Archive by Author

Home Front 2

9 Dec

My Take

DiVoran Lites

By Dora as told to DiVoran

WW2 wives of Canon City

Dora is the second person standing far left. The first woman on the left standing at the back is my sister-in-law Geneva from Kentucky. 

During World War Two while our men were overseas, we had to use ration stamps for food. Sugar was scarce and pineapple was totally unavailable. That’s why no matter where my kitchen is I keep a can of pineapple in the cupboard. Whenever I open a new can I serve pineapple and cottage cheese on a lettuce leaf. Delicious…and available!

When we got our army allotment, we stuck $3.00 in the piggy bank for our pleasures for the month. Sunday morning we walked to church and on Sunday afternoon, we walked downtown to the show, which is now called a movie theater 

On summer Sundays we went to the park across from the prison for band concerts by the prisoners. When the “Star-Spangled Banner” began, DiVoran trained Dave in patriotism by snatching him up by the seat of his pants and instructing: “Tand up, Tar Pangle!!” Stand up it’s the Star-Spangled Banner.

In the winter we put on heavy coats and went downtown to see a movie. We didn’t watch what DiVoran called myrtle mysteries because I didn’t want my children to grow up scared by crime stories. As we walked home, Dave’s two-year-old legs got tired so he held his arms up and said, “Me carry you.” He was quite the bundle swathed in his homemade winter jacket. 

Because everything was rationed, Grandmother Marie and I got out the clothes that had been put away in the garage attic and cut them up to make clothes for the children. DiVoran got tired of standing for us to pin up hems so one day she grabbed the neck of the dress I was pinning and tore it all the way to the waist. That fabric had apparently been in the attic a bit too long. She turned and ran up the stairs because she knew from my shocked expression that she was in trouble. 

The children’s feet grew so fast they needed shoes every two months, so Grandmother, Granddad, and Dora limited themselves to one pair of shoes each for the duration of the war in order to have the ration stamps for the children’s’ shoes. 

Ivan wrote to me from basic training in Texas and I wrote back almost every day. Letters home were free for the men. Ivan always wrote FREE in the place where the stamps belonged so everyone would know he wasn’t trying to get away with anything. My stamps cost 3 cents each. It added up. We also had the option of buying War Bonds which were an investment that would someday pay off. 

Most of my friends were women whose men were in the military. There were many rules about sending letters, the most obvious one was to not mention anything that would give the enemy an advantage such as telling where the letters were posted from. Censors made sure by either blocking or cutting out anything they thought spies might use against us. 

Ivan and camera in Germany

I saved Ivan’s letters in the shoebox they sent his clothes home in. By the end of the war, the box was jam-packed full. He, on the other hand, couldn’t save any of my letters because he had no place to put them. He even sent me his small government-issued New Testament with Psalms Bible because he didn’t have any place to carry it. I wore that Bible out. I don’t know what I would have done without it. I knew it was the place to go for comfort. When I was six years old my Grandmother, Florenda Jane Bedell came to visit us in Canon City. She knelt by my bed every night and prayed for me to believe in Jesus and his atonement for my sins. I did that then and He was my savior and hope from then on.

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

My Take on Reclaiming the Lost Art of Biblical Meditation By Robert J. Morgan

2 Dec

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Description: C:\Users\DiVoran\Pictures\My Take Pictures\Thea Porch Rug (2).JPG

Reclaiming the Lost Art of Biblical Meditation by Robert J. Morgan is wonderful as it leads me through the Bible and shows me how to get the most out of pondering, personalizing, and practicing what I read. This morning I started on a down-loadable study guide. After a while,  I took a break to go see if my cat, Thea wanted to come in off the porch. I looked everywhere on the small porch but couldn’t find her. I went into prayer mode.  

Lord, I can’t find my beautiful cat, Thea. I let her out on the porch about six o’clock this morning. I went back later and called to her, but she didn’t come, so I thought she didn’t want to come in. Lord, I can’t find her anywhere. I’ve shaken the treats bag so that she could hear it and be enticed, but she didn’t come. I’ve looked in about every nook and cranny, and she’s nowhere to be found. It’s almost as if someone quietly slipped onto the screened porch and kidnapped her. 

Maybe someone did that with the golden cat that used to greet me and ask to be petted when I took my walk. He has been gone for a couple of weeks now. There’s a man our son’s age who lives up the street who misses the golden cat too. What a sweet and beautiful animal. The thought occurs…perhaps someone is stealing the prettiest cats in the neighborhood to sell.  

