Mamamae's Story Continued...

From the time Mamamae was 7 years old until she died almost 80 years later,  she thought she was responsible for the death of her mother. That untruth weighed heavy on her heart.

The photo on the left is one of two pictures  I have of Mamamae and her mother, Virgie Muscovalley McAuliffe.  She was the mother of three children, Fayetta, John Bill, and Marie, and the wife of John McAuliffe.  They were a good Catholic family, just starting to build a life together. According to the family Bible, she was born on Sept.8, 1886 and died on April 23, 1914 at the young age of 28. 

A measles epidemic had infected the Illinois town where the young couple  lived.  Vaccinations had not been discovered yet. When people got the measles there was no cure, a large percentage of  children and many adults died from complications of this disease.

                                                         
 I remember Mamamae and I were once again sitting on the front porch talking. I liked to hear stories about our family. That day I asked my grandmother  about her parents because I knew very little about them. Mamamae was not a talker. She kept her thoughts close to her heart. She thought for a minute and then very quietly said, "I was 7 years old when   I brought the measles home from school. Everyone at our house caught the measles except Daddy...I think he was working on the river. We were all so sick. Mama took care of the three of us as best she could. We started to get better and then Mama got sick. She couldn't get better,  the complications of the measles for Mama was meningitis. There was nothing the doctor could do for her. She writhed in pain.  Her fever could not be contained. I tried to keep her face cool, but I couldn't. A neighbor lady came in to help me with Mama, John Bill, and Marie.  Mama died within a few days."

At that time, the body of the deceased was put in a pine box and the living room was set up for a 'viewing area' for family and friends. Someone had to break Mamamae's mother's  back to get her in a coffin." I can still hear the god awful sound of that crack." Mamamae said in a whisper.  After a long and loud few minutes of silence from both of us, she went on to say she always felt like it was her fault.

Hearing this story broke my heart. I could not imagine taking care of my mother and trying my best to keep her alive and then having her die. It is more that a little 7 year old girl should have to endure. I started to cry.

                                                                

I really had a problem with this story. I knew it was true but I felt it was horribly wrong and unfair. They needed their mother. Mamamae went on to say that when her father got home, he was destroyed. When he left them to work on the river everyone was fine and happy.  Aunt Marie was a little baby and Uncle John Bill was about 4 or 5 and she was in the first or second grade. In a matter of weeks he lost his wife, had to quit his job and had 3 little children to take care of. He needed help.

At  7,  Mamamae inherited two children to raise until her Dad could make some other kind of arrangement. She said she was miserable. She hated changing diapers. She couldn't make Aunt Marie quit crying and Uncle John Bill would not mind her.  She had no idea how to cook.  I started crying again.  I was about 6 or 7, I could not imagine having to do the things she did.  I crawled up in her lap and I think we both cried. It wasn't often that Mamamae cried, that day she cried a lot.  She rocked me, together we cried for a long time. We watched the traffic go by on Hwy. 51. Both of us lost in her story, wishing it could have been changed.

Her father eventually married a woman Mamamae called "Mama Jo".  I don't think Mamamae particularly liked Mama Jo. She still had to take care of her brother and sister. She quit school in the 8th grade. She was needed at home to work. They moved around several times in Illinois and eventually settled in Cairo, Illinois. The impression I got from my grandmother was that after her mother died she was never really happy again, until she met Granddaddy.

Her father died when he was 45.  I never heard how or why he died so young.  I remember a few times after church we would drive to Cairo and visit Mama Jo. The only memory of her I have is where she lived. It was a three story house with crooked stairs.  We had to climb steps forever to get to her apartment. I know Granddaddy did not like her and sat in the car. After the first time of climbing those stairs I sat in the car with Granddaddy. I didn't like Mama Jo either.

When Mama Jo died we went to her funeral. I slept through the whole thing. I always felt she should have treated my grandmother better, trying to allow her to have some semblance of a childhood.  If she had, I might have stayed awake for her funeral!

Mamamae and Granddaddy the Early Years...

When I look at the photo to the left it is hard for me to see Mamamae and Granddaddy. That is not the way they looked when I knew them.  However, there they are as teenagers, husband and wife and parents.  Granddaddy is holding my mother. Mamamae is holding the horse. Never in a million years can I visualize in my mind, Mamamae riding a horse, but she did and often.

