I decided to post these cuz pictures of fires are just cool. Or they are when you live in a family of pseudo-pyromaniacs!
Showing posts with label Big E. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Big E. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Monday, April 02, 2012
Fire
Ever since Grandma and Grandpa B died, Mom's been hoping and begging and asking and nagging Dad to burn down the old buildings on the Hill. No one has lived in the house since the late '60's early '70's and it has deteriorated and was actually a hazard. The bathroom was being held up by the vent pipe and the house wasn't even safe to walk into anymore.
It needed to be gone.
We happened to get rain last week, so Dad finally decided to burn the house down since fire danger was low. Even if we had 30 mph winds, it's so wet and humid right now that the grass wouldn't burn which means no danger of prairie fire.
Kev and I drove down early Saturday morning, arriving out at the hill at 8:30 a.m.
10 minutes later, the roof was fully engaged.
Then we went on to another 2 junk piles that were mainly trees and old iron pieces. The one above must have had a tire on the bottom of that brush. We didn't know it was there, or we would have removed it before lighting the fire. You aren't supposed to burn rubber because of air pollution, but accidents do happen, and this was an accident.
By the end of the day, all that you see here was gone. And, the old barn is gone too. We burned it, but I didn't have the camera with me. Why? Because I was out in it with Dad and Kev, waiting for it to catch. It finally did, so Dad and I decided to open the gate and go out the "back" way. Before I could get the darned gate unchained, it was getting rather...warm. Dad asked me to "hurry up and get that gate open, it's getting hot!"
The barn was gone in less than 30 minutes.
Maybe I should be sad to see all these buildings gone, but Grandpa and Grandma didn't live there in my lifetime, and the buildings needed to be gone. Now that they are gone, we can pick up the scrap tin and iron and take it to the salvage yard. Then we can take the tractor and clean up the rest making the hill area safe and clean.
Note: This was a controlled burn. All local regulations were followed. The controlled burn was reported and all attempts were made to abide by the law.
Friday, July 10, 2009
lightening bugs
It was a beautiful evening last night.
I sat outside at sunset, enjoying the calm and watching the thousands of twinkling lights all across our yard, and the pasture. No one put up Christmas lights, but there were lots of twinkles and flashes of light anyway--from the lightening bugs.
Last night was the perfect night for them to be out. It was warm, and calm. No wind to speak of. And they were out in full force. It was very relaxing to just sit out by the pond, listening to the waterfall, and watching the light show.
The chickens were in bed, the kittens were frolicking in the drive and the lightening bugs were putting on their show. I could see twinkles of light for over a quarter of a mile. I think that next time, I just might take out the camera and try to get a picture. But, then again, I might not. It was simply too relaxing sitting by the pond and enjoying the evening.
I sat outside at sunset, enjoying the calm and watching the thousands of twinkling lights all across our yard, and the pasture. No one put up Christmas lights, but there were lots of twinkles and flashes of light anyway--from the lightening bugs.
Last night was the perfect night for them to be out. It was warm, and calm. No wind to speak of. And they were out in full force. It was very relaxing to just sit out by the pond, listening to the waterfall, and watching the light show.
The chickens were in bed, the kittens were frolicking in the drive and the lightening bugs were putting on their show. I could see twinkles of light for over a quarter of a mile. I think that next time, I just might take out the camera and try to get a picture. But, then again, I might not. It was simply too relaxing sitting by the pond and enjoying the evening.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Flo and Vera
Growing up in a dying town is interesting. You know everyone and know their ancestors and their entire life history. Heck, you are usually related to 3/4 of those people, so their ancestors are your ancestors.
Last night was Parent Teacher Conference time. We were very interested to see how the kids were doing so, being good parents, we went.
One of the first teachers we visited with was Andy's math teacher. We talked about how well he was doing, and then she said that she had family in Big E. What? Who?
It appears her maiden name was W.....r and her grandparents had lived there. What's interesting to me is that this family and my Grandma's family, the Millers, "emigrated" to Big E from Central Kansas in the teens (1910's). So, while we weren't related, we did have a common history and a strong connection. The families were very close. (In fact, Mom and I uncovered an old rumor about closeness but we don't know how to persue , or if we want to persue this rumor.)
Anyway, I remember her grandmother, Miss Vera. And Andy's teacher was pleased to know that I at least knew who she was talking about. I remember going to Miss Vera's house with Grandma once. We were probably delivering eggs. I remember that she was very short--not 5 foot tall. I remember her beautiful white hair, and the floor of her house. It had had some water damage and had swelled so that she had at least one "hill" in her house. Maybe not a hill, but a hump in the floor. A big hump that was probably a foot higher than the floor.
I thought it was cool and thought she'd done it on purpose. I remember wondering if she ran up and down that "hill", because that's what I wanted to do...but Grandma wouldn't let me. That's all I remember about her. I don't know if she went to a nursing home after that, or if she died. I had to be less than 10 years old, because I don't remember her being there after we moved to Big E ourselves. I know the house sat empty for years and was then bought by a drunk who eventually burned it down--accidently on purpose. It was a neat house tho and if it had been fixed up, could have been beautiful.
I remember Miss Vera's sister more. She and her sister had married brothers. Her sister was Aunt Flo to us. I remember Aunt Flo very well. We used to stop and visit her often when I was a little girl. My grandparents bought Aunt Flo's house after she died and that is the house they recently left. Aunt Flo was also very small. She and Miss Vera looked very much alike. Aunt Flo's house was nicer than Miss Vera's, and we visited her often. I know we did because I have vivid memories of her toybox and of Aunt Flo herself.
This was the first time I have met anyone who had family in Big E. It was so nice to visit about these ladies who have been gone for more than 30 years. It brought them back to my mind and made me remember the small living community that Big E used to be and never will again.
Last night was Parent Teacher Conference time. We were very interested to see how the kids were doing so, being good parents, we went.
One of the first teachers we visited with was Andy's math teacher. We talked about how well he was doing, and then she said that she had family in Big E. What? Who?
It appears her maiden name was W.....r and her grandparents had lived there. What's interesting to me is that this family and my Grandma's family, the Millers, "emigrated" to Big E from Central Kansas in the teens (1910's). So, while we weren't related, we did have a common history and a strong connection. The families were very close. (In fact, Mom and I uncovered an old rumor about closeness but we don't know how to persue , or if we want to persue this rumor.)
Anyway, I remember her grandmother, Miss Vera. And Andy's teacher was pleased to know that I at least knew who she was talking about. I remember going to Miss Vera's house with Grandma once. We were probably delivering eggs. I remember that she was very short--not 5 foot tall. I remember her beautiful white hair, and the floor of her house. It had had some water damage and had swelled so that she had at least one "hill" in her house. Maybe not a hill, but a hump in the floor. A big hump that was probably a foot higher than the floor.