Oh, was that a cat I just heard? I put on my hoodie and hurried outside through the porch door. I walked around the house, but saw no cat of any kind. But when I came back in Thea must have heard me because she flashed out of hiding. Apparently, she had been sleeping soundly in a chair pushed under the tablecloth. I didn’t think to look there. When I came in she thought I had some greens for her to chew on so she woke up and came out of her cozy, warm place. I had no greens, but I’ve planted some for her. Thea means a lot to both of us. If she had indeed been gone, I would have missed her terribly. 

As I go back to the verses I am reading, pondering and writing down. I sense that God speaking to me through His word and through the Holy Spirit.  

Beloved, you did well in your scare with Thea’s disappearance.

You eventually started to bring your mind away from anxiety and panic and into my presence.

Just think how quickly Thea appeared when you thanked Me for the situation.

Lord, are you telling me that the manifestation of an answer comes more quickly when we thank you than when we are anxious?

Don’t be pulled in different directions or worried about a thing. Be     saturated in prayer throughout each day, offering faith-filled    requests and sharing the details of your life with me. 

This is the way to peace and peace is the state of mind and heart that brings the answers to prayer.

It’s a process. Learn to make your way through it so that you may live a life that is: 

  • Authentic
  • Real
  • Honorable
  • Admirable
  • Beautiful
  • Respectful
  • Pure
  • Holy
  • Merciful
  • Kind

Philippians 4, Paraphrase, The Passion Translation

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Times

23 Nov

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Animal Parade

18 Nov

My Take

DiVoran Lites

By Dora Bowers as told to DiVoran Lites

Crowley, Colorado 1942-43

Description: Goats, Mom And Child, Kid, Small, Cute, Young, Fur
Pixabay

Around the time that David learned to walk well, we had a Mama goat named Petaluma and a baby goat named Billy. We also had a dog named ginger and a black cat. Sometimes in the afternoon between washing and drying dinner dishes and starting supper, we all walked along beside the irrigation ditch to the factory to see Ivan. For some reason, we always fell into a line, maybe according to whose legs were longest. First came Dode (which was me) then Doo Doo (which was the only way David could say DiVoran’s name) then David who we called Dab because of the letters of his name: David Allen Bowers. 

Description: Dog, Toller, Pet, Retriever
Pixabay
Description: Kitten, Cat, Black Cat, Domestic Cat, Pets, Animal
Pixabay

Then came Billy the little goat. Billy liked to detour, his divided hooves clicking over the glass which covered the new tomato plants. He stepped so daintily, he never cracked a single pane. After Billy-goat came Ginger the Heinz 57 dog with short forays to check out rabbit smells, and then the cat, always alert for field mice. Momma goat, Petaluma never went along and she wouldn’t tell me why. I suspected it was because she wanted some time to herself, or maybe I thought that because I was in tune with mamas needing just that. 

Description: Bantam, Rooster, Chickens, Farm, Domestic
Pixabay

Chanticleer the banty rooster was another member of the family that didn’t go along on the walk. He was a cocky and colorful little character, but he had a bad sense of timing. Day and night trains carrying troops and equipment for the war came down the railroad tracks behind our house. At night, when it was dark, Chanticleer couldn’t tell the difference between light from the streamliner and light from the rising sun. Whenever Chanticleer saw the light, he crowed, even if it was only 3:00 a. m. The noise would wake us and all the hard-working neighbors out of a well-earned night’s sleep. Chanticleer had to go.

He ended up in the pot, but no matter how long we stewed him (and we even served noodles with him) he turned out to be awfully hard to chew and for a while, we lost our taste for chicken. DiVoran’s tears when she guessed what we were trying to eat.

There in Crowley, we had young friends with children the age of ours, so Dave and DiVoran had playmates. We wives cleaned our houses on Friday then raced to see who could get to the other’s house first so their own would not be messed up with the children’s play. 

In 1943, when Dave was two and DiVoran 5, more and more countries became involved with the war. In the United States, some men were being drafted and others volunteered for service. Although deferments were usually given to men with small children; as well as to men who produced and preserved food, Ivan felt he must at least go down to the draft office and see if they needed him. They needed him—even though he worked in a canning factory, had small children and even flat feet. “By that time in the war all they required was a man with warm blood.”