According to my grandmother's family Bible records, they were married Oct. 3, 1925. Grandaddy was 17 and Mamamae was 18. I do not remember our family celebrating their anniversary...ever. They probably went out to eat or to Cairo dancing... or they did nothing. It was never talked about. I never knew the date until I was grown.  I find that kind of strange, since anniversaries are very special days for my generation. Times change.

I do remember asking Mamamae once, how she met Granddaddy.  I really wanted to know about their life. We were sitting on the front porch, drinking a couple of ice cold cokes with peanuts in the bottle, when Mamamae started laughing as she remembered their story. Mamamae left the home of her stepmother, Mama Jo, when she turned 18.   She was young and pretty, naturally the young men came 'a courting'.  She was living with family either in Columbus or Hailwell.  She dated several young men after she began living in Kentucky. 

 One day Granddaddy rode by her house on a horse. He saw her sitting on the porch and slowed down to talk to her. She asked him, "Why he hadn't asked her out yet, when all the other young men had already introduced themselves?"  She said Grandaddy was shy and mumbled, "I've been working and I thought you were taken." Evidently Mamamae let him know she was not 'taken'. That evening they began courting.  A few months later they were married. 

When I asked about their wedding, this is the story I remember her telling me. It is the only story I ever heard. Grandaddy, Mamamae,  Aunt Sadie and a man named John Owens who was dating Aunt Sadie were riding in a buggy on a pretty October day.  Apparently the couples drove to Squire Shaddrick's home and asked him to marry Mamamae and Granddaddy. And he did. At 17 and 18 they began their long married life together. The next May, Mama was born.

Two years later Uncle Gene was born. Granddaddy worked at farming, helping his mother and younger brothers.  He worked for the railroad where he severely hurt his right leg. I think they were living in St. Louis when this happened. It was a wound that plagued him all his adult life. I remember seeing the deep, hollowed out scar become infected. Many a night he would come home with blood in his shoe because the wound had started bleeding again.

Mamamae and Granddaddy were married 45 years, when he died suddenly on Oct. 29, 1970. Granddaddy was only 62 years old.  Mamamae lived a long time, well into her 80's, after Granddaddy passed away.

                                  

This is the way I remember my grandparents. They gave me unconditional love. The best present a child can ever receive. 

This isn't all of their story by any means, it is the beginning. I want to share their story with my family and friends. I was blessed beyond measure to have had them in my life.

To be continued...

The Watch From Daddy...Father's Day Memories

When I was about 5 years old, I got an idea in my head that my father was going to mail me a gold watch. Mama and Daddy had been  divorced since I was born.  He was working in construction somewhere out West. The chance of him sending me a watch were slim to none. The chance of him knowing I wanted a watch were nonexistent.

 When I would ask questions about Daddy, my mother would say, "Honey, he is away working. He can't come home right now." Apparently that satisfied me until the next time I became curious.  There would be long 'spells' when no one knew where Daddy was living. Then like magic, Daddy would drive up and surprise me with a visit. He would stay with Mama Pearl and Papa John, his parents who lived out in the country. I always stayed with them when he came in to visit. I loved those visits, and I loved Daddy very much. I will forever be grateful that Mama allowed me to love Daddy. She could have easily kept me from loving him, but she didn't. She never talked bad about Daddy in front of me. Mama knew how to keep a secret. I would be in my 60's before I knew the whole story and I wouldn't swear I know it all now.  I also did not learn any of it from her. I do know she loved him too... she always did.

 When it came to the watch,  it did not  make any difference to me that I had not seen or actually talked to Daddy in over a year. I knew he was mailing me a gold watch...I just knew it.  When I told Mama she was surprised to learn I wanted a watch. I had never mentioned wanting one to her.   I was 5 years old and could not tell time. It would be years before I learned how to do this. All the hoopla about the watch  was news to her and did not seem important until I started praying for the watch and checking the mail daily.