I thought it was cool and thought she'd done it on purpose. I remember wondering if she ran up and down that "hill", because that's what I wanted to do...but Grandma wouldn't let me. That's all I remember about her. I don't know if she went to a nursing home after that, or if she died. I had to be less than 10 years old, because I don't remember her being there after we moved to Big E ourselves. I know the house sat empty for years and was then bought by a drunk who eventually burned it down--accidently on purpose. It was a neat house tho and if it had been fixed up, could have been beautiful.
I remember Miss Vera's sister more. She and her sister had married brothers. Her sister was Aunt Flo to us. I remember Aunt Flo very well. We used to stop and visit her often when I was a little girl. My grandparents bought Aunt Flo's house after she died and that is the house they recently left. Aunt Flo was also very small. She and Miss Vera looked very much alike. Aunt Flo's house was nicer than Miss Vera's, and we visited her often. I know we did because I have vivid memories of her toybox and of Aunt Flo herself.
This was the first time I have met anyone who had family in Big E. It was so nice to visit about these ladies who have been gone for more than 30 years. It brought them back to my mind and made me remember the small living community that Big E used to be and never will again.
Friday, December 07, 2007
The Big Basin
While I'm really getting tired of my 53 mile and 1 hour drive one way each day, I always look forward to driving through the Big Basin.
The Basin is a large sink hole. It's a mile in diameter and about 100 feet deep. The walls are very steep. The State owns 2/3 of the Big Basin and have a prairie preserve on it with a herd of buffalo. The buffalo don't spend a lot of time down in the basin, and it's always a treat to see them. I've seen them in the bowl of the basin twice in the 6 weeks I've been driving. Yesterday, some of the bachelor bulls were in the basin grazing. They are huge!
I like the Basin. It's beautiful. When I was a little girl, I used to imagine seeing the Indians swoop down the hills into the basin to attack a wagon train. Something about that terrain just always make me think of the Indians and horses and buffalo. I also used to imagine building a house on the north east side of the basin. The house would be down on the side of one of the hills facing the basin. I imagined sitting and looking out southwest facing windows watching the sun set, overlooking the basin itself. I'd still like to live there...if the State didn't own it and if I could own it.
Legend has it, that when they built the original highway through the basin, that some of the large equipment fell further down in more sinkholes. I don't know if that's true, but that's the story we all heard as kids. It could be true, as there is a small wetlands area on the west side, and since this is one big sinkhole, it could still sink.
The basin is kind of a weather changing area. By that, I mean the weather on the north side of the basin might be better or worse than it is on the south side. And, during the winter, the road through the basin can be pretty nasty. I don't know why, but the weather from the beginning of that mile across the bottom of the basin can be completely different than the weather at the end of that mile.
Yes, there is a "Little Basin". It's south east of the Big Basin and is the home of St. Jacob's Well, a natural spring that was used by the cowboys during cattle drives. They'd leave the Cimarron River in the morning and drive cattle up to the Well then on up to Dodge the next day. St. Jacob's Well has never gone dry. Never. We went down there one summer several years ago. You drive on the Preserve around the Big Basin and park and walk down to the Well. It's not an easy walk. Personally, I didn't think I'd want to drink the water there...it was covered in cottonwood leaves and cotton pods and was rather nasty looking to my mind. But, I'm sure to cattle and cowboys, it looked wonderful. It's fenced off from the Buffalo now, to keep the water "clean" and to protect those hikers who venture down. Buffalo are tempermental and very dangerous.
Anyway, I digressed a little. The Basin is my favorite part of my drive and probably the only part I'll miss. I'll be driving one more week, then we'll move into our new house and I'll have a much shorter drive, and more importantly, my family will be with me again.
(The attached photo is of the basin It's taken from the highway looking southeast. I borrowed it from http://www.naturalkansas.org/) And, a note. For some reason, my formatting didn't come out right on this. I left blank lines between the paragraphs, I swear I did...Someone doesn't like me today...)
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Bus passes
I had to send a note to school for a bus pass for Miss Kat recently. Since I'm gone, on dance lesson days, she's now going home with her BFF, Miss Jenna, and I had to send the note so she could ride the bus. (I also gave Miss Kat a check for her lessons, but she still hasn't taken it. The check was dated Nov 3...you do the math.)
I hate having to send a note to the school for every cotton pickin' thing, but I know that notes from parents regarding their children's after school plans are important. I am the child who caused the "needing of notes."
One day, when I was in First Grade, I rode the bus from school in Ashland to Grandma and Grandpa B's house, in Big E. I thought that Mom had told me to go there. She'd evidently had me do it before, as I knew which bus to ride and I knew the bus driver, Fritz.
On this day, I remember marching out and getting on the bus; so grown up, so big, so confident and sure of myself. Fritz looked at me and said, "Why are you riding the bus today?" I replied confidently, "I'm going to Grandmas." He just shrugged his shoulders and I sat down, midway back by my friends.
We then traveled on to the High School, where my Aunt Sandy got on. She saw me and asked "Why are you here?" I replied just as confidently as before, "I'm going home with you."
When we got to Big E, the country kids got off the big bus and on to the little bus to go home. Grandpa drove the little bus. I too, got on the Country bus.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
I remember being really tired of this question by now. After all, just what did they think I was doing? "I'm supposed to go to your house." By now, my confidence was slightly less, and I was beginning to wonder if I'd messed up, again.
So, he took me home, where we discovered I wasn't supposed to be there. Mom had already called Grandma and I was in trouble.
I don't remember a spanking, I don't remember the scolding that I probably, most definitely got from every single adult available, I don't remember any of that. I do remember feeling bad about making Mom drive all the way over to pick me up. But, I honestly felt like I was supposed to go to Grandma's.
I never did it again. But I'm pretty sure that I'm the reason all schools all over the country now require notes from parents for bus passes.
I hate having to send a note to the school for every cotton pickin' thing, but I know that notes from parents regarding their children's after school plans are important. I am the child who caused the "needing of notes."
One day, when I was in First Grade, I rode the bus from school in Ashland to Grandma and Grandpa B's house, in Big E. I thought that Mom had told me to go there. She'd evidently had me do it before, as I knew which bus to ride and I knew the bus driver, Fritz.
On this day, I remember marching out and getting on the bus; so grown up, so big, so confident and sure of myself. Fritz looked at me and said, "Why are you riding the bus today?" I replied confidently, "I'm going to Grandmas." He just shrugged his shoulders and I sat down, midway back by my friends.
We then traveled on to the High School, where my Aunt Sandy got on. She saw me and asked "Why are you here?" I replied just as confidently as before, "I'm going home with you."
When we got to Big E, the country kids got off the big bus and on to the little bus to go home. Grandpa drove the little bus. I too, got on the Country bus.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
I remember being really tired of this question by now. After all, just what did they think I was doing? "I'm supposed to go to your house." By now, my confidence was slightly less, and I was beginning to wonder if I'd messed up, again.