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Japanese Neighbors

11 Nov

My Take

DiVoran Lites

By Dora Bowers as told to DiVoran Lites

Crowley Colorado, 1942

Description: C:\Users\DiVoran\Pictures\Old Family Pictures\Bowers 3 (4).jpg

Circa early 40s Dora, DiVoran, Ivan, and David Bowers

In the time of writers like Lloyd C. Douglas who wrote The Robe, and C. S. Lewis…The Screwtape Letters. WW2 was heating up. Japan bombed Pearl Harbor triggering an outrage of fear so heavy that President Roosevelt decided to send families of over 117,000 Japanese Americans, many of them American citizens, to internment camps in order to pacify the millions of Americans who were afraid that if left free the Japanese would spy for the     enemy. 

Not long before the big, “Amache,” Internment camp was built near Crowley, Colorado where the Bowers family lived,         Japanese people arrived and were housed in section housing. One family moved in next door to the Bowers family on the outskirts of town.

The father was about the same size as Ivan, which was small for a man. He had dark shiny hair and a sweet smile. He always bowed low as he left to go to work (gratis) in the sugarcane field and returned in the evening. For this family bathing together was the highlight of their life. Their bathhouse was practically under our bedroom window. Night after night, I fell asleep to the sound of soft voices and laugher, a pleasant memory from our time in Crowley. 

On the few occasions when our Japanese neighbors visited us, they brought gifts of thoroughly cleaned vegetables from their garden. As they arrived, they removed their thong shoes by the front door. They were good, kind neighbors and in spite of the war between our two countries, we liked them and enjoyed getting to know a few of their traditions. 

If you are squeamish, please don’t read the next two paragraphs. 

Most regular folk in those days kept chickens for their eggs and for the pot. Being chicken people, we were interested in        Japanese methods of preparing them for supper. They selected a chicken, hung it upside down from a branch, and pierced the roof of its mouth so the blood could drain out. They could tell that the chicken’s insides were dry when its feathers turned down. 

Our way was to wring a chicken’s neck or cut its head off with an ax. If the headless chicken got loose, it ran around in circles until it dropped. From such necessities came sayings such as, “I’m so mad, I could wring his neck” and “running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

Once the camps were finished the internees built model   communities with schools, health clinics, and, libraries. We were sorry to hear later that the Japanese families who had lived in camps for three years had been cheated out of their houses, cars, and businesses. Many suffered separation, poverty, and sometimes people just disappeared. It has been considered one of the most atrocious violations of American civil rights in the 20th century. 

The internment camps lasted from 1942-1945 when the   Japanese Americans were finally released to start all over again from scratch and the camps were eventually torn down. 

Dorothea Lange censored photographs.     

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

A New Baby-2

4 Nov

My Take

DiVoran Lites

As told to DiVoran Lites by Dora Bowers 

Canon City, Colorado, 1941

Description: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/11/19/14/28/people-1839564_960_720.jpg

Photo credit Pixabay

It was almost time for my second child to be born. Back then, we didn’t have an ultrasound and so had no idea what gender the child crowding my womb would turn out to be. The doctor checked me out and said the baby seemed to be in a breech position. That was a bad thing, but fortunately, Dr. Perry had delivered hundreds of babies. I was listening to the song, “Chattanooga Choo-Choo,” on the radio when my water broke. It was time to go to the hospital, but because I didn’t want to spend as many hours there as I did with DiVoran’s birth, I put off the trip. Dr. Perry barely had time to turn the child so that he came out feet first. David Allen Bowers was born at St. Thomas Moore Hospital on June 14, 1941, in Canon City, Colorado. Flag Day. 

I remember the first time I kissed our baby’s cheek. His skin felt like silk velvet. It smelled clean and new and was such a wonderful experience that I never forgot it.

For a time my mother Mabel and Ivan’s mother Marie scheduled themselves to help with the two children and the household one at a time. Ivan, tired and dirty from working at the gas plant, had no energy to help. DiVoran, aged three did her part by patting David in his crib and singing to him over and over, “Baby go night-night.”

Just as I prayed he would, David “grew in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man”. (Luke 2:52) 

We four moved to Crowley where Dad got a job at a tomato factory keeping the machinery running. There, we lived in part of a section house with a small yard and a railroad track behind us. We raised chickens and had a nanny goat who had just had her baby too. The milk was good for all three of the kids. 

The house had a front door and a back door, but there were no doors on the inside. We had to go out one door and walk to the back or front of the house and go in the other door. In desperation, Ivan knocked a hole in the wall between our bedroom and the kids’ room so we could reach through to tend to baby David in his crib. Finally, Ivan decided to cut interior doors so we could go from room to room without going outside. That was a relief!

