Tag Archives: Family Life

A Florida Christmas

30 Dec

My Take

DiVoran Lites

According to legend the explorer Ponce de Leon discovered the Fountain of Youth as a spring near what is now DeLand, Florida. Each day a million gallons of water surge from deep caverns, fill the pool and make a wide stream that runs into the St. Johns River. DeLeon believed that if you swam in the spring you would live forever. It may be true, although DeLeon only lived to age 45, Bill and I are still kickin’ and my mother, who swam in it when she was eighty lived to be ninety. She took great joy in believing, even though she didn’t particularly want to live forever, which is probably wise. 

I’m so fond of that place that I decided to use it for the setting of my first novel, “Sacred Spring.” It is a place which is full of history.

This year we decided to go to the Old Mill Pancake house for our special Christmas. We customers sit at long tables. Each table has a griddle in the middle upon which to cook pancakes and eggs. The waitress brings crisp bacon and savory sausage. It’s hard to choose from the half dozen syrups. Everything tastes as delicious as ever. 

We have six members of the immediate family and sorely miss the other two of our immediate family of eight. We talk and laugh about things that had happened over the decades and told family stories that our 27-year-old grandson has never heard. He and his uncle had a brief discussion about computers since both are involved in them at work. Too soon we feel we should give up our table for the many people who are crowding in at the door. 

What should we do now? Our son’s choice is a four-mile hike. That will be puny for him and overwhelming for me. Fortunately, it is still cold and a light rain falls.  Outside, we stand under an eave and talk about trying to find a place where we can sit and talk…maybe a mall with tables somewhere. We couldn’t come up with anything so we get in our cars and head south. We are an hour and fifteen minutes away from our home and a bit more for our daughter and her husband. Our son’s house is half an hour from where we were. As we tootle along I have a serendipitous thought. Why not go there? I call him and he says, “Yes, do come to my house.” I call the car behind us, and our daughter said they could come too. 

When we walk in it is sad to realize once again that those two are not with us as they have been for so many years. Somebody wants coffee and the coffee choices appear. Some want hot chocolate which is hard to find ingredients for. Finally, they appear tiny-mini chocolate chips, milk, cardamom and cinnamon and leftover syrup from Cracker-Barrel. I tend the increasingly chocolate milk spoon a sample and sigh. Just right! 

Our host asks if we’d like to have a fire in the fire-place…lovely thing for a sharp-aired, rainy day. The flicker of the fire and the smell of the burning wood remind us of camping trips of old. The ancient red dog of our grandchildren’s childhood follows us wherever we go. No-one turns on a TV or sits down to hide behind their phones. The daughter fiddles with getting the best picture with the finest background possible.

And now it is time to call the away ones…our grand-daughter and her mother who complete our circle. Both work currently in what to us are far away places. Son made the conference call and all eight of us had time together as we have for so many years. It was wonderful to talk with them. Finally, it was time to get in our cars and head on down south.

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

28 Oct

My Take

DiVoran Lites

As told to DiVoran Lites by Her Mother, Dora Bowers

In May 1939, my father, Roger Bedell, died in our home town of Canon City, Colorado. Since Ivan, and I; and our baby DiVoran were living in Lovelock, Nevada, we headed home in our 1921 coup for the funeral. Because our trip took place on Decoration Day, every cemetery we passed had bouquets of flowers on the graves. I saw them through tears, knowing I would not see my Dad again this side of heaven.

Description: Flower, Peony, Blossom, Bloom, Plant, Nature, Flora

Photo credit Pixabay

Once home in Canon I dug in and didn’t want to leave, so Ivan drove back to Lovelock and packed up. Back in Canon City, he got a job with the gas company, where my Dad had worked.

In time with a loan of $100.00 from my grandmother Dora Bell Hunter, we were able to buy a house on River Street. The house cost $900.00 and our payments were $20.00 a month.

Description: Chicken, Hens, Pullet

Photo credit Pixabay

In those days, part of our income came from Ivan’s job and part of the old cars he fixed up and sold for $35.00 or so. We had a boarder and that helped. Also we raised chickens. We had many fusses about the chickens. I thought I knew more about taking care of poultry because I was raised on the farm. He thought he knew more because he’d helped his parents with the chickens in a pen out back of their apartment house on Greenwood Avenue.

Of course, our fusses were nothing compared with the big fight the whole world had fallen into in Europe. Before he died, my Dad said there would be another war. In December 1941, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and the United States declared war. 