So, he took me home, where we discovered I wasn't supposed to be there. Mom had already called Grandma and I was in trouble.
I don't remember a spanking, I don't remember the scolding that I probably, most definitely got from every single adult available, I don't remember any of that. I do remember feeling bad about making Mom drive all the way over to pick me up. But, I honestly felt like I was supposed to go to Grandma's.
I never did it again. But I'm pretty sure that I'm the reason all schools all over the country now require notes from parents for bus passes.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
hunting
It's bow hunting season. I'm not hunting this year simply because I figured I'd be too busy and have too much to do to hunt. I miss it.
Kev and Lynn and Andy have been going out. Kev's shot a couple of deer, but not good shots, so he hasn't recovered either deer. He's not happy with himself, because he IS a better shot than that, so he's promised to practice and check out to see if his bow was knocked out of alignment.
Andy wants to shoot with his recurve bow this year, but he can't find it. "Dad" (Kev) borrowed his bowcase for the big Elk trip, so Andy had to empty it, and now, he can't find his bow. He accused me of giving it to Gregg, my co-instructor for 4-H archery, when I gave him all the 4-H stuff. My feeling is Andy needs to look, and if he thinks Gregg might have it, then he can call Gregg and ask! I don't think it was in that group of bows, but what do I know?
Daddy asked my opinion on letting the Virginia hunter hunt the farm and The Hill. He offered to pay Daddy $750, if he got a big buck on either property. Nice to be asked, but it also made me sad to think that I'm not hunting!
We've hunted at the farm, but never on The Hill. I think The Hill would be a great spot, cause we've found lots of rubs and tracks there, so I know it would be a great spot to hunt, and I want to hunt it. We plan on putting in some food plots since we will be hunting here in the future. I hope to spend more time out there, scouting and cleaning up both areas some. We'll see, cause I know how life sometimes gets in the way of what we "want" to do!
Definitions:
the farm= my Granddad Woodruff's place in rural Meade County. It's a beautiful spot on a creek with lots of hills and trees and it's remote and is very special to me. My Great-grandfather, Harvey Woodruff settled there in 1890, survived some fencing disputes and feuds. I'll blog about it sometime. Grandma and Grandad moved in the house in the 1930's and lived there till 1973, when a tornado struck. Daddy inherited that quarter section, so we call it "the farm". (It's really not a farm, cause it's all pasture.)
The Hill= My Grandpa Berend's place in rural Clark County. Locals call it "Starvation Hill;" we've always just called it "the Hill." Cause it's on a high point in that area. Looks over pasture ground and you can see Oklahoma from there (not really a big deal, cause it's only a mile from the border!) I don't remember them living on the Hill, but I remember my Great Uncle living there. The house needs to come down, but it's a great hunting spot, with the tree rows for shelter and the gullys and valleys surrounding it.
Kev and Lynn and Andy have been going out. Kev's shot a couple of deer, but not good shots, so he hasn't recovered either deer. He's not happy with himself, because he IS a better shot than that, so he's promised to practice and check out to see if his bow was knocked out of alignment.
Andy wants to shoot with his recurve bow this year, but he can't find it. "Dad" (Kev) borrowed his bowcase for the big Elk trip, so Andy had to empty it, and now, he can't find his bow. He accused me of giving it to Gregg, my co-instructor for 4-H archery, when I gave him all the 4-H stuff. My feeling is Andy needs to look, and if he thinks Gregg might have it, then he can call Gregg and ask! I don't think it was in that group of bows, but what do I know?
Daddy asked my opinion on letting the Virginia hunter hunt the farm and The Hill. He offered to pay Daddy $750, if he got a big buck on either property. Nice to be asked, but it also made me sad to think that I'm not hunting!
We've hunted at the farm, but never on The Hill. I think The Hill would be a great spot, cause we've found lots of rubs and tracks there, so I know it would be a great spot to hunt, and I want to hunt it. We plan on putting in some food plots since we will be hunting here in the future. I hope to spend more time out there, scouting and cleaning up both areas some. We'll see, cause I know how life sometimes gets in the way of what we "want" to do!
Definitions:
the farm= my Granddad Woodruff's place in rural Meade County. It's a beautiful spot on a creek with lots of hills and trees and it's remote and is very special to me. My Great-grandfather, Harvey Woodruff settled there in 1890, survived some fencing disputes and feuds. I'll blog about it sometime. Grandma and Grandad moved in the house in the 1930's and lived there till 1973, when a tornado struck. Daddy inherited that quarter section, so we call it "the farm". (It's really not a farm, cause it's all pasture.)
The Hill= My Grandpa Berend's place in rural Clark County. Locals call it "Starvation Hill;" we've always just called it "the Hill." Cause it's on a high point in that area. Looks over pasture ground and you can see Oklahoma from there (not really a big deal, cause it's only a mile from the border!) I don't remember them living on the Hill, but I remember my Great Uncle living there. The house needs to come down, but it's a great hunting spot, with the tree rows for shelter and the gullys and valleys surrounding it.
Monday, November 05, 2007
The worst part...
A quick post. I can't post about the new job--cause I promised that I'd never talk about my JOB or place of employment or other employees. But I can say that I have lots of work to do and I hate the layout of my office. I'm working on the latter.
Now, I can blog about living away from my family, about looking for a new home, about getting up at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. and leaving for work at 7 a.m. to be there by 8 a.m. And, i can blog about "living" in my grandparents almost-empty house without TV and good radio reception with a neurotic cat. And, i can blog about missing my family. Cause I do miss them.
The worst part of this new job/new home is being away from my family. I don't have a phone--other than my cell phone, and it doesn't work in the big town of Englewood, so when I'm "at home," I can't talk to anyone on the phone. And there are at least 2 dead spots between Dodge and "Big E", so talking then is disappointing. So, Mom has offered my her cell phone if I want to call home in the evenings, since, as she put it, Kev and I are "attached at the hip" and have to talk to each other daily. I have yet taken her up on her offer. Ha! So there Mom!
The second worst part is, I'm lonely. Yeah, my folks are 1.5 blocks away, but I get up in the dark and get home in the dark, and so far, I've been tired, so haven't felt like barging in on them at night, and then there's the cat...my cat, who is adjusting at this new house, but isn't necessarily enjoying all her alone time either, so I go home to her and silence. But, this weekend, I brought back a TV and stereo and some DVD's and CD's. The stereo doesn't get any radio reception and I wonder how long I'll be happy with watching or listening to DVD's at night. I keep telling myself that I'll clean the house, cause it NEEDS cleaning, but haven't done any of that yet...