When David was big enough (or so I thought) we swam in the retaining pond near our house. I suspended David from an inner tube by his arms and he hung there kicking his tiny feet and enjoying the cool water. When I looked away for a second his inner tube had upended, and all I could see was his bottom and his feet sticking up. When I rescued him he coughed and spluttered but thank the Good Lord he was fine.

It was my job to feed the tomato harvesters three big meals a day. The oven leaked ashes that peppered the homemade pies, but the men were so hungry they never seemed to notice. The big boss came for his meals when they left for the field or if the workday was over going to their rooms in the section house, or maybe down to the bars if it was payday. 

Knowing it was important for children to have fresh air and sunshine, I put them outside in the small fenced playground their daddy made for them and they played happily in the sandbox and on the low swing. DiVoran was big enough by this time to look after her brother. Whenever a train went by they ran to the fence and waved to the conductor who always waved back from the caboose and sometimes the engineer blew the whistle for them. 

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Marie’s Notes 5

21 Oct

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Marie’s youngest brother, Paul, had a hickory rocking chair made by their great grandfather, William Henry Dulgar who came from England with his parents in the early 1800s. I imagine someone in the family has the rocker yet. It has held many mothers rocking their babies and perhaps a few indulgent papas too.

Paul’s son, Dean, had a portrait of William Henry Dulgar in his judge’s robes. For a long time, it hung above the stairwell but eventually, Dean hid it away in the attic because he didn’t want anyone in the family to take it. The tension broke when Cousin Mary persuaded Dean to let her have it copied so that every family could have their own picture. Dean agreed and peace was restored to the family.

“How blessed you are when you make peace! For then you will be recognized as a true child of God.” Matthew 5:9

I had met Dean when my grandparents took me to Illinois to meet my relatives. He and his small sister were beautiful children, and I enjoyed spending time with them. Many years later I was sad to learn that as a young man, Dean took a short-cut over a frozen lake and the ice broke under him. Nobody was there to keep him from drowning. 

Annie, Paul, and Dean

Another ancestor I met was Great Aunt Mae, Marie’s aunt. I met her many years later when she had moved to her daughter’s house in California. We were in Inglewood where Bill attended Northrup University. After I worked for three years to help pay his tuition, we decided to start a family. He got a daytime job and I got a baby which pleased me no end.

I’m glad I got to know so many generations of my family. Aunt Mae had been born in the late 1800s. She moved to California when she was 57 and lived with her daughter Aldyth and died at 88. Aunt Mae’s other daughter, Irene Hunt wrote the children’s book, Across Five Aprils, (1964) which won four awards including the prestigious Newberry Award. It was made into a movie and is still used in schools to fill in the history of the Civil War. Even though many in the family suggested I meet her, it just didn’t happen. I’m about brave enough to meet her now, but alas, it is too late.

Aunt Mae had lots of time for me. She admired the green and black cotton maternity dress with the black velvet bow I had made for myself. She suggested I keep my kitchen clean by wiping down all the cupboards every day. But I didn’t do it. She taught me how to make a crazy quilt from elegant fabrics such as satin and velvet (her materials.) That included teaching me how to make a feather stitch. We talked about things such as shaving legs and underarms and she said she never had to do either because the heavy homespun of her dresses was so rough they wore off all the hair. When our daughter was born, Aunt Mae was her great, great, great, great Aunt. That tickled me too. 

Also when our daughter was born, Aunt Mae’s brother, Marie’s dad, gave the baby a rubber doggy that squeaked. I held onto to that for a lot of years knowing it was from little Renie’s great-great grandfather. 

Remember, Jasper Dulgar knowing all the property owners in Jasper County Illinois? Well, apparently his daughter who turned out to be Aunt Mae wouldn’t let people ask him about who owned what property after he was 96 because it was making him too nervous. 

I think this is all of Marie’s notes, but I still have a big box of letters and notes to go through, so I’ll see what I find. Thank you for your “Likes.” 

Grandpa Dulgar and DiVoran c 1940 at Marie’s house on Main Street in Canon City, Colorado.

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Hawk Shower

14 Oct

My Take

DiVoran Lites

One of the hawk family 
In our neighborhood
Lights on the edge of a roof
And sits listening while
I talk this and that to him
He reminds me about his family.
His parents courted 
on the campus of our church
They danced in the air.
They landed on the grass.
Two hawks attending church.
Preacher with a sense of humor
Says, “Get a room,” 
But still, they dance in air
And swoop screeching.
Two mocking-birds
Can’t chase them away.
Eggs hatch, birds grow
Booming thunderstorm
Young hawk comes to our
Backyard fence, 
Clings to chain-link
With fierce talons,
Flaps wings. 
Happy in wind and weather
Happy in air.
Good hawk.
Clean hawk. 
 

