries 1 ½ Cups Sugar
(Substitute frozen blue berries) 8 Oz. Package Cream Cheese
3 Tbs. Cornstarch ½ Cup Milk
1 Tbsp. Lemon Juice 1 Tsp. Vanilla
1/2 Tsp. Salt Dash of Cinnamon
2 Eggs 1 Unbaked 9 ½ to 10 In. pie flan (high rim)
Heat oven to 4000
Defrost the huckleberries (or blueberries). Combine huckleberries, 1 cup of the sugar, 3 tablespoons of cornstarch, ¼ teaspoon of salt, lemon juice, and dash of cinnamon in three quart pan. Cook over moderate heat 5 to 10 minutes, stirring frequently until thickened and clear. Remove from heat and set aside to cool slightly.
While fruit mixture is cooling soften cream cheese (30 to 40 seconds in microwave) and blend in ½ cup of sugar and ¼ teaspoon salt. Beat in eggs one-at-a time using an electric mixer. Blend in milk and vanilla on low speed. Pour the blue huckleberry mixture into the unbaked pie shell. Next, pour the cream cheese mixture slowly over the top. Do this in a circular motion.
Bake on lowest shelf in oven at 4000 for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 3250 and bake for 40 to 50 minutes longer until top is golden brown (not burned) and center is set. Let cool before serving. It tastes best if put into the refrigerator and served cold. You can use whipping cream as a topping, but this pie is rich enough without it.
Note: You can use a regular pie crust, a butter crust, or a crumb crust. My family preferred the regular pie crust.
The first “aha” occurred before I was married and wonderment in the kitchen settled in my mind. What if a different spice or different flavoring were used instead of what the directions specified? Would the taste sensation be enhanced, improved, different, or not good at all? This speculation was easy to test and worked quite well with any type of chili or soup. Such spices as savory, marjoram, nutmeg, cinnamon, lemon juice, or white pepper were some of the ingredients I tried. Gradually, I added other main dishes, vegetables, salads, you name the type, and I added or adjusted something.
The next revelation occurred after my marriage. I was discussing my mother’s disastrous cakes and incredibly delicious pies with a friend during a coffee klatch. Mama always insisted sugar “killed.” She then reduced by ¼ or 1/8 a cup the sugar called for in a recipe for cakes. She did not use a recipe for her wonderful fruit filled pies. The one cake-like dessert she made (called bird’s nest pudding) was also superb. The bird’s nest pudding was essentially a spice cake batter poured over fresh, sliced apples sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. The fruit she was using came from our garden or our orchard. It was not the hard or mushy tasteless fruit found in today’s supermarkets. We picked the fruit when ripe and used it immediately. Since the fruits were filled with their own natural sweetness, they needed far less sugar. Years later I discovered that we called bird’s nest pudding and the desert Southerners called Apple Pan Dowdy were the same.
Once I realized the natural sugar compensated for the sugar she left out, I realized that she cut the volume of dry ingredients in a cake. It couldn't rise properly if the dry ingredients weren't in ratio to the liquid and leavening used while under going a transformation by heat in the oven. I felt like shouting eureka. Heat transformed the batter. It was a form of science and mathematics; in other words chemistry. That meant I could make my own recipes as long as I kept the volume of dry and liquid ingredients in the proper proportion.
The better understanding came when preparing a white sauce. It starts out with a set of measured ingredients rather than the “use the grease from the roast or frying, add flour, mix until thickened and gradually add broth, potato water, and/or milk we did in the farm kitchen. Everything in a white sauce (or any sauce) is measured. Seasonings on the farm were to taste. No matter, I realized that gravy is thus a sauce, but usually made in larger quantities than the recipes in cookbooks, magazines, or the newspapers
Another aha revelation occurred when I was with my mother-in-law while visiting her renters at a home in Phoenix. I looked at the green chili and couldn't help but remark, “You have put peas in your green chili.
Bernice smiled at me. “Of course, but you have to realize that cooking in Mexico is like cooking anywhere. You use the products available. Just remember that Colorado (red) or Verde (green) chili are basically meat stews.”
This opened a whole new venue for my green chili. The red chili I didn't change. It was one of my husband’s favorites and contained nothing but meat, onions, garlic, and red chili peppers. I would occasionally mince bell pepper really fine and throw that in for flavor. The green chili, however, I could experiment and did. I used potatoes, carrots, bell peppers (along with the green chilies canned or fresh), onions, and garlic until I had a dish that we both liked. Later I added cumin.
While in Arizona, I did not have too many chances to experiment as my garden wasn't that large. Working outside the home also took away a big chunk of my time. It was while I was in Washington and not working outside the home that I began to really experiment and this is the story of one of them.
Wild fruit is abundant in Washington and there are farms and farmers markets with field fresh fruit from early spring until late fall at a price that makes canning and preserving cost effective. My mother-in-law lived with us and needed a certain amount of care. We also had an acre of over-grown wild shrubs and berry bushes to clear; plus two teenagers who were traumatized by the move from Arizona. We discovered a building we didn't know was there, several rhododendrons, and huckleberry bushes, both red and blue, while clearing the blackberry brambles. The blue huckleberries from two bushes were as large as blueberries. We did leave a number of the blackberry and the loganberry bushes.
Mark Twain named one of his main characters Huckleberry. Old stories mention huckleberry pie, but there were no recipes for huckleberry pie in modern cookbooks. Red huckleberries were easy to substitute when making jams or jellies, but making a pie was more difficult as huckleberries are not as juicy as blueberries and they are tarter.
I finally combined two of my favorite desserts: fruit pie and cheese cake. The recipe follows. Oh yes, if blue huckleberries are not common in your area, frozen blueberries work just as well. It was necessary to freeze the huckleberries to extract the amount of juice needed while cooking them. It was chemistry.
HUCK FINN CHEESE PIE
2 1/2 Cups frozen blue huckleberries 1 ½ Cups Sugar
(Substitute frozen blue berries) 8 Oz. Package Cream Cheese
3 Tbs. Cornstarch ½ Cup Milk
1 Tbsp. Lemon Juice 1 Tsp. Vanilla
1/2 Tsp. Salt Dash of Cinnamon
2 Eggs 1 Unbaked 9 ½ to 10 In. pie flan (high rim)
Heat oven to 4000
Defrost the huckleberries (or blueberries). Combine huckleberries, 1 cup of the sugar, 3 tablespoons of cornstarch, ¼ teaspoon of salt, lemon juice, and dash of cinnamon in three quart pan. Cook over moderate heat 5 to 10 minutes, stirring frequently until thickened and clear. Remove from heat and set aside to cool slightly.
While fruit mixture is cooling soften cream cheese (30 to 40 seconds in microwave) and blend in ½ cup of sugar and ¼ teaspoon salt. Beat in eggs one-at-a time using an electric mixer. Blend in milk and vanilla on low speed. Pour the blue huckleberry mixture into the unbaked pie shell. Next, pour the cream cheese mixture slowly over the top. Do this in a circular motion.
Bake on lowest shelf in oven at 4000 for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 3250 and bake for 40 to 50 minutes longer until top is golden brown (not burned) and center is set. Let cool before serving. It tastes best if put into the refrigerator and served cold. You can use whipping cream as a topping, but this pie is rich enough without it.
Note: You can use a regular pie crust, a butter crust, or a crumb crust. My family preferred the regular pie crust.
