With Joy In My Heart

 

I’m engaged in the joy of packing in anticipation of moving to another villa. In going through some boxes, I’m finding things I have seen in quite some time. The “With Joy In My Heart” piece was one of them. This was written about 35 years ago. There are a few other things, but though I’ve been putting thoughts on paper for most  of my life, I discarded them instead of keeping them. Go figure!

 

With joy in my heart

For each little thing,

That You in Your wisdom

Into my life did bring,

For You’ll shape my destiny

If I but yield,

My life unto You

As do the lilies of the field.

I can enjoy today

And not fear tomorrow,

For I am your child

 

In both joy and sorrow

February 2013

Last day of February 2