One of my favorite childhood stories was Mom‘s tale of her violin lessons as a teen. She’d make us giggle when she told us her practice time would set their dog to howling. But when she shared that her violin teacher scolded, “Please! I have ears!” it made me sad. Now that I’ve come upon this autobiographical poem she wrote decades later, I’m sadder still to know more details about her violin lessons. After All In the beginning I knew…
A few weeks ago, one of Farmer Gary‘s cousins sent us some photos from a century ago, hoping my husband could identify the relatives. The cousin, Becky, is one of the daughters of Gary’s uncle/godfather Jim. She said the photos were from a huge Schum-family reunion some 40 years ago. There was a table piled high with photos. Copies of old black-and-whites were available to order, but they did not come with any identifying information. Here’s one of them: Gary…
Keeping up with my retirement pledge to read at least four books each month, July included a childhood re-read, two “overdue” books, plus the discovery of the Detection Club. Book 1: Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder Mom introduced me to the “Little House” books in the 1960s and I was soon hooked. They’ve been on my list to re-read as an adult, just to see what – if anything – might strike me differently. Then…
“Hot enough for ya?“ Har-dee-har-har. I used to force a smile back in my working days when a visiting reporter considered that a good conversation starter as we began our walking tour. Especially back in the summer of 1999, when I was pregnant with James all summer, it was a challenge. I tried not to complain much, though, as my communications position was mostly an office job. I’ve heard from several friends and family members this week, the hottest days…
Middle-son John recently texted me this snippet he took in one of those bouncy-climby-noisy places kids love: Grandson Cameron was having a ball, playing with new friends and, it seems, climbing. I asked Cam a week or so later what he thought of that challenge. “Well, Goose …” (he calls me Goose) “I discovered I still have acrophobia.” John says the discovery was made when Cameron was about three stories up, so that seems to me more like a healthy…
Back when Farmer Gary and I announced our engagement (just-in-time-for-Christmas, 1981), so many of my relatives and college friends chimed in, “My grandparents were farmers!” or “My great-uncle grew up on a farm!” Suddenly, the world was one big farm. I’m experiencing the same with Gary’s family tree. Every ten years, the census report announces this ancestor or that was a farmer. Their children were “farm laborers.” Farmers everywhere! It took a half-second longer than it should have for me…
Not that I don’t know the difference between a huge bird and a fluffy-fluffy cat. It’s just this photo reminded me of Mom’s poem called “That Book” from 23 years ago: That Book That book she wanted more than any otherwas exiled to the highest shelfher gold eyes recognized its redbut reaching it meant mountain climbingfar too far Next day she hired a huge birdone with a strong beak and balanceand when he laid it in her lapshe seized it…
Book 1: A Midwife’s Story by Penny Armstrong Farmer Gary‘s fascination with all things Amish made this an easy choice at the bookstore years ago. This memoir traces Penny Armstrong’s initial interest in midwifery to her studies in multiple countries. She eventually settles in among the Amish. Lots of interesting stories, most of joyous survival but a few with heart-wrenching outcomes. She had every reason to criticize those-in-power who assumed she was inept, yet her harsh words for hospital deliveries…
Isn’t it amazing how a sound, a smell, or a taste can spark a memory from long ago? Mom was 68 years old when she wrote this poem. Green olives, it seems, didn’t just awaken her taste buds, they ignited a spark that took her thoughts happily back many decades. Study Alone with olivesfour on a gold plateI think of sun and trees and comfortand my Aunt Maywho loved them They make me laughtouting their red tonguesfor teasing tastingour Harry…
“What do you think this is? A candy dish or an ashtray?” My younger brother was looking at a small copper tray that was among mementos our late mom had tucked away long ago. Measuring not quite 4.5 inches by 5.5 inches, it was certainly intriguing. When held at a certain angle, Dad noticed, it looked like there was etching on the surface. Words, certainly, in a delicate font. He slipped it into my hands, “Take it home. You’ll figure…