 I remember she asked me all sorts of questions about this 'watch' that I would be receiving in the mail. I knew exactly what kind of watch Daddy was sending me because he described it to me. This news really bothered Mama. She had already experienced my year with my 'imaginary friend Billy'.  Then I ran around with Jesus for awhile and Mamamae was sure I was going to die. When I started talking about the watch and Daddy I think Mama, Mamamae and Granddaddy all got nervous. None of them wanted an invisible 'Daddy' moving into their home...especially Granddaddy.

Each night before I went to bed, I said my prayers.  Apparently this was a good time for me to describe this gold watch in great detail to Jesus and Mama. They both knew I wanted it to have an elastic gold band so it wouldn't fall off my arm. It had to be gold and have all the numbers, that I could not read, written in black on the face of the watch. I would 'remind' Jesus... Daddy said the watch was in the mail and I would get it soon.

The saga of the gold watch and me went on for several weeks. Finally one day my watch came in the mail.  Everyone was shocked except me. I knew it was coming. It was everything Daddy told me it would be. 

Years later, Mama, Daddy and I were sitting around telling stories and someone mentioned the watch. I remember asking Mama if she bought the watch and pretended to mail it to me. She said "No, I was going to do that if you didn't drop the subject but then the watch came in the mail."  I asked Daddy how he knew to send me the watch since we hadn't talked, except in my imagination. He said that he didn't  remember how that came about.  He  knew he was in Tulsa working and one Saturday night he walked by a jewelry store and thought, "I bet Vicky would like a watch." He went in and bought it, mailing it the following  Monday.

Daddy and I had a very strange relationship. When it was good it was 'very, very good and when it was bad it was horrid,' very similar to the old nursery rhyme.

 As a child,  I gave Granddaddy a shirt for Father's Day.  When Tommy and I married, Father's Day became his day.  That is the one day that never really belonged to Daddy. We celebrated it but in my mind it was never his day. Last Sunday was almost half over before I could shake the feeling of loss. Eventually it all came together in my mind. Finally, he was with Mama. He was where he was supposed to be,  knowing that fact was at last enough for me. Hopefully, next year I will not dread the third Sunday in June. It is time I laid the past to rest, remembering the good times and letting the rest go. I think that might be the best Father's Day present I could give to each of us.

Positive Proof that Aliens do Exist...

Finally, proof that aliens do exist!!!  They have been hiding in plain sight in Florida!! 

Much to Floridians surprise the small aliens are reproduced inside the passion fruit flower...  that in itself is kind of ironic.

Surprise!! Surprise!!...they really are green...with big eyes, long ears and a quirky smile.

So far they appear friendly.

Will keep everyone posted if any new developments occur.

This is where my mind goes when I do not want to do laundry!!

Remembering the Summer of 1957...

The year was 1957, my primary goal in life was to play and have a good time, in that order.  My life consisted of books, bugs, imaginary friends, dirt and sand. It also had an abundance of dolls, dishes, dogs and wanted posters. A scoopful of criminals accompanied by cats, catalogs, cousins and paper...lots and lots of paper rounded out any given day.

My part of the world was decorated in all the colors found in a crayon box, especially red.  Life had a million shades of red accompanied by fireflies and fairies,  a spark of freedom and a dose of imagination found in a friend up the hill or across the street.  The fires of childhood imagination burned bright in us when we were 8 or 9 years old.

An unoccupied jail cell made a great playhouse when the summer heat beat down on the roofs of a small southern town in western Kentucky.  A town waiting for air conditioning to become the norm instead of the unusual. When the jail had 'visitors' the chicken coup behind the brick home was almost as much fun as a jail cell. I couldn't wait for the Henley kids to visit their grandparents.

A pile of sand became the local 'fairy garden'. Bricks painted gold glistened in the sun. They were the adobe homes of imaginary friends who flew instead of walked. Tin foil lakes allowed the fairies to swim in the moonlight. A curly haired little girl slept with her face in the window hoping to see the fairies dance in a circle, once before dawn.