About that time, I kind of figured I was pregnant so I went to the doctor and he took a sample of my water then had the lab inject it into a young female mouse or rabbit. If her ovaries were enlarged that meant you were expecting. 

Those were turbulent times for all of us: but I was pleased to be adding to the small family I loved. Since we already had a girl, we prayed for the baby to be a boy.

In June it was hot and I was big. Everyone told me I was carrying a boy because my stomach stuck way out rather than filling in around me as stomachs were believed to do with girls.

I must have looked pretty pitiful, because when the man came to collect the last installment on the pots and pans he’d sold us, I told him I couldn’t pay him. I needed the last $3.00 for a magazine subscription I’d ordered. He took one look at my condition and then, to my surprise and delight, gave me a “paid” receipt and left. 

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.”

Writing

22 Apr

My Take
DiVoran Lites

As I was growing up, I didn’t realize that my mother, Dora, was a journal keeper. Now that I am older I appreciate her stories and cherish her handwriting more than ever. She wrote about her ordinary life if there is such a thing. Lately, I’ve been posting some of Mother’s stories on Old Things R New. I’m grateful for the opportunity to share something so close to my heart.


Dora didn’t write much growing up, but she paid attention to everything. When I was born she filled a baby-book hand-made by an inmate at the penitentiary where my grandfather worked. Though the book is primitive, you can see that the convict who made it took time to do a good job. I have wondered if perhaps he had a little girl, too.

Dora wrote more after she retired. She also assembled a family history for my brother and me and sent along a few ancestor stories to go with the names and dates. I’m not really into genealogy, but I have enjoyed referring to the wheel now and then over the years. I see now that it needs refurbishing.

When we were small Mother told us stories. She could ask us to give her three words and then make up a tale from them. Some of them were probably about our beloved dog, Brownie.

Mother was a good role model. When I was twelve, she started a Girl Scout troupe. She also bought me a Girl Scout diary and I filled it with youthful chatter. When I was in high-school I got a red one and wrote about my boyfriends and girlfriends.. After I married Bill, I received a white one and filled it with a young wife and mother’s observances.
When Bill and I moved to Titusville with our children, we began to understand the Bible better and to form a deeper relationship with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Both our pastor, Peter Lord and his wife Johnny Lord taught us ways to know God for ourselves and brought in wonderful guest speakers to enhance their teaching.

One of the things Peter Lord suggested was that we write letters to God. I could handle that. After all, Mother and I had been writing to each other since I left home eight years earlier. For over forty years, letters flew between California and Florida with real visits in between. That’s about 4,000 letters crossing in the mail. I enjoyed that, and because I did, I started writing to God too.

To be Continued

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 Thanksgiving Letter

24 Nov

On the Porch

Onisha Ellis

 I am writing this as a letter because, I think of our readers as friends. You come and let us share our lives with you and share yours in return. That is what friends do. I am beyond thankful for the friends who faithfully blog here each week, DiVoran, Bill, Louise, Judy, Melody and Janet. They inspire me with their commitment and wisdom. I love you guys!

Dear friends,

It is funny how circumstances change our thankful list. Usually on Thanksgiving our  list is for family, health ,friends, and of course, our Savior.  This year, we woke up to wet grass and the wonderful rain is at the top of our list.

Our beautiful North Carolina, Georgia and Tennessee mountains that are part of the forest service lands, have been viciously attacked by arsonist and thousands of acres  are affected.  I pray it was enough to give our firefighters and those from across the country who came to help, a rest this Thanksgiving day.

This morning, I pulled out old favorites as well as new cookbooks to get our meal started. One of my “must have” books is an old one from Ebenezer United Methodist Church in Raleigh, NC. It has been a part of our Thanksgiving meal for years. They have put out newer ones, but I love the old version. This year, I have added a new favorite, Janet’s Appalachian Cookbooks. Rebekah mixed up the School House Rolls recipe and I can’t wait to sink my teeth in their yeasty goodness. Of course, I had to go to the internet to find a recipe so we have a beautiful blending of old with new. Our turkey is in the roaster and the oven is almost ready for the side dishes. It has been a joy working side by side in the kitchen with my daughter. We each have our quirks when it comes to cooking and how we do things, but we can laugh about them and it adds to the fun.

I won’t pretend that my heart does not have a tender spot, missing the large family meals with my parents, brothers and their families. We don’t have any children’s voices laughing and arguing or the camaraderie of a bunch of women in the kitchen. I miss it but I am so blessed to have had that time. I hope wherever you gathered today, that you treasured the moments and you loved richly.

