He Was My Dad

He was a man small in stature but big in heart.

He rocked me to sleep singing cowboy songs...off key.

Nights when bad dreams of writhing snakes awoke me, screaming, he sat in a chair in my room until I peacefully fell asleep.

He told silly jokes that caused the listener to laugh and groan at the same time.

Whenever I went to visit, he always hugged me hard and said, "Sis, I'm so glad you are here."

He listened.

Whenever I called him when miles separated us, he ended each conversation with the words, "I sure love you."  Those were the last words he spoke to me, and I, to him.

He was my Dad.  I miss him.

Legacy

I've been spending time lately working on my family history.  I find it interesting to trace ancestors back in time to see where each branch of my family had their roots.  It makes for an interesting mix that contributed to my children's heritage.

On my side, ancestors came from Scotland, France and Germany.  My children's father's family have roots in Norway and Denmark.  Some came to these shores before there was a United States of America.  Others came here much later, after laws concerning immigration were in place.

No matter their country of origin, all have this in common.

They all arrived here legally.  Not a single ancestor sneaked in through a back door.  All did what the laws required to gain citizenship.  If English was not their mother tongue, they learned the language.  They worked hard to take care of their families.  Some became storekeepers.  Some were lumberjacks.  Others were farmers.  Still others worked on the railroads.  No matter what their trade, they worked.  And when called upon to serve their country, they did so with honor.  What they did not do was stand in line for a handout.

I am grateful to those ancestors who have left behind a legacy of honesty and hard work, of a strong and abiding faith in God and a deep love of country.

I think my father said it best.  When asked what nationality we are, he always replied, "We are American."

A Stroll Back in Time

Today was spent giving my offending hip a rest after yesterday's activity.  I need to learn to pace myself, which is not an easy thing for me to do.  I should have known better than to try to get caught up with household chores all in one day.  Like my Dad was fond of saying, "Too soon old, too late smart."

I was looking for a couple of photos that I know are somewhere on my computer, when it occurred to me that if my family, in later years, looks through my collection, they aren't going to know who many of their ancestors are.  That's because I have not properly sorted the old photos, nor have I labeled them or included some of the stories that go with them.

They wouldn't know about the following two photos.

These are my dad and mother, with Dad's mother.  The pictures were taken during this week, 68 years ago.  My Grandmother Matheny stayed with my parents for a week or so after I was born, to help with their first born child.  Who better to help with a newborn baby than Grandma, who had raised nine children of her own.  The house in the background is in Blackduck, where Mom and Dad lived at the time.

This picture is of Dad, taken in the winter of 1947, when he worked at the gas station in Blackduck.  Dad wasn't a mechanic, but pumped gas, checked oil, cleaned windshields and all the other things that gas station attendants used to do before self-service stations came into existence.  He also delivered gas and fuel oil in the area.

This is my Mother's father, Andrew Paul, on the left, with his brother Walter in the center and sister Clara on the right.  The photo was taken in 1889, when Andrew was six years old.

This is Andrew in 1910, when he worked as a depot agent for the railroad.  He is in the Depot in Blackduck, and he worked there until he retired in the mid-1940's.  In small towns like Blackduck, the Depot Agent sold tickets, loaded and unloaded baggage and was the telegraph operator.  I have always loved this photo of my Grandfather.

So I spent the better part of the day sorting pictures and writing as many of the stories as I could remember.  The goal is to include the photos with the family tree I am working on.  Seeing pictures of ancestors makes them more than just names and dates, and the stories tell who they were.  My parent's generation is gone now, and my generation is thinning out faster than I care to think about.  It is important to me that none of these people totally fade away, but are remembered within my family.

Not Much...

going on here today.  You are probably as tired of hearing about my aches and pains as I am of having them.  A little at a time, I'm getting caught up on nearly a months worth of neglected chores.  Something blew up inside my microwave so scrubbing that is on my to do list, as well as cleaning the refrigerator that contains what appears to be some really bad science experiments.  I am a bit surprised how quickly things can deteriorate when not attended to regularly.