The neighborhood trees and bushes donated flower blossoms from the pink and blue hydrangeas. I 'borrowed'  these from Mamamae's bush. Their blossoms became shrubs surrounding the golden homes.   Mrs. Klapp's lavender bush provided color and shade as the light purple flowers were turned into trees.  The subtle shade of orchid trees planted around the blue 'fairy lakes' gave the mound of sand a hint of magic. The scent of the trees mixed with the night air. Special rocks dug from the driveway of the post office were turned into gold and silver spray painted roads in my fairy kingdom. I believed that fairies would find my place of magic, if they had a shiny, glittering  road to follow.  I longed for this to be true

Although I never saw a 'real fairy' when I was young,  I believed they came each night and danced.  After I grew up and married, Tommy and I moved around the country. At each house or apartment I created some sort of fairy garden. When we finally settled down and bought a home, one of the first things I did in Spring was create a flower bed for fairies to enjoy. It is still alive with colors and few gold bricks. Birdbaths replaced the aluminum foil lakes. Wind chimes create music late into the night in hope that a wandering fairy will hear the music and feel the urge to dance. 

I will never know ...but I can wish.

                                                          

                                              one of many fairy gardens I have made. 2009

                         
                                       

                                           


                                                                      
  

When the Imagination Visits Home...

There is something special about going home. It doesn't matter if you have lived a lifetime away from the place of your birth,  if you were happy there,  sooner or later you will want to go home, if for nothing more than a visit.

A magnetic pull from some invisible force appears to draw a person home, if not physically then mentally. Either way the trip is the same. It is a walk into the yesterdays of a lifetime ago.  Today was such a day for me. I stayed in Missouri but my  thoughts were in Kentucky. They go there often, visiting places I used to play. Often I spend a few hours writing memories of loved ones and old friends. I ramble around in people's lives who happened to touch my life in some way. When this happens I remember voices, smells, colors and the music of my youth.

I loved living in the small, old shotgun house with my mother and my grandparents.  The picture above was taken after Mama sold the home place to the Methodists church. It may have been taken the last time Mama visited the house. Mama loved that house too. Mamamae had died the year before. She lived a long good life.  Granddaddy died suddenly when I lived in Yuma, Arizona. He was only 62 years old. I have already lived 2 years longer than he did.  At the time I thought he was old. Now when I look back I think he was so young and missed the last part of a long happy life. Memory and imagination change with time. I wish he could have lived longer.

As I look at the photo I see where the aluminum glider and rocking chair sat on the front porch for years,  are gone. They were placed in my back yard for about 20 years. Eventually rust and old age accompanied them to the dump.  The wooden flower boxes that were filled with petunias every summer are gone from the porch. I have no clue what happened to them. The beautiful maple tree that stood in the small front yard is still there in my imaginary trip. I thought it was the prettiest tree in Clinton when it changed colors in fall to a magnificent red. 

The house was torn down and turned into a parking lot. The maple tree had to be erased also to make way for cement and progress. That is just the way life goes. We can't keep anything forever. We, the human race,  reside in a constant state of letting go. That is the way it has to be because somewhere,  someone else is waiting to make new memories where our old memories lived.

Tommy's Shark Tale...His Version...

For the past several years I have been in the process of writing the stories of our life. Someday, I hope to turn these stories into a book for family and friends. I also write about our lives because if I die first, Tommy will never get these stories right!  We have two different versions on most things that have occurred. Mine is usually right:)

However, when I wrote the story about Tommy getting his first big shark, I got some of it wrong. Truthfully, I missed the whole story about how they landed the shark. I totally misunderstood until I saw the pictures Tommy took with his disposable camera.

When I looked at the photos I asked Tommy, "What is the shark doing on the sand. Why are you so wet and where is the boat???"  Somewhere while Tommy and Lisle were telling the story, I misunderstood everything concerning how they actually landed the shark. I remember thinking as I wrote the story the first time, "Wow it is a miracle they didn't turn the boat over when they pulled the shark into the boat."  Then I got a visual of a live shark in the boat with Tommy and Lisle and shook my head at the things men do and call it fun.


                                           

Here is Tommy's version of how he got his first shark.  "They were fishing in about five feet of water when they caught the shark. He put up quite a fight. The shark took the bait and went under the boat trying to turn the boat over. (They were in a 14 ft. john boat) 

The shark turned around and started going out into the ocean. However, because there were several big boats around; the boats made waves that took the john boat and the shark back in closer to the beach.  The shark was trying to eat the boat when Lisle cut his gills to bleed him out. This slowed the shark down but still he fought as long as he could.  Finally when the boat was in about two feet of water both Lisle and Tommy jumped out of the boat into the ocean...with the shark. The shark was loosing his life's blood and had slowed down on the fighting. That is when they drug him up on the beach and killed him."