Talk to you later, the oven is ready!

Love,

Onisha

philippians-48

UPDATE: One of our favorite places in Macon county is Wayah Bald, with it’s rustic fire tower and breathtaking views. It is also a favorite rest stop for hikers on the   Appalachian Trail. I read on Facebook tonight that one of the forest fires burned the tower. I can’t conceive of the anger a heart must hold to destroy so much beauty. I fear the damage to the stone structure might be too damaged to repair. I am thankful for the memories we made there and hopeful it will be restored.

God Has Been Watching Over Me~Part 3

23 Nov

From the Heart

Bill Lites

 

Sometime during my last year in high school, my friend Leon invited me and two other guys to make a weekend trip to El Paso, Texas to visit another of his friends and check out Juarez, Mexico just across the border. Leon had a job, so we left late Friday after he got off work (poor planning on our part). We were having a great time on the road south until it got dark, and we discovered it had rained heavily somewhere north of our route and now we had to cross a water-filled arroyo.

 

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It didn’t look too deep and didn’t seem to be running too fast (bad assumption anytime, but especially at night). As you have probably guessed, we got about halfway across that arroyo, but Leon didn’t keep the engine revving and the water went up the tailpipe and stalled the engine. Of course, the water was deeper than it had looked. There we were, stalled, with water piling up to the bottom of the window on my side of the car, and water starting to leak into the car. Leon was trying to start the car but it wouldn’t re-start. Then this guy tried coming across the arroyo from the other direction. Just as he got to us, the water his car was pushing moved Leon’s car sideways just enough for him to side-swipe Leon’s car as he passed (not bad with the water cushion between the cars). The guy kept on going in order to keep from getting stalled like we were.

 

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Then a semi-truck started across from the other side toward us. His truck was high enough and heavy enough to get through, but his huge bumper was pushing a wall of water in front of him. That wave of water rolled right over Leon’s car as the truck passed us. If we hadn’t had the windows rolled up, the water would have filled the car. All this time Leon was trying to re-start the engine. He finally got it started (a real miracle) and I hollered at him to keep it in first gear until we were clear of the water. We made it! (I think God must have His hands full when it comes to teenagers). We had fun in El Paso and in Juarez and by the time we headed back to Albuquerque there was no water to be seen anywhere for that 265 mile stretch of New Mexico desert.

 

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The summer after I graduated from high school, I was ready to go out and meet the world head-on and make my fortune in life. I had heard from friends that the pay was really good for “Roughnecks” at the oil fields in northern New Mexico (Can you just imagine a smooth faced 18-year old skinny kid, 120 lbs. soaking wet, trying to keep up with experienced workers on a job like this.

 

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After much begging, pleading and promising to be careful, I somehow I talked my parents into letting me go try my luck at that kind of work there for the summer.   I packed a suitcase full of clothes, strapped it to my trusty Harley Davidson and headed for Farmington, New Mexico, some 185 miles north of Albuquerque on US-580.* One day during my adventure there in Farmington (You’ll have to read the blog for the gory details of that summer adventure) I was riding down the road and came to a curve that wasn’t really sharp enough to slow down for, so I just leaned into the curve like any other. What I didn’t see was the light film of sand right across the middle of my lane.   Halfway through the turn, the rear wheel lost traction and I went down. My Harley and I went sliding down the road for several yards, and across the double line into the oncoming lane.   This was another case of no cars anywhere on the road at the time of the incident. Thank you Lord!

*See Bill’s blog “On My Own”- 8/15/2012.

 

—–To Be Continued—–

 

Man-Angels Part 1

31 Oct

My Take

DiVoran Lites

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I would like to present a new word, unless somebody already has come up with it. The word is man-angels. It means earthly angels who happen to be men of the human race. Now, I imagine there could be all kinds of theological discussions over this. I wonder if God’s angels from Heaven have any similarity to us, but let’s imagine they do.

The name came to me during the recent hurricane which, strangely, had the same name as a book in the Bible: Matthew. The media announced that a terrible storm was on its way. Everyone took it seriously. In the fifty years we’ve lived in Brevard County, we have never known such destruction as was predicted for the night of October 6, 2016. We were given a mental picture of a blitzed and destroyed land.

Because my husband was away at the time, I became a woman alone. Might I say elderly woman alone. Bill knew he had made our house safe enough for 150 mile an hour winds, and frankly neither of us was worried about it except for one thing: I knew I would be scared in the house alone when the big one struck in the middle of the night. Our daughter hoped I wouldn’t be so frightened that I would get sick. Our son reckoned I could get hurt, especially if rain got under the shingles and the roof lifted off, a very real danger with hurricanes.