The third worst part is about Grandma's house. It's old and it stinks. The grandparent's hadn't been good about keeping on top of cleaning. I washed out one cabinet in the kitchen and cleaned off the counters, but there is lots and lots of mouse poop in that kitchen. I need to empty everything, wash all the dishes they left behind and scrub cabinets. I need to do that in every room. It's not a big house, but it's not a small house. I'm not real comfortable going over everything that's still there. And, I don't feel like I can make it "my" home, even if it is for a short term.
The absolute worst part is, I miss my family. I miss seeing them, talking to them, even yelling at them :) I miss them terribly. And, I keep telling myself that other folks do this separation thing all the time, we will get through this! But I still miss them.
Now, I can blog about living away from my family, about looking for a new home, about getting up at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. and leaving for work at 7 a.m. to be there by 8 a.m. And, i can blog about "living" in my grandparents almost-empty house without TV and good radio reception with a neurotic cat. And, i can blog about missing my family. Cause I do miss them.
The worst part of this new job/new home is being away from my family. I don't have a phone--other than my cell phone, and it doesn't work in the big town of Englewood, so when I'm "at home," I can't talk to anyone on the phone. And there are at least 2 dead spots between Dodge and "Big E", so talking then is disappointing. So, Mom has offered my her cell phone if I want to call home in the evenings, since, as she put it, Kev and I are "attached at the hip" and have to talk to each other daily. I have yet taken her up on her offer. Ha! So there Mom!
The second worst part is, I'm lonely. Yeah, my folks are 1.5 blocks away, but I get up in the dark and get home in the dark, and so far, I've been tired, so haven't felt like barging in on them at night, and then there's the cat...my cat, who is adjusting at this new house, but isn't necessarily enjoying all her alone time either, so I go home to her and silence. But, this weekend, I brought back a TV and stereo and some DVD's and CD's. The stereo doesn't get any radio reception and I wonder how long I'll be happy with watching or listening to DVD's at night. I keep telling myself that I'll clean the house, cause it NEEDS cleaning, but haven't done any of that yet...
The third worst part is about Grandma's house. It's old and it stinks. The grandparent's hadn't been good about keeping on top of cleaning. I washed out one cabinet in the kitchen and cleaned off the counters, but there is lots and lots of mouse poop in that kitchen. I need to empty everything, wash all the dishes they left behind and scrub cabinets. I need to do that in every room. It's not a big house, but it's not a small house. I'm not real comfortable going over everything that's still there. And, I don't feel like I can make it "my" home, even if it is for a short term.
The absolute worst part is, I miss my family. I miss seeing them, talking to them, even yelling at them :) I miss them terribly. And, I keep telling myself that other folks do this separation thing all the time, we will get through this! But I still miss them.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Moving
About a month ago, my Grandma was put into the Nursing Home. It was necessary, as she does have dementia, and physically couldn't take care of herself. What's more, Grandpa couldn't take care of her anymore. In fact, he's taken care of her for the past 2-3 years. Who am I kidding, he's taken care of her their entire marriage. She's a needy woman. But it got really bad the older she got. But, the Dr. finally said it was time and so she's in the Nursing Home.
At the same time, Grandpa decided he should probably move to the same town, into an "assisted living" apartment. It's not really assisted living, but it is a handicapped accessible apartment and it is right across the street from the hospital. So, we moved him. He doesn't necessarily like moving, but he said it was time.
Moving him, moving his furniture and clothing from a house he's lived in since 1975 wasn't easy. I'll admit, I did tear up a couple of times. It wasn't easy, seeing this end-of-life move for them. It's making me accept their mortality. And I just don't want to accept it. But, I'm having to.
This labor day weekend, we all went back down to clean the house. Englewood is a small town, less than 70 people live there. No one lives on the street my grandparents live(d) on anymore. No one. It would be way to easy for someone to break into the house and steal everything we left. So, we decided, with Grandpa, to remove the valuables and to clean out the junk and the filth.
And there was filth. And we cleaned. And we sorted and we dumped. And we did a good job. There's still more to do, but we got most of the house straightened out. We cleaned out cabinets in the kitchen, but forgot to CLEAN the kitchen and the bathroom. And, there's the trailer house out back and the garage to clean out still. My guess is that the house hasn't been this clean in YEARS.
Sorting the treasures was interesting. I felt a little odd being the only grand daughter there. (And, I'll say now, to G, T, and R, if I took anything home that you want, I will let you have it.) But, we three women worked well together, and Mom and Sandy got to have what they want. If not, they should tell me and I'll share.
We split stuff mainly to make sure it was safe. We all know of families who have had their parent's stuff stolen when they went into the nursing home. We, ourselves have lost stuff. Grandpa was going to give my his mother's wood burning cook stove, but when we went to the farm to pick it up, it was gone. Stolen.
It felt odd to be dividing up possessions when G and G are still alive...It felt odd to just do it, with Grandpa's "blessing". (We don't have Gma's blessing, and she might hit the roof when she learns what we've done.) Cleaning the house was much easier than dividing "stuff."
Cleaning. O my. We emptied the freezer. There was meat from 1992 in it. There was 25 lbs of flour. I tried to save it, but when it all thawed, the smell made me decide to toss it. We emptied cabinets that hadn't been opened in years. I can't express how it felt to reach into a cabinet, to pull some mystery item from it's bowels and know that there were lots and lots of spiders to go through first. Mouse nests...mouse droppings...spilled food...just filth. Grandma saved many many tablecloths that were stained or torn, and fabric. O MY GOD. Fabric, spools of thread, old zippers and buttons. Lots and lots of buttons. Lots and lots of thread, quilting books, patterns, just stuff.
The house is clean, I have some family treasures and some conflicted feelings. I don't really like this part of life...I can't really express how it makes me feel...it's just...odd.
At the same time, Grandpa decided he should probably move to the same town, into an "assisted living" apartment. It's not really assisted living, but it is a handicapped accessible apartment and it is right across the street from the hospital. So, we moved him. He doesn't necessarily like moving, but he said it was time.
Moving him, moving his furniture and clothing from a house he's lived in since 1975 wasn't easy. I'll admit, I did tear up a couple of times. It wasn't easy, seeing this end-of-life move for them. It's making me accept their mortality. And I just don't want to accept it. But, I'm having to.
This labor day weekend, we all went back down to clean the house. Englewood is a small town, less than 70 people live there. No one lives on the street my grandparents live(d) on anymore. No one. It would be way to easy for someone to break into the house and steal everything we left. So, we decided, with Grandpa, to remove the valuables and to clean out the junk and the filth.
And there was filth. And we cleaned. And we sorted and we dumped. And we did a good job. There's still more to do, but we got most of the house straightened out. We cleaned out cabinets in the kitchen, but forgot to CLEAN the kitchen and the bathroom. And, there's the trailer house out back and the garage to clean out still. My guess is that the house hasn't been this clean in YEARS.