It would be fairly easy to sink into a bout of depression, so I work really, really hard to not let that happen.  When I need to get off my feet, I sit and crochet or sew and watch old movies.  My choices are Agatha Christie type mysteries or comedies.  Mostly mysteries, for I have always liked a good "Who-Done-It."  My Kindle is full of old, out of copyright books gleaned from the Internet, and I have to say that I am enjoying reading more often than I usually do.   The books may be old, but the stories are timeless.

It's the little things that help get me through.  Like the promise from Youngest Son that when he is in town this week, he will bring me a treat from Dairy Queen.  I still haven't forgiven Dairy Queen for moving from two blocks away to the other side of town.  Years ago I had a Cocker Spaniel.  I would take him to the Dairy Queen with me.  A regular sized chocolate cone for me and a baby sized vanilla cone for him.  Had to stop doing that, though, when he refused to move unless we were headed in the direction of the ice cream.  I loved that dog!  He was the same one who would turn his back on me and grumble when I wouldn't share my spaghetti with him.

I wonder if dogs understand more than we give them credit for.  The past two weeks Jessie Jane has spent a great amount of time laying on the floor next to me with either her chin or a paw on my foot.  This is unusual behavior for her.  And Lily spends time bringing her toys - and she has a bunch of them - to lay next to me.  I have to be careful not to trip over piles of tennis balls and stuffed animals.  This is something she has never done before.  She will scatter them about in play, but never pile them up for me.

I have sat long enough.  Off to clean the fridge.  I had better, for the last time I opened the door, I think something growled at me.  If you don't hear from me in a day or two, send in a rescue party!

Today...

was another birthday.  I'm using my sister's method of counting the years.  She says her 27th year was a good one, so she just celebrates that one over and over again.  Makes sense to me.  I am not fond of birthday parties.  For the grandkids, yes.  For me, no.  I do not like to be fussed over.  My family knows this.  So I had cards arrive in the mail, telephone calls and a visit from one of my daughters, who was at the same time running an errand for me.

I spent a relaxing day.  This morning my landlord, responding to my email, showed up and replaced the faucet on my kitchen sink and fixed the pipe beneath it that had sprung a leak.  It is possible to have a nice chat with someone who is laying on their back with their head in a kitchen cupboard.  He left when finished, munching on chocolate chip cookies.

Had a nice visit with my daughter.  I have three grandkids with June birthdays, and she picked up cards for me to give to them.  After I stuffed them with the appropriate amounts of cash and addressed the two to be mailed (one she took home for her son), she asked if I wanted to wait and mail them closer to the birth dates.  I replied that if she didn't take them with her, chances were excellent that by the time I need to mail them, I will have misplaced them.  I said that after I die and she and her siblings are cleaning out my apartment, they could count on finding at least five cards that I have put away for safekeeping, never to be seen again.  She mailed the cards.

I spent the rest of the day crocheting and watching old movies from the late 1930's and early 1940's that I found on YouTube.  I love old movies.  Sometimes they are funny without meaning to be.  Like one I watched that had to do with trains.  The train wreck was so obviously a model train and the rain storm had to be the sprayer from a garden hose, all of which I'm sure was state of the art for the times.  I found a couple of old Charlie Chan movies that were fun, just for the silly jokes if nothing else.  Sometimes the news of the here and now gets to be too much, and a day of doing other things is necessary to maintain my sanity, what there is left of it.  Today was such a day, and was truly enjoyed.

I topped off the day by treating myself to a pizza.  After eating my fill for supper, I put a couple of slices in the fridge for tomorrow and froze the rest for a quick meal later.

I joke about counting the years, but truth be known, age doesn't bother me except for the fact that my body doesn't work as well as it once did.  I'm not surprised, though, for I spent many of my 68 years doing physically demanding work, either while on the farm or in the various jobs I have held over the years.  Sometimes I am surprised that I can still do as much as I can, what with the arthritis and all.  I think it is all in the attitude.  I can make a choice each morning, to let life get me down or to get up and get on with it.

I've got a lot of living left to do, so I think I will continue to just get on with it.

A Day in the Life...