That is one heck of a true story...we have pictures to prove it!!  How I missed most of that story I do not know. I would blame it on the tequila we toasted with, but I didn't have enough to mess up my memory. 

                                

This was a wonderful experience for Tommy and Lisle.  It made Tommy's vacation. He still talks about his 7 foot, 125 pound shark he caught in Florida. And now when I tell his story, I have the facts and I can tell it correctly.  For that fact alone, Tommy is thrilled.


                                      

One of Those Nights When Heaven Provided a Magic Show...

Nights in southern Florida are beautiful by any standard. While visiting Lisa and Lisle we made a point of walking 'Little Girl', their dog nightly around 9 p.m. The day was over and the night shift was in the process of taking over the sky.

The week we were there it was a full moon. At night Mother Nature played in the sky. Each and every sunset, whether on the bridge going to Marco Island, at the ocean or in their back yard was an artist competition everyone could attend.

The flowers smell better at night. The heat of the day is over, there has either been a pop up thunder storm or home owners have watered their plants. The smell of night jasmine fills the air at one home. Down the street another flower will be enticing the air with aromas unknown but bewitching to the nostrils.

As we walk down the street we see the night reflected in all the canals. The sky looks as beautiful in the water as it does in the heavens.  The full moon casts golden ripples on the canal water. 

One night while we were staring at the moon, a meteor began its descent to extinction. It was under the moon and to the far right as it began to move across the heavens. I have never seen a meteor last that long. Although it moved quickly, time stopped for us as we watched the meteor sail across the sky,  leaving a long tail behind. After it had passed the moon and was on its downward spiral, it did the most amazing thing.  It broke into 3 meteors and each one moved across the sky like a well planned Fourth of July fireworks display.  As quickly as the meteor appeared and soared for maybe 30 seconds, it was gone. We watched as each tail and rock disappeared forever. The sight left us all amazed and filled with some of the magic we had just witnessed.

There are some sights, some smells, some touches, and a few kisses that need to be stashed in the corner of our mind that belongs only to the magic in our lives. That night was one I have stored away for safe keeping. It can be summoned quickly when I need a dose of the awesome power of the heavens. 

No One Needs a Perfect Body to Enjoy the Ocean...Thank God!!!

 

The ocean is my favorite place to visit. In fact, it would be therapeutic for me to  live on the coast for at least a few months each year. To be a member of a  writer's group who met somewhere near the ocean would indeed be helpful. My mind responds to the sounds and smells of the wind and the waves.  Stories and memories come easy there. I feel freer there than anywhere.

My muse and I both know the ocean is good for me. It relieves the stress I carry around in my mind and in my neck.  It does a miracle massage on my body and lifts my spirits until I feel like a kid again. For me, it is the whole healing package compiled in beautiful drops of blue, green, and turquoise colors belonging to rippled salt water. I like the feel of sand between my toes and the smell of ocean water on my skin. I wish I could bottle that smell just for me.

Most people at the ocean are uninhibited by their looks and actions. They are on a mission to enjoy life in its basic home. Each person trying to soak up a wonderful dose of freedom.  Generally, the people I have met at the Naples Pier seldom speak English. They probably can but choose not to. I completely understand their train of thought. I do not talk a lot when I am at the ocean, either.  I try to absorb every color, smell, or touch I can by any means possible. I savor these emotions to be conjured up again on days when I am back in Missouri and the snow or mud is knee deep. The temperature is  hovering around 20 degrees, with winds blowing from the west and north dropping the wind chill into the single digits. I have a feeling most of the visitors are doing the same thing as I am.

The older people on the beach do not care how they look. I like that idea very much...mainly because I am an older person. I had my day of wearing the red bikini and having a tan to die for. Now it is freeing and liberating to be exactly the way I am without caring what anyone else thinks. Life is a gift to every person and it is given in stages. We couldn't contain all the magic if we received everything all at once. We absorb what we can digest at the time. We file the rest away to be used when the time is right. Life comes in dribs and drabs and in days, weeks and years. It comes and it goes...