Sorting the treasures was interesting. I felt a little odd being the only grand daughter there. (And, I'll say now, to G, T, and R, if I took anything home that you want, I will let you have it.) But, we three women worked well together, and Mom and Sandy got to have what they want. If not, they should tell me and I'll share.
We split stuff mainly to make sure it was safe. We all know of families who have had their parent's stuff stolen when they went into the nursing home. We, ourselves have lost stuff. Grandpa was going to give my his mother's wood burning cook stove, but when we went to the farm to pick it up, it was gone. Stolen.
It felt odd to be dividing up possessions when G and G are still alive...It felt odd to just do it, with Grandpa's "blessing". (We don't have Gma's blessing, and she might hit the roof when she learns what we've done.) Cleaning the house was much easier than dividing "stuff."
Cleaning. O my. We emptied the freezer. There was meat from 1992 in it. There was 25 lbs of flour. I tried to save it, but when it all thawed, the smell made me decide to toss it. We emptied cabinets that hadn't been opened in years. I can't express how it felt to reach into a cabinet, to pull some mystery item from it's bowels and know that there were lots and lots of spiders to go through first. Mouse nests...mouse droppings...spilled food...just filth. Grandma saved many many tablecloths that were stained or torn, and fabric. O MY GOD. Fabric, spools of thread, old zippers and buttons. Lots and lots of buttons. Lots and lots of thread, quilting books, patterns, just stuff.
The house is clean, I have some family treasures and some conflicted feelings. I don't really like this part of life...I can't really express how it makes me feel...it's just...odd.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Water and more water
Steve was on the news on Sunday night. There was a shot of him filling sandbags to try to hold back flooding in Ellinwood. Dad said they have had over 9 inches of rain in less than 48 hours. While the tornado spared the town, the rain didn't.
Daddy called late Sunday night and told me to watch the news because Steve would be on it. So, I watched. The shot of Steve was a panoramic shot scanning lots of people filling, loading, and moving sand bags. We sat and looked and watched, and saw lots of men in baseball caps and one lone guy wearing a cowboy hat. Guess which one was Steve. Yep, the guy in the cowboy hat. But, that was the extent of his TV debut. I tivo'd it--just in case he missed seeing it, or in case Mom and Dad didn't get to see it.
The south-central portion of the state was just hammered with rain this past weekend. Storms rolled through on Friday night, again on Saturday night and some still rolled through on Sunday. All that rain, all those tornadoes, all that destruction...
Daddy said they had almost 3 inches out at the farm. That's great! Especially when you consider that during Noah's flood, they only got 1/4 of an inch. (Ha, old family joke!) Northern Clark County got over 6 inches. Sand Creek, which runs north of town, was bank full. The Cimarron River, which runs 3 miles south of town was 9 feet deep. Normally, Sand Creek is dry and The Cimarron has water in it 3-4 months each spring. That water is usually a foot deep, 3 feet deep in low spots. It tends to be real quick-sandy too, so 9 feet is a big deal. I think the last time it had that much water in it was back in the late 1930's, early 1940's.
Water, water everywhere, and I'm not there to see it.
Daddy called late Sunday night and told me to watch the news because Steve would be on it. So, I watched. The shot of Steve was a panoramic shot scanning lots of people filling, loading, and moving sand bags. We sat and looked and watched, and saw lots of men in baseball caps and one lone guy wearing a cowboy hat. Guess which one was Steve. Yep, the guy in the cowboy hat. But, that was the extent of his TV debut. I tivo'd it--just in case he missed seeing it, or in case Mom and Dad didn't get to see it.
The south-central portion of the state was just hammered with rain this past weekend. Storms rolled through on Friday night, again on Saturday night and some still rolled through on Sunday. All that rain, all those tornadoes, all that destruction...
Daddy said they had almost 3 inches out at the farm. That's great! Especially when you consider that during Noah's flood, they only got 1/4 of an inch. (Ha, old family joke!) Northern Clark County got over 6 inches. Sand Creek, which runs north of town, was bank full. The Cimarron River, which runs 3 miles south of town was 9 feet deep. Normally, Sand Creek is dry and The Cimarron has water in it 3-4 months each spring. That water is usually a foot deep, 3 feet deep in low spots. It tends to be real quick-sandy too, so 9 feet is a big deal. I think the last time it had that much water in it was back in the late 1930's, early 1940's.
Water, water everywhere, and I'm not there to see it.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
We went to my folks for Easter. It was our first trip to see family since before Christmas. And, in typical fashion, we woke up Friday morning, the day we were to leave, to snow. The ground was covered and it was snowing hard. Big flakes. But, it warmed up. The snow stopped and we made our first weekend out of town since Christmas.
My Aunt Sandy was to join us, and she did on Easter Sunday. But knowing she was coming reminded me that I had promised Gina to post some stories about our Mothers. So I was intent on getting stories and verifying facts.
Somehow, no one was very cooperative, especially when I said I wanted to blog about it. It would appear that they don't want the whole wide world knowing about their childhood days. So, I'm sharing a couple of tid-bits anyway. Heck, neither one of them will ever read this. I've shared the address with them, so it's their fault if they don't check to see just what I'm gonna say. I'm the big mouth of the family, so I'm gonna write what I want. So, Mom, Sandy, if you guys don't like this, tough. You can leave a comment in rebuttal. You can disown me. I don't care. So there. Ha. (Besides, I promised Gina.)
Mom always liked to tell Steve and I about what a little brat Sandy was. Maybe it was because we begged for a little sister or brother. Maybe it was because Sandy was our favorite aunt. Or maybe it had something to do with us wanting stories about "when you were a little girl." One of her favorite stories was how when she was a young teenager and Sandy was a pre-schooler.
Mom liked to sleep in. And living on a farm, well, that n.e.v.e.r. happened. But she tried. One morning, she was told to get up. She didn't. Grandma told her to get up, Grandpa told her to get up. Finally, Grandma sent Sandy in to get her up. She still didn't get up, and probably told Sandy to go away (nicely, I'm sure). So then Sandy ran to tell Grandpa that Mom still wouldn't get out of bed. So, Grandpa took matters into his own hands.
He marched into the bedroom, picked Mom up and carried her outside.
To the stock tank.
And dropped her into the cold water.
Apparently Sandy thought it was much funnier than Mom did. Apparently, it was Sandy's fault that Mom was tossed into the tank. Sandy swears that she doesn't remember this ever happening, but Mom and Grandpa verified that it did happen.
Sandy spent a lot of time at our house. There's 10 years between the girls, and 10 years between Sandy and I. Sandy made a perfect babysitter for Steve and I, so she spent many days and nights at our house. I remember one night Sandy was babysitting us when we lived in Ashland. Steve and I were in the living room when Sandy and her "date" disappeared. We soon found them, in the kitchen,
kissing.