Our daughter was at home with her husband, looking after a family member who has dementia. She called her brother and asked if he could drive to Titusville from Orange City and put up the shutters. He asked his grown son to meet him here. They came at night because the next day, they were both expected to work, at least from home. The put up the shutters in the dark Wednesday night. They were soaking wet from the humidity even though it wasn’t raining yet. Fortunately we had repellant for the hungry mosquitoes and flashlights to see by. We also had light-weight, clear, shutters. They left here close to midnight for their respective homes an hour away. Man-angels.

I really did plan to stay. I’d be with my two cats and we’d get through it. Besides, I most definitely did not want to pack a suitcase. On Wednesday our daughter texted that she thought it would be good for me to go ahead to Orange City because the threats were dire. Then our son called and asked me again to come.

Then he set up a group text. Dad, Mom daughter, son, and son’s wife. We started texting like crazy. My husband who was in Ohio, was needed for lots of advice about where things were and what actions he had set up in case of such a storm. It was family communication par excellence! We even laughed a bit. Our daughter came to the house and helped me prepare for the storm.

After the warnings became even more threatening, our daughter and son each called me and insisted it would be better to go to Orange City for the duration of the storm. They answered all my objections calmly and reasonably. No one became impatient. They are negotiators and diplomats. I heard their concerns and decided to go. Our daughter offered to drive me and our daughter-in-law offered to come and get me, an hour each way for either of them. A mom loves to be so looked after and I was no exception.

To Be Continued

 

 

 

Dad:Worst Enemy, Best Friend~Part 4

27 Jun

My Take 

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and ArtistFunny how many times I could have lost my dad, but didn’t. He was always there for me, and I had the deep security of knowing he always would be. I took him so much for granted, though, that I didn’t realize until much later that his caring for me in the ways that he did were the foundation for my trusting God.

Dad and I went more rounds over the years. We moved to Los Alamos where he became a courier for the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC).

Then we moved to Albuquerque so he and Mom could continue to work for the government. Dad still traveled.

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I ran away to get married, but Dad called the florist in faraway CA, to order an orchid for my bridal bouquet. He wasn’t able to attend because of the job.

We moved to Florida for Bill’s job at Kennedy Space Center. Mom and Dad never failed to visit us once a year, and we also joined them on their fishing vacations at Salton Sea (now defunct).* After Salton Sea came Marrowstone Island in Puget sound, then Sapinero-Blue Mesa Reservoir in Colorado. The vacations were memorable, but I’m afraid I didn’t appreciate them as much then as I do in retrospect. The living was rough, fishing was all, but Mom the kids and I could always go to town (except at Salton Sea which was out in the desert by itself.) And once we did some old-fashioned clamming. That was great fun!

All those vacations were good for getting to know each other, especially the children. I’ll always be grateful that Mom and Dad went to that much effort to stay in touch.

When we first arrived in Florida, the woods that border our home seemed scary and exotic. I’d heard so much about snakes and insects I didn’t want to go out there.

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When Dad came, though, he wasn’t daunted. He started walking every day. Our dog and I soon joined him and we learned the way. We’ve been walking the trails in those woods ever since, first with our kids and dogs then with our grandkids. It is a chief enjoyment in life.

Mother always told me to have plenty of things for Dad to repair when they came so he wouldn’t get bored. The year we had no TV he threatened never to come back again, but we got one and he did. One job dad did was to put up a jar opener under a cupboard for us. He was having a lot of trouble with carpal-tunnel syndrome by then. I use that gripper now because I need it sometimes. I wonder, if he realized what a favor he had done for us by installing it.

With maturity, my grievances have melted away. I’ve realized that I deeply loved my Dad in spite of our lifelong battles. The first time I went to visit when he was in the nursing home unable to do anything for himself we both broke into tears. Dad was aware enough to ask, “Is this who I think it is?” Later, I sat alone with him and held his wrist in my hand so I could feel his pulse because I didn’t know how to talk to him as others seemed to do.

This year, on Memorial Day Sunday our pastor asked people to call out the names of their kin who had died in wars. At first there were only a few and then it became a chorus of jumbled names. I felt sad knowing how difficult it is to lose any member of your family. But I also had a halleluiah feeling that I did get to know my Dad for the rest of his life after he came home from WW2. He carried signs of what we now call PTSD. I believe that most families whose parents have been in the military during wartime do. Thanks Dad, for coming back and living a long life in which I got to know you and your true value.

