Tag Archives: Memoir

Crowley, Colorado

23 Mar

My Take

DiVoran Lites

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Dora, Ivan, DiVoran, David at Grandparents Apartment House in Canon City, Colorado

 

When I was five years old my parents took my brother and I and moved to Crowley, Colorado. It was 1943 and WW2 was raging in Europe. At that time they weren’t calling up married men with children, but that would soon change. Dad went to Crowley to keep the canning factory machinery running and mother’s job was to cook a noon meal everyday for the bosses.

We lived in a shotgun house which meant all the rooms were in a row. I recall mother handing me a tomato warm from the sun and a shaker of salt and telling me to go sit on the front step out of the way and eat it. I haven’t had a real tomato since, but that may not be a fair comparison.

Another thing I remember in the food department was the goat milk. We had a Nanny goat and a kid. The kid got all the milk he needed, and our family got the rest. I called my daily portion a milkshake because mother gave it to me warm, fresh, and foaming from the goat. I sat on the front step to drink that, too.

Sometimes, mother wanted to walk down to the factory to say hello to dad. When that happened, she had her own entourage. We all went in a line. Mother and brother, David, then DiVoran, Nanny Goat, and Billy the kid. The baby goat walked on the panes of glass covering the tomato plants to keep them warm and never broke one. The proud and beautiful rooster, Chanticleer took his place at the end of the line.

At night, Daddy came home tired. He recline on the couch and I sat on its arm next to his head and ran my hands through his crisp and curly dark hair.

One day we got the news that Daddy had to go fight Hitler in the war. Mother and the children would go back to Canon City and live with the grandparents. The day we left Crowley, we were all packed up, but we took time for our noontime dinner before we left. It was chicken and noodles, which was one of my favorite meals. Suddenly I got suspicious … where did the chicken come from. Did it happen to have anything to do with Chanticleer? It did. I lost my appetite and thus begun the battle of the meat between my father and I. It got much worse after I saw the movie, “Bambi,” and dad started hunting after the war.

During the last nine months of the war while Daddy was gone, Mother, David and I lived upstairs in our own apartment at Grandmother and Grandad’s house. Granddad worked as a guard at the Colorado State Penitentiary and Grandmother had her own beauty salon there in the downstairs of the house with a separate entrance. Mother and Grandmother had many altercations over everything that comprised our daily lives. I was a diligent messenger between them never realizing how I was stirring things up.

For one thing, Grandmother was determined to keep Mother busy so she wouldn’t get sad missing her husband. Because fabric was vitually unavailable and David and I were growing children, our female guardians took all the clothes stored in the attic and made them into dresses, coats, pants, and shirts for us kids.

One time I got so tired of standing for fittings that I grabbed the unfinished neck of a dress and ripped it right down the middle. Apparently, that particular material was a bit older than they had realized. But my rebellion didn’t do me any good. The next day, we were back to making clothes again. I was probably the best dressed and best coifed child in first grade that year.

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Even though Daddy was far away he was still a big part of all our lives as the war lumbered on toward its conclusion. I have his letters from that time that tell how much he missed us. What a wonderful legacy that is.

 Mark 13:7

 

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Treasures

22 Feb

SUNDAY MEMORIES

Judy Wills

JUDY

I’ve found many “treasures” in my lifetime. The times in my life that I write about are, indeed, treasures to me. Such wonderful memories they are. But I have some “earthly” treasures, as well. I’ve collected things throughout my life, and they usually have great meaning to me. I remember when my Aunt Jessie bought me my first pitcher – and it started a collection with me. Most of the “pitchers” I have are actually creamers. She took me another time to Juarez, Mexico, and we purchased another pitcher.