They didn't kiss very long, because there were two little heads peeking around the corner of the stove giggling rather loudly. They both acted embarrassed but Steve and I spent the rest of the night giggling and calling her date "Uncle Vance."
They didn't date long.
Wonder if we had something to do with it?
The priceless story I gathered this weekend was from my Dad, and indirectly from Wayne, Sandy's husband.
The guys ran out to the Hill to pick up some "stuff" for me. See, I can't go home without bringing back some junk, I mean stuff. They ran out to get a couple of timbers and some farrowing panels that I think I can jerry-rig and use.
So anyway, while driving out to the Hill, Wayne asked if the curves were where Sandy drove through the fence. Once they got back to town, Dad, being the ornery person he is, came in the house, walked over to Sandy and asked her if she remembered driving through the fence at the West Lake Curves.
The look on her face was priceless. It was sheepish, surprised, embarrassed, the whole 9 yards. Sandy looked at him and quietly said "Yes." Then a little more loudly, "I drove the car through the fence right after Daddy had gotten the car painted from when I drove through the fence earlier."
Evidently, while in college, or maybe High School, Sandy fell asleep driving home and went through the fence. Not once, but twice.
30 years or so later, everyone chuckled about it, even Grandpa, but he did admit he wasn't very happy about having to paint the car twice.
Now, if I've got this last story wrong, well, we'll never know, cause Sandy will never read this and never set the record straight. But, this is the conversation as I remember it from this past weekend. So Sandy, if this is wrong, let me know and I'll fix it. On the web. For the whole world to see.
I'm so glad that there isn't anyone who will blog about anything stupid I've ever done...
My Aunt Sandy was to join us, and she did on Easter Sunday. But knowing she was coming reminded me that I had promised Gina to post some stories about our Mothers. So I was intent on getting stories and verifying facts.
Somehow, no one was very cooperative, especially when I said I wanted to blog about it. It would appear that they don't want the whole wide world knowing about their childhood days. So, I'm sharing a couple of tid-bits anyway. Heck, neither one of them will ever read this. I've shared the address with them, so it's their fault if they don't check to see just what I'm gonna say. I'm the big mouth of the family, so I'm gonna write what I want. So, Mom, Sandy, if you guys don't like this, tough. You can leave a comment in rebuttal. You can disown me. I don't care. So there. Ha. (Besides, I promised Gina.)
Mom always liked to tell Steve and I about what a little brat Sandy was. Maybe it was because we begged for a little sister or brother. Maybe it was because Sandy was our favorite aunt. Or maybe it had something to do with us wanting stories about "when you were a little girl." One of her favorite stories was how when she was a young teenager and Sandy was a pre-schooler.
Mom liked to sleep in. And living on a farm, well, that n.e.v.e.r. happened. But she tried. One morning, she was told to get up. She didn't. Grandma told her to get up, Grandpa told her to get up. Finally, Grandma sent Sandy in to get her up. She still didn't get up, and probably told Sandy to go away (nicely, I'm sure). So then Sandy ran to tell Grandpa that Mom still wouldn't get out of bed. So, Grandpa took matters into his own hands.
He marched into the bedroom, picked Mom up and carried her outside.
To the stock tank.
And dropped her into the cold water.
Apparently Sandy thought it was much funnier than Mom did. Apparently, it was Sandy's fault that Mom was tossed into the tank. Sandy swears that she doesn't remember this ever happening, but Mom and Grandpa verified that it did happen.
Sandy spent a lot of time at our house. There's 10 years between the girls, and 10 years between Sandy and I. Sandy made a perfect babysitter for Steve and I, so she spent many days and nights at our house. I remember one night Sandy was babysitting us when we lived in Ashland. Steve and I were in the living room when Sandy and her "date" disappeared. We soon found them, in the kitchen,
kissing.
They didn't kiss very long, because there were two little heads peeking around the corner of the stove giggling rather loudly. They both acted embarrassed but Steve and I spent the rest of the night giggling and calling her date "Uncle Vance."
They didn't date long.
Wonder if we had something to do with it?
The priceless story I gathered this weekend was from my Dad, and indirectly from Wayne, Sandy's husband.
The guys ran out to the Hill to pick up some "stuff" for me. See, I can't go home without bringing back some junk, I mean stuff. They ran out to get a couple of timbers and some farrowing panels that I think I can jerry-rig and use.
So anyway, while driving out to the Hill, Wayne asked if the curves were where Sandy drove through the fence. Once they got back to town, Dad, being the ornery person he is, came in the house, walked over to Sandy and asked her if she remembered driving through the fence at the West Lake Curves.
The look on her face was priceless. It was sheepish, surprised, embarrassed, the whole 9 yards. Sandy looked at him and quietly said "Yes." Then a little more loudly, "I drove the car through the fence right after Daddy had gotten the car painted from when I drove through the fence earlier."
Evidently, while in college, or maybe High School, Sandy fell asleep driving home and went through the fence. Not once, but twice.
30 years or so later, everyone chuckled about it, even Grandpa, but he did admit he wasn't very happy about having to paint the car twice.
Now, if I've got this last story wrong, well, we'll never know, cause Sandy will never read this and never set the record straight. But, this is the conversation as I remember it from this past weekend. So Sandy, if this is wrong, let me know and I'll fix it. On the web. For the whole world to see.
I'm so glad that there isn't anyone who will blog about anything stupid I've ever done...
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
The Woodward tornado
To my family--
Find and read the April 2007 issue of American History magazine. There's an article in there about the 1947 Woodward, OK tornado. While none of our family were in Woodward, it is in family memories. Imagine, an F5 tornado, hitting a town with no warning. The tornado was 2 miles wide. And, as a side note, Steve and I listened to many stories of the survivors that were broadcast on the radio in the early 1980's.
As an additional side note, Aunt Lela's ex-husband married a lady who survived that tornado. She shared memories on the radio that we listened to. Of course the radio memories were much more detailed than the article, but wow, what a scary time.
So, for a piece of local history (local to NW Oklahoma, and the Texas Panhandle), check out this article.
You may resume your regularly scheduled programming...
Find and read the April 2007 issue of American History magazine. There's an article in there about the 1947 Woodward, OK tornado. While none of our family were in Woodward, it is in family memories. Imagine, an F5 tornado, hitting a town with no warning. The tornado was 2 miles wide. And, as a side note, Steve and I listened to many stories of the survivors that were broadcast on the radio in the early 1980's.
As an additional side note, Aunt Lela's ex-husband married a lady who survived that tornado. She shared memories on the radio that we listened to. Of course the radio memories were much more detailed than the article, but wow, what a scary time.
So, for a piece of local history (local to NW Oklahoma, and the Texas Panhandle), check out this article.
You may resume your regularly scheduled programming...
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Nudity and the older woman
For some reason, this is in my mind, and I have to write it down. Don't ask me why, but it is now a compulsion.