DiVoran and Dad with coats

 

Read more about Salton Sea by clicking HERE

 

 

 

 

Family Treasures~Part 2

12 Jun

SUNDAY MEMORIES

Judy Wills

JUDY

 

As I mentioned last week, sometimes, the things you grow up with, just don’t seem like anything special.   They are just “there”….part of the woodwork. I’ve found that, not until I got older – and left my girlhood home – did those “things” become important to me.

My mother and father lived in the house I grew up in for many years following my marriage. Fred and I moved to Fort Worth, Texas, for him to attend Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. Following that, we went to San Jose, California for one year for Fred to study meteorology at San Jose State College, to prepare him for his meteorologist career in the U.S. Air Force. During that year, my father died.

Mother continued to live in my growing-up house. About five years after my father’s death, mother remarried. We saw them only one time in that house before they sold it and moved into an apartment. Many of the things I grew up around, were put in storage in my step-father’s sister’s garage. While on a visit one time, mother asked if we had the chalk pictures – which I didn’t. Apparently they were put in that storage. I would love to have them now, but they are gone – no one knows where.

Again, they were just part of the “decoration” of the house where I grew up. I always thought they were neat and cute, but they didn’t have any “hold” on me at that time. I don’t remember who did the chalk drawings, but one was of my brother at about two years of age, and the one of me was at about two years of age, also. They were in colored chalk, and really cute.

Here are a couple of pictures of Bill and myself beside our respective chalk pictures. Unfortunately, these pictures were in black-and-white, so you can’t really see the colors.

However, here is another one that had the pictures in color. Mother and dad had purchased a new couch, and mother had made a new picture arrangement above it.

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And here’s another one, taken in 1966, Christmas, that shows those pictures a bit closer, and in color.

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These are a family treasure to me, even if they aren’t in our possession. Something to remember and enjoy the memory.

 

 

 

 

Family Treasures~Part 1

5 Jun

 

SUNDAY MEMORIES

Judy Wills

JUDY

 

 Sometimes, the things you grow up with, just don’t seem like anything special.   They are just “there”….part of the woodwork. I’ve found that, not until I got older – and left my girlhood home – did those “things” become important to me. When my Aunt Jessie died, we had an estate auction – at her house. The auctioneer said that, with all the antiques she had, her house was the perfect setting for the auction. They sold everything “down to the carpet.”

Of course, there were some things that each of us wanted that was hers. I took some things that were special to me, as did my brother and my mother.

But when my mother died, my brother and I took things of mothers that she had taken to the apartment where she and my step-father lived. Not a whole lot was left of my girlhood home, but we did get a few things. Some things have ended up in our daughters houses, as well as with our niece and nephew.

There were a couple of mirrors that I especially wanted to keepsake, and I’m glad I did. Growing up, there was a gilt-edged mirror over the mantel of our living room fireplace. Of course, to a child, it seemed huge! Here are a couple of pictures of that particular mirror.

 

Since Fred and I didn’t really need a mirror that size, our oldest daughter said she would like to have it. That was a joy to me, that she would want something that was a part of my family history – a family treasure. I am reminded of my childhood home every time I see that mirror.

And so, Karen and her husband acquired that mirror and it now hangs above the mantel over their living room fireplace. Here is a picture of that mirror in its new home.

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Brian (son-in-law) had always enjoyed the mirror, but had no idea of its significance to our family. As we were discussing it with him one day, I mentioned that it had been in my girlhood home until mother and my step-father sold the house and moved into an apartment. His reaction was priceless! “It wasn’t just some mirror you found to give to us?” No, it was in my family from the time I could remember until you acquired it. He said that it meant a great deal more to him, now that he knew that particular mirror had family history to it. I think he enjoys it more now, because of that family treasure.

There is another mirror that is a treasure of mine. This is a mirror that was in my bedroom as I was growing up. I always enjoyed the fact that the outer “rim” was small pieces of mirror – mirror tiles. It was so pretty. Unfortunately, by the time that mirror made its way with us around the country and world, a lot of those little mirror tiles had broken off and were lost. So I had more mirrors replaced, but just a solid piece of glass instead. It’s still pretty – and it still hangs in our guest room – but I miss the uniqueness of those little mirror tiles. However, it’s still a great reminder to me of my childhood – and it’s still a part of my current life. I like that.

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