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I have a pitcher that is purported to be from my grandmother – and the only thing I have from her. Remember, she had 13 children, and my family lived far away from her, so we didn’t get very much of hers following her death. 3 I have a cow pitcher that my mother filled with milk and we poured it over our cereal. 4 (I’ve actually lost that one, but my brother found another one and I have this one to remind me. Here is a picture of the original in our dining room window) 5 I also have a small pitcher that was used on the “family-style” table at our Glorieta Baptist Convention Center in Glorieta, New Mexico. They were filled with cream or milk, and several were on each table for the coffee users. 6 I have another “cow” pitcher that was for the same use. 7 I have a set of pitchers that Aunt Jessie picked up in Pennsylvania one time. 8 Yes, they are dust-collectors as well, but they remind me of good times in my life. But I have other “treasures” as well. I had heard of Hummel figurines most of my life, but it wasn’t until we moved to Germany that they came to mean something to me. In downtown Wiesbaden, there was a most unique store. Here is a picture of the storefront. It is one huge cuckoo clock! 9 But they had wonderful Hummel figurines there. Fred’s mother purchased one, and, since her death, I have it. It is a treasure.10One of the most fun treasures I have is a German nutcracker. Most of the nutcrackers you find have a smooth, rounded block of painted wood for the face.   12

 

Really gives character to him. We have him sitting where we can see him every time we sit down to eat. I know we are to “lay up treasures in heaven,” but these earthly ones give joy to our earthly life and times. When heaven comes my way, I won’t need them anymore – I’ll have the daily worship of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. And I am so grateful for that assurance of salvation. I am blest beyond measure.

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The Chest Cold Remedy

8 Feb

SUNDAY MEMORIES

Judy Wills

JUDY

When you get a cold these days (hopefully seldom, and just a mild one), when you search for the best pill or concoction to shake it out of your system…..how in the world do you choose? There seems to be hundreds out there to choose from. Just google it, and you will see.

And yet, I can remember my Mother’s remedy for a chest cold, as clear as yesterday. You see, we had this little space heater in our bathroom that was built into one wall.

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Sounds like a disconnect already, doesn’t it? Well, hang on……..it’s coming. She would have me sit on the edge of the bathtub, and she would rub Bengay® all over my chest.

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Then she would take a dry washcloth and hold it in front of that little space heater until it was nearly hot, then she would have me hold it over my chest while she was heating another wash cloth. That went on – back and forth between two cloths – until she felt she had done enough. Then I was sent to bed.

I don’t remember any cold medication, although there was probably something. Perhaps nothing more than hot tea with lemon and/or honey to help with the sore throat and the cough.

But I’m always sent back to that memory and Mother’s remedy when I smell Bengay™ or anything like it. It is such a sweet memory of a simpler time and loving care my Mother took with me when I was ailing.

I also don’t remember too many other houses that had that kind of in-the-wall space heater. Perhaps it was indicative of the time those houses were built. Fred and I did have one in the bathroom in our first apartment, but that apartment, too was built in the 1950’s or so. I think now in our modern homes, there is a “heat lamp” light fixture that warms the room. Such a loss.

But what a warm, loving memory that is for me.

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My Second Business

18 Nov

Leon is a new contributor to Old Things R New. Last Wednesday he suffered a serious stoke. Please keep him in your prayers.

My Second Business

 Leon Holecheck

 

When I was 9 years old, my dad gave me 50 cents to mow the front and back lawns.  That was a lot of work and a lot of money. When the lady who lived down the street found out I mowed lawns, she offered me 50 cents to mow her front lawn. I used her lawn mower and  it was in good shape and had been well lubricated. It took me most of that Saturday morning and afternoon to finish the job, because it was a big lawn. It was summer time and I sweated a lot and drank a lot of water. It was a huge relief to sit down on the lawn in the shade and rest from time to time. She required me to trim the edges of the lawn along the curb and on both sides of the sidewalks. I had to do all that edging on my hands and knees. She was happy with my work, and when she paid me, she told me she would pay me another 25 cents to mow the backyard. She wanted me to come back every Saturday.

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Another lady further down the street offered me one dollar to mow her lawn. Then another lady offered me a dollar and fifty cents to mow her lawn. My last mowing job paid me the most, but it was the hardest. The lady paid me three dollars to mow her lawn. The lawn mower was very old and nobody had ever lubricated it. The blades would barely turn and it was very hard to push. I only mowed lawns, during the summers, because in 1949 I got a job working at a filling station, which was close to my house, on Saturdays for thirty five cents an hour. I worked at the filling station job for a little over a year before I started thinking about joining the circus. But, that’s another story for another time.

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—–The End—–

 

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