A few months ago, I "babysat" my 83 year old grandmother. She's got mild dementia, she's always been a little selfish, and, she's to the point where she can't stay alone because, well, one, she panics whenever my Grandfather is gone very long, 2. because she refuses to take care of herself and 3. because she really is frail and someone should be close.
Anyway, she got up at one point to make a trip to the bathroom. I knew what she was going to be doing in there because she always shares the state of her bowels. Daily. Sometimes hourly. She came out of the bathroom fine, didn't fall or anything, which was a relief to me because there's a reason why I'm not a nurse.
She'd put on a Depends because, well, because evidently things were loose. The sad part was when she had to show me the Depends. Yep, she just flashed me, her own flesh and blood, she flashed me her Depends.
Now, I've seen my grandmother in various stages of undress over the years, but she never flashed me before. I know our bodies will change as we age. I already miss my firm stomach and thighs. They are long gone and left behind that memory. But I really wasn't ready to see what lay in store for me down the road. I have always taken comfort in the fact that I will be thin again...maybe when I'm 83, but at that point, I'll be thin again. But, I had in my delusional fantasy the idea that my thinness would be firm, taut, smooth skin. Not saggy, baggy, loose scar-ridden skin. And, this isn't the image I want in my head when I think of my Grandmother.
My family is pretty open about nudity (Well, my mother and I are, Daddy would die if he ever thought I saw him nude.) Anyway, Mom never spent a minute alone in the bathroom while we kids were home. So, I've seen my mother nude numerous times. As a self-absorbed teenager, I swore to myself that when I was "old" like my then-in-her-30's mother, I wouldn't be saggy, or lumpy or even the slightest bit jiggly. Nope, not me. My body was NOT going to look like my Mother's.
But it does. And I wonder, will it look like Grandma's, when I'm 83? And if so, will I abuse my not-yet-born granddaughter with a flash?
Somehow, over the years, I've been blessed to see other nude older women. Like when I was a Junior or Senior in High School. I sold Avon. I sold Avon to primarily 20 ladies in town, some of whom were widows. Lonely widows. Women on fixed income. One in particular was very lonely. I never knew what to expect when I went to visit this lady.
We'll call her Do-do (pronounce it doe-doe). Anyone from Englewood will remember her.
Do-do owned the liquor store in town for years. I don't know how many customers she had, but I'd guess most were truck drivers. She probably never had much money, and she was lonely. She was an lonely old lady who had stupid little hairy dogs. One dog's name was Misty and you had to coo over Misty and make a fuss over that stupid little hairy dog before you could do any business with Do-do. I really didn't mind visiting Do-do, I knew she was lonely, I understood that that damn dog was her entire family. And, Do-do was one of my best customers.
So, every two weeks, I'd take some time on a Saturday morning to go deliver her order and take the next order. I always planned on being at Do-do's for at least an hour. I'd have to fawn over that damn hairy little 2 lb dog, then we'd visit, then she'd go through the catalog, write me a check, and I'd be free to go. One morning, a beautiful spring morning, I arrived around 9 a.m. with Do-do's Avon. I rang the bell and waited until she answered the door.
She did--wearing nothing but a tee-shirt. Not a long tee-shirt, but a rather short tee-shirt. Her nether regions were hanging out there for me to "enjoy." Grey haired nether regions. Nether regions partially covered by her belly, but not covered enough. Do-do also had a naval hernia which was very evident through the thin white tee-shirt that didn't cover up her nether regions, it looked like a blue egg resting on her stomach. Do-do had also had a mastectomy and didn't have a falsie. And, she was rather large busted. Bosoms on older ladies don't stand at attention either. That solitary puppy was closely examining that eggy hernia as it looked down toward the nether regions.
So, there I was, an innocent 17 year old getting flashed by a 75-80 year old woman wearing only a tee-shirt sharing not only her nether region, but her herniated belly button and 1/2 of a large bust resting on a large belly. I didn't know what to do. But I know what I did,
I left and returned later in the day.
I don't know why this all came to me today, but it did. I had to get this out. But I promise, this is as "out" as I'll ever get. I promise.
A few months ago, I "babysat" my 83 year old grandmother. She's got mild dementia, she's always been a little selfish, and, she's to the point where she can't stay alone because, well, one, she panics whenever my Grandfather is gone very long, 2. because she refuses to take care of herself and 3. because she really is frail and someone should be close.
Anyway, she got up at one point to make a trip to the bathroom. I knew what she was going to be doing in there because she always shares the state of her bowels. Daily. Sometimes hourly. She came out of the bathroom fine, didn't fall or anything, which was a relief to me because there's a reason why I'm not a nurse.
She'd put on a Depends because, well, because evidently things were loose. The sad part was when she had to show me the Depends. Yep, she just flashed me, her own flesh and blood, she flashed me her Depends.
Now, I've seen my grandmother in various stages of undress over the years, but she never flashed me before. I know our bodies will change as we age. I already miss my firm stomach and thighs. They are long gone and left behind that memory. But I really wasn't ready to see what lay in store for me down the road. I have always taken comfort in the fact that I will be thin again...maybe when I'm 83, but at that point, I'll be thin again. But, I had in my delusional fantasy the idea that my thinness would be firm, taut, smooth skin. Not saggy, baggy, loose scar-ridden skin. And, this isn't the image I want in my head when I think of my Grandmother.
My family is pretty open about nudity (Well, my mother and I are, Daddy would die if he ever thought I saw him nude.) Anyway, Mom never spent a minute alone in the bathroom while we kids were home. So, I've seen my mother nude numerous times. As a self-absorbed teenager, I swore to myself that when I was "old" like my then-in-her-30's mother, I wouldn't be saggy, or lumpy or even the slightest bit jiggly. Nope, not me. My body was NOT going to look like my Mother's.
But it does. And I wonder, will it look like Grandma's, when I'm 83? And if so, will I abuse my not-yet-born granddaughter with a flash?
Somehow, over the years, I've been blessed to see other nude older women. Like when I was a Junior or Senior in High School. I sold Avon. I sold Avon to primarily 20 ladies in town, some of whom were widows. Lonely widows. Women on fixed income. One in particular was very lonely. I never knew what to expect when I went to visit this lady.
We'll call her Do-do (pronounce it doe-doe). Anyone from Englewood will remember her.
Do-do owned the liquor store in town for years. I don't know how many customers she had, but I'd guess most were truck drivers. She probably never had much money, and she was lonely. She was an lonely old lady who had stupid little hairy dogs. One dog's name was Misty and you had to coo over Misty and make a fuss over that stupid little hairy dog before you could do any business with Do-do. I really didn't mind visiting Do-do, I knew she was lonely, I understood that that damn dog was her entire family. And, Do-do was one of my best customers.