While I was studying the ocean and  thinking about life, I spotted a lady and her daughter who were from Germany.  We had spoken while in the ocean when several dolphins swam by us. They put their umbrella and towels in the vicinity of where Lisa and I were setting.  Both women were wearing bikinis. The daughter firm and tan. The mother still looked good to be in her 50's. She didn't have her daughter's body nor did her daughter have her mother's memories or experiences. It was a fair trade off.

In front of them sat 3 teenage boys, who were in and out of the water, oggling  the pair of ladies behind them. This scene played out all over the beach. 

After several dips in the ocean, I was so relaxed I slept for awhile. I could hear laughter and the ocean far, far away in the back of my mind. It was a good place to be in the circle of my life.

                     

                                            

A Day of Unusual Mixtures...

Today was a good day in my neck of the woods. We made an early run to Columbia for a blood draw at the V.A. 

As we were driving back to Fulton we finally found the lost home we have tried to locate for the past several months. We first saw the house and its yard a couple of months ago as we were driving on a county road.  The people who owned the home had recently planted palm trees in their front yard. Six or eight trees about eight feet tall. The whole scene looked surreal. Winter had not completely left Missouri. Spring was dragging her feet about moving in and this family planted palm trees!  The snow was gone but would make a couple repeat appearances before winter decided to let spring play. I looked at the trees and could not believe what I was seeing. 

The palm trees are beautiful but not robust.  They look lost in Missouri. The trees have an uneasy look as though they are not comfortable in their own dirt. Of course I had to have pictures, after our third trip by the house I had enough shots to prove my point,  the trees are not happy. And then my camera died. Battery was totally done! My 'stalking' was finished for the day.

 It is absolutely none of my business what these people do with their yard. If they drove by my house, they would probably wonder why I have a red boat in my back yard filled with flowers!  No one owes me an explanation but I sure would like to know why they planted these expensive trees in the wrong state.

Our final stop was the laundromat. Until I get my laundry room finished, we do laundry in town. That place is always an adventure. It may be an unconscious ploy on my part to keep putting off fixing the laundry room. I like the characters I meet at the laundromat and I think I would miss the people who come in to do their laundry. Plus Tommy and I adore Bobby who works there. Today was his day off and we missed seeing him. There could be a sitcom written about what all goes on in this curious place.

However, true to form it wasn't long before I was engaged  in a rather interesting conversation with a lady and her dog. I seldom ask anyone their name, but before my laundry was done I knew her whole life story. She is disabled and lives with four dogs and five cats. All the time we were talking she held a dachshund in her lap. The little dog never barked or offered to get down. He was quite content where he sat. I complimented her on how well behaved the little dog was. She smiled and told me not to touch him. Apparently he is old and grumpy and does not care for strangers.  I know exactly how he feels, there are days I feel the same way.

As we talked she asked me if I went to church. I told her I did but not regularly. That is about the time I spilled our bottle of detergent and said, "Oh S**T"!  I looked at the lady and she smiled and said, "You should think about going more often." I let that one pass.

By now all the laundry is in the dryers and we are once again in a conversation about her dogs.  She told me that every Sunday night and Wed. night she takes her dog to church.  That struck me as funny and I laughed. Smiling she informed me he 'likes' church. I thought on this for a minute. I have never been to a church where there were dogs. Not once. Then she proceeded to tell me his favorite part is communion.  Evidently, he sleeps through the sermon and wakes up for communion.   Again I smile and bite my tongue. I had so many replies for that one it was really hard to let it pass. I knew the pastor would never give the dog communion. I also began to wonder about the lady I was talking to. Finally I can't leave well enough alone and I say, " so what do you do with the dog during communion?"  Still smiling, she says she gives him Pepsi and crackers....he doesn't know the difference. 

I am pretty sure I have spent the past two hours talking to an ex patient from where I used to work. She was nice, we had fun and a few laughs.  Before I left, I asked her if by chance did she live on a county road in a fairly new home with palm trees planted in her front yard?  She said, "Why no, but it sounds lovely."

Yep, I bet we know a lot of the same people and that is a good thing as far as I am concerned.