By DiVoran Lites

Marie’s Note 4

7 Oct

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Marie in White (1883)

Jasper Newton Dulgar (1847-1944) was Marie’s paternal grandfather. He had two wives. Nancy Emeline was his second wife. She had lost her husband and between them, she and Jasper had a family of six children.

When they married they outfitted their kitchen with utensils…mostly made of iron. They bought an iron stove that came with a set of ironstone dishes, an iron stew pot, an iron tea kettle, and a big iron skillet.

They had a pair of black bread-pans that were made of a lighter metal. They were two feet square each. Emeline made two double batches of bread two times a week. If the bread dried out, she tore it up, put it in bowls and poured milk over it for breakfast. If there was a bit of extra bread at the end of the week, she could make bread pudding with milk, eggs, and sugar.

The stove used wood for fuel. Ovens in those days were temperamental but a good cook knew how to make her oven work right. She could have spent up to six hours in the kitchen every day, except Sunday. Most likely she made enough food on Saturday to take to church the next day. It seems that most of the hard-working farmers believed in the Lord Jesus and wanted to be together on that day to learn more about Him plus they needed the rest and the company.

One winter Jasper discovered there were Indians living in dirt caves somehow worn into the bank of a stream. Being so close to “wild” Indians, was a bit scary at first, but they left each other alone. 

Speaking of Indians, my friend, Patricia Franklin in Colorado is of pioneer stock, too. She tells a story that goes like this:

“In the 1800s when my grandfather was a small boy he pulled a kettle of boiling water off the stove and down the front of his body. Since a doctor had never lived in the Wet Mountain or anywhere close, his mother hitched up the horses, put him in the wagon and drove twenty-five miles over rough terrain to an Indian camp where her Indian friends lived. She left him there with them, and several months later, they returned him to his home totally healed except for the scarring of his torso and legs. He would have those throughout his long life. 

Photocredit Pixabay

Now back to Jasper. As Jasper grew old and frail, sons and daughters took over the hard work of the farm while Jasper spent some of his days as an unpaid county clerk. Because he had been there when the area was first settled he was the only person who could remember who lived where and when they lived there. In good weather, he sat out front with his squirrel gun on his lap. In the picture, he has something else on his lap—a birthday cake. I wish I could count the candles, but by this time he was 97 and that was the year in which he died.  

Jasper Newton Dulgar 1844

I was born in ’38 and Jasper was still alive back east, but I never got to meet him. When I was twelve years old, however, my grandmother Marie and grandad Ira took me by car to Illinois and I met many fine relatives, most of them still farmers. When we got there, I slept in a feather bed for the first time in my life. 

Marie 1942 

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Marie’s Notes 3

30 Sep

My Take

DiVoran Lites

My grandmother, Marie Dulgar, remembered the clay pipe her grandmother, Nancy Emmeline Dulgar smoked. It was short and small, the size of a large sewing thimble. The face of an Indian had been engraved on it. She sat in her rocking-chair on the wooden porch smoking and watching the world go by.

She wore four petticoats. Her second one was green and had a long pocket where she carried her tobacco. The boys in the family had enjoyed stealing it when she wasn’t looking, but now they could not get to it. They were flummoxed for a while but easily found other worlds of mischief to get into.

This grandma was the storyteller in the family so the children didn’t want to bother her enough that she wouldn’t tell the stories. 

Marie said that her family had bad tempers. That was the Dulgars. Her husband’s family had bad tempers, too. That was the Bowers family. The Coopers who were ancestors of the Bowers family lived in a sad and gloomy house because Solomon Cooper worked as a coffin maker. In his shed, he made mummy-shaped wooden coffins measured to fit the deceased.

This is a tintype photograph of the Coopers. There was no tin used in these pictures but a lacquered piece of thin metal, usually iron was used. This type of picture was most common between the years of 1860-1890. It’s amazing and thrilling that we have our very own tintype passed down for four generations. The more I see even the oldest pictures taken in America, the more I am convinced that the most primitive takes turned out sharp and clear, even though early on the film was known to burst into flame and burn down theaters.

Coincidently Bill’s and Judy’s grandfather was a coffin-maker/undertaker too. This man once made a beautiful coffee table from a large and valuable piece of wood that fell off a train. He gave it to his daughter, Jessie, and she still had it when I knew her. By then it had become a priceless antique.

William King

Addie King, Agnes Lites, William King, and Billy Lites 

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

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