Summer is upon us with mild temperatures.  Soft breezes keep my little corner of the world comfortable without needing air conditioning as yet.  Healing is ever so slowly happening.  Not fast enough to suit me, but slow enough to teach me patience.  The stairs remain my mountain that I can not as yet scale, but I will in due time.  There are other small victories. A kitchen floor that was thoroughly scrubbed yesterday.  I really wonder how two small dogs, one lazy cat and one slow-moving old woman can create such a dirty floor  We must work at it, I guess.  Dust that had accumulated is gone and carpets have been vacuumed.  Not all at once, but done nonetheless.

Yesterday afternoon I stirred up a double batch of chocolate chip cookies.  I chilled the dough overnight and will bake them when I finish this post.  Chocolate chip cookies are my favorite comfort food.  And it is fun to have a cookie jar full of them when kids or grandkids stop by.

Being housebound has its advantages.  I have finished the afghan I was working on for my oldest granddaughter.  All that remains is to have her mother help me lay it out on my bed so I can make sure that all of the colored granny squares are in the correct positions that form the pattern.   It is one large afghan and is much easier to lay out and refold with help.  I have started another to keep my hands busy during the times I need to sit.

I have spent some time looking online for ideas for meals that I can put together, freeze and then thaw and bake later.  And I may make up a few, but I'm not so sure that I want to rely on my freezer.  Winters here can give us heavy, wet snows or blizzards, both of which can knock out local power.  Summers favor us with thunder storms, straight line winds and the occasional tornado that can also knock out power.  I mostly use my freezer for extra bread or cookies and bars when I bake or for meat that is on sale, keeping it frozen until I have enough to can.

Over the last couple of years I have dehydrated a vast amount of vegetables.  I use them when making soups or stews.  But I got to thinking that it might be a good idea to convert some of my soup and casserole recipes to use these dehydrated foods.  By putting the ingredients (dehydrated vegetables, seasonings, pasta, bouillon for flavor, etc.) into quart jars and sealing them with the jar sealer attachment for my Food Saver vacuum sealer, they could sit on a shelf until needed, and all I would need to do is add a pint of canned turkey or beef and water, toss it all into a crock pot or a slow oven, and Shazam.....easy peasy meal.  And, God forbid, should the time come when my family is hungry, it would be a great way to see that they are fed.  So as soon as I am completely mobile again, this is on my to-do list.

So I am off to bake cookies.  I am reminded of a time when four small pairs of hands would sneak a handful or two of raw cookie dough before I could get the cookies into the oven.  I got to the point where I would stir up extra dough so I would have enough for the baked cookies.  Yes, I know.  We will all surely die if we eat anything that contains raw eggs.

Me.....I'll risk it.

The Fat Ladies Club

Back in the late 50's and early 60's when most women didn't work outside the home, one of the farm wives in my parent's neighborhood decided she wanted to lose some weight.  And because misery loves company, she phoned her neighbors and suggested they get together once a month over coffee for the purpose of discussing diets and exercise.  My Dad, tongue in cheek, suggested they call themselves "The Fat Ladies Club."  The name stuck.

This group of 8 or 10 women started out with the best of intentions.  They talked calories, discussed the latest fads in diets and exercise programs.  This lasted for maybe two meetings.

Minnesota farmers and their wives are incapable of drinking coffee if it is not accompanied by a dessert.  Usually cookies or cake or pie.  Soon the Fat Ladies Club felt the need for a "little something" to go with their coffee.  A pan of rhubarb crumble appeared at one meeting.  Strawberry shortcake was served at the next.  I came into our kitchen one day and found Mother whipping up one of her to die for refrigerator desserts that contained melted marshmallows, whipped cream and cherry pie filling, on a graham cracker crust.  I asked her what that was for.  She replied that it was for the Fat Ladies Club.  I made some smart remark about putting fat on the fat ladies, and then ducked and ran.

The club lasted for a couple of years.  It was mostly a chance for these ladies to get out of the house for a little while and enjoy the gossip and the laughter of their friends.  They were hard working women.  They kept their homes in good running order, planted huge gardens, canned the produce from those gardens, raised their children, fed their families and the chickens and helped with the farm chores.

I don't think any member of the Fat Ladies Club ever lost a pound.  But judging by the gales of laughter coming from our living room when the club met at our house, it was a roaring success.