So, every two weeks, I'd take some time on a Saturday morning to go deliver her order and take the next order. I always planned on being at Do-do's for at least an hour. I'd have to fawn over that damn hairy little 2 lb dog, then we'd visit, then she'd go through the catalog, write me a check, and I'd be free to go. One morning, a beautiful spring morning, I arrived around 9 a.m. with Do-do's Avon. I rang the bell and waited until she answered the door.
She did--wearing nothing but a tee-shirt. Not a long tee-shirt, but a rather short tee-shirt. Her nether regions were hanging out there for me to "enjoy." Grey haired nether regions. Nether regions partially covered by her belly, but not covered enough. Do-do also had a naval hernia which was very evident through the thin white tee-shirt that didn't cover up her nether regions, it looked like a blue egg resting on her stomach. Do-do had also had a mastectomy and didn't have a falsie. And, she was rather large busted. Bosoms on older ladies don't stand at attention either. That solitary puppy was closely examining that eggy hernia as it looked down toward the nether regions.
So, there I was, an innocent 17 year old getting flashed by a 75-80 year old woman wearing only a tee-shirt sharing not only her nether region, but her herniated belly button and 1/2 of a large bust resting on a large belly. I didn't know what to do. But I know what I did,
I left and returned later in the day.
I don't know why this all came to me today, but it did. I had to get this out. But I promise, this is as "out" as I'll ever get. I promise.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
growing old
I've had a lot stewing in my mind the last couple of weeks. You see, I spent 2 days at home with my folks helping my Mother who is overwhelmed with caring for others right now.
She's got my Dad with a broken, non-weight bearing leg. She's got my grandparents. One with dementia the other who is physically ailing.
Grandpa had to go see the eye dr. about getting a cataract removed. Grandma, who has dementia, was to stay home, but can't stay at home. And Dad--wouldn't be able to pick her up if she fell, and she's always driven him nuts. So I was the designated babysitter. Mom of course, had to take Grandpa to the Dr.
It's an odd feeling knowing you are babysitting the person who babysat you 30 years ago. It's strange to have to finally admit that Grandma has dementia. It's really hard for me to admit and accept that my grandparents are at the end of their lives. In my mind, they were always going to be there. No doubt about it because, well, they always have been there.
I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. With all 4 grandparents, but more often with these two. They lived 5 miles away while Dad's folks were 20. When Mom worked in Ashland or at the Englewood post office, I went to Grandmas. We had a routine. Mornings were spent feeding the chickens, I played outside with the kittens. We worked in the garden (which I HATED.) We fixed lunch. After lunch, they both took naps in their recliners. I never napped, but HAD to be quiet. So, I usually read a book. Afternoons were filled with different chores, depended on the day. Then Mom would arrive, and we'd go home.
Tuesday afternoons were ceramics day. Several friends of Grandma's came out to work on their ceramics. Those ladies were mostly older than grandma. Most of her friends were older than she. I thought they were ancient. Most were probably in their 60's and 70's.
Fridays were egg delivery day--in the mornings. And after delivering eggs, Grandma would get her hair done at Mary's Cut 'N Curl. I liked and hated delivering eggs. At some houses, we'd stop and visit for a while. All OLD people. I can remember the smell of Mrs. Osborns house. Mothballs and something else. Never have placed that smell. Effie's house smelled warm and sunny. Mrs. Butts house was always dark. Ming's house was always messy. We always visited with the Osborns. Sometimes Mr Osborn would give me home made bread and butter. And he always gave me a piece of doublemint gum. We would stay there forever. At times, we'd visit with other ladies, but always the Osborns.
Monday's were often Dr day. Grandma has always been "sick". Always. I hated Dr day. We had to drive 30 miles to Laverne OK. to see Dr Lenz. Your appointment might be at9, but you might see him by noon. Of course, I had to sit and be quiet. I hated going to the Dr. And, of course, we'd always see someone who was related to us or who was from home. So lots of visiting.
But even then, I knew the routine, I knew my grandparents would always be there. They just would. Other people died, but not MY grandparents.
And, now they are dying. Slowly. And I know I need to come to terms with it. Grandma really isn't healthy anymore. Grandpa, once so big, and powerful, is now smaller than I am. It's not supposed to be that way. They aren't supposed to ever leave me.
She's got my Dad with a broken, non-weight bearing leg. She's got my grandparents. One with dementia the other who is physically ailing.
Grandpa had to go see the eye dr. about getting a cataract removed. Grandma, who has dementia, was to stay home, but can't stay at home. And Dad--wouldn't be able to pick her up if she fell, and she's always driven him nuts. So I was the designated babysitter. Mom of course, had to take Grandpa to the Dr.
It's an odd feeling knowing you are babysitting the person who babysat you 30 years ago. It's strange to have to finally admit that Grandma has dementia. It's really hard for me to admit and accept that my grandparents are at the end of their lives. In my mind, they were always going to be there. No doubt about it because, well, they always have been there.
I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. With all 4 grandparents, but more often with these two. They lived 5 miles away while Dad's folks were 20. When Mom worked in Ashland or at the Englewood post office, I went to Grandmas. We had a routine. Mornings were spent feeding the chickens, I played outside with the kittens. We worked in the garden (which I HATED.) We fixed lunch. After lunch, they both took naps in their recliners. I never napped, but HAD to be quiet. So, I usually read a book. Afternoons were filled with different chores, depended on the day. Then Mom would arrive, and we'd go home.
Tuesday afternoons were ceramics day. Several friends of Grandma's came out to work on their ceramics. Those ladies were mostly older than grandma. Most of her friends were older than she. I thought they were ancient. Most were probably in their 60's and 70's.
Fridays were egg delivery day--in the mornings. And after delivering eggs, Grandma would get her hair done at Mary's Cut 'N Curl. I liked and hated delivering eggs. At some houses, we'd stop and visit for a while. All OLD people. I can remember the smell of Mrs. Osborns house. Mothballs and something else. Never have placed that smell. Effie's house smelled warm and sunny. Mrs. Butts house was always dark. Ming's house was always messy. We always visited with the Osborns. Sometimes Mr Osborn would give me home made bread and butter. And he always gave me a piece of doublemint gum. We would stay there forever. At times, we'd visit with other ladies, but always the Osborns.
Monday's were often Dr day. Grandma has always been "sick". Always. I hated Dr day. We had to drive 30 miles to Laverne OK. to see Dr Lenz. Your appointment might be at9, but you might see him by noon. Of course, I had to sit and be quiet. I hated going to the Dr. And, of course, we'd always see someone who was related to us or who was from home. So lots of visiting.
But even then, I knew the routine, I knew my grandparents would always be there. They just would. Other people died, but not MY grandparents.
And, now they are dying. Slowly. And I know I need to come to terms with it. Grandma really isn't healthy anymore. Grandpa, once so big, and powerful, is now smaller than I am. It's not supposed to be that way. They aren't supposed to ever leave me.
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