Tag Archives: Memories of childhood

Mother’s Family-Marie Part 1

2 Sep

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Noah, Marie, and Amy Dulgar

My grandmother, Marie (Dulgar) Bowers was born and raised in Jasper County Illinois. When she was twenty-one she married Ira John Bowers, a farmer’s son. They had two boys and continued to live in Illinois until the eldest was five and the youngest two years old. Marie knew a great deal about rearing children because her mother and father had produced ten of them, and Marie was the eldest of them all. 

The family move, “Heading West,” is described here.

After the death of her mother, Marie and Ira reared Marie’s youngest sister, Helen, and the youngest brother, Paul along with Ivan and Lowell, their own boys. That gave Marie two five-year-olds and two, two year-olds. Eventually Noah took his two and headed back for Illinois. I think it was to spare Marie and because the other grown-up brothers and sisters would be able to help with the children. I wish I could talk to them all now and get the details. Thank heaven Dora and Marie both told me family stories for all the years we were together. 

I’ve always loved one story Marie told about getting herself and the four children ready for church. Of course, they would have had their tin washtub baths in the kitchen the night before. All that was left in the morning was to dress them, brush their hair, and keep all four clean until they could get in the car and go to church. Marie was a good thinker and planner so she came up with the idea of setting the children on the floor with a bedpost holding them down by their clothes.

After going to school in Pueblo, Ira and Marie opened a beauty and barbershop in this house on Main Street. Later they bought a Victorian house to live in. They divided the upstairs into apartments and arranged a back room as a beauty shop with its own entrance.

Once the women’s block, now the prison museum. 

Ira went to work as a guard in the Colorado State Penitentiary. Marie once told me that the families of the prisoners were always polite to the guards they met in the town because they wanted to make sure theirfamily members were well treated. The penitentiary had the first electric chair in Colorado and also had a horizontal whipping post the men were forced to bend over for punishment. If you ever go through Canon City on vacation. You can stop in and see these items of death and torture. 

Marie and Ira Bowers married 63 years

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.”


God Has Been Watching Over Me~Part 1

9 Nov

A Slice of Life

 Bill Lites

It’s hard for me to remember just how God watched over me during my early years (1-5) but I know He did. I do remember playing with Patsy in the back yard of my home in Dallas, Texas sometime before I was five years old. (See Bill’s blog “The Little Girl Down The Street”). As part of our play time, we made and ate mud pies. Now I know that we both could have gotten really sick on that diet, but God had to be watching over us during that time.



Our house in Dallas was on a corner lot, adjacent to a main thoroughfare, and I lost my toy Parachute Man when a gust of wind caught him and he drifted into the path of a car on that street (See Bill’s blog “Parachute Man”). I had been told not to go into that street for any reason, but as a six year old little boy, it took Someone bigger than I was to keep me from chasing after my Parachute Man, into the path of that car (He must have had His hand on my shoulder).




During a summer retreat with my family at the Alta Frio Baptist Camp in Texas when I was six, I was bit by a Cotton Mouth Moccasin (See Bill’s blog “Snake Bit”). My dad and mother witnessed the incident as I ran ahead of them into the shallow water at the edge of the Frio River, where we were going to swim. God protected both my dad and me that day. My dad had been in the medical corps during WW I, and he immediately applied a tourniquet around my leg, scooped me up and quickly carried me back to our cabin. There he made small slice marks in my leg, with a razor blade at the fang marks, and sucked the blood and venom from the wound, before taking me to the doctor’s office (on gravel roads at least 10 miles away in a friends old Model A truck). With his teeth full of fillings, that harmful venom could have entered his system and, at the least, made him sick (was my dad’s medical training just an accident?).




When I was around 15 several guys my age followed an older boy on adventure to explore an abandoned mine in the mountains near our home in Albuquerque, New Mexico (See Bill’s blog “Hole In The Ground”).   That old mine shaft had never been shored up with bracing of any kind. There was one short section of the tunnel that had caved in at some time in the past, and even though it had been partially cleared, we still had to actually crawl through that section that we skinny boys could barely squeeze through. If that section, or another section, had caved in while we were at the bottom of the shaft, the chances are we all could have died before anyone found us.




One day the next year I was driving down the street on my motorcycle, in front of the local Junior High School, and happened to see my sister with her friends walking home. I hollered at them and waved as I passed them (See Bill’s blog “Keep Your Eyes On The Road”-). When I looked back at the road there was the bed of a dump-truck, stopped, in the middle of the road (no flagman, orange cones or warning signs of any kind) with men making repairs, just in front of me! Without thinking, I just reacted, throwing the motorcycle almost to the ground, cleared the edge of the truck bed, slapped my left foot on the ground, pushing the motorcycle upright again. All this happened in a split second at 25 miles per hour. There is no way I could have looked up in time and reacted that fast without His help!



—–To Be Continued—–

The Shelf Roads

15 Feb

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Author, Poet and Artist

My friend, Patricia has been commenting on the serial I’m running on Rebekah Lyn Book. It’s called Go West and I asked her particularly to comment because we have a shared childhood from 1945 to 1951. If anyone could keep me straight, or answer questions, it would be Patricia. Those were wonderful childhood years. She has done a bang-up job.

At that time of life most kids are interested in everything. Patricia and I were avid learners so we got a lot out of school. Patricia’s family had been in the valley from the time they first came to America. Her mother’s family was German and her dad came from Canada and was of French ancestry. She has some good tales to tell about them.

My parents moved to the small town right after dad came home from WWII. He bought the restaurant on the G. I. Bill. We lived in a railroad worker’s duplex, but before we moved away, Dad bought the old train depot and remodeled it into an apartment house. The railroad was defunct, but some of their buildings still stood.

Because I had the Go West characters in a shelf road situation for the last episode, Patricia remembered some shelf-road situations she’d been in herself. Here’s what she said:

The shelf road was very scary and reminded me of a couple of trails that I know!Remember the Dieckman girls?  Or did they just come to school during high school?  I’m not sure.  Anyway, I used to go horseback riding out on their ranch and along some of the mountain trails with them.  They kept wanting to ride up along Phantom Terrace, which we never did, although they had ridden it many times.  Just the name scared me. They said that horses are very surefooted and it would be perfectly safe.  I’m glad we never went, as I would probably have fallen off just looking over the cliff.

Shelf Roads OTRN


I wrote back and told her I did remember one of the Dieckman girls who came to our school after classes moved to the other small mining town a mile away. The school had about five rooms and you had to go through one to get to the other. It was unpainted wood. We had no bathrooms, only outhouses, but that was no problem, we’d had outhouses at the two room schoolhouse where we’d gone before.

It’s wonderful to have a friend from such a long time ago. Both sets of parents are gone. I still have one brother and she still has all five of hers. We’ve moved on to other locations, other lives, but it’s as comforting as can be to have someone to reminisce with and to still be able to remember the past even though we both think often of the hereafter. We think about Heaven and we think about going from one room to another and saying, what am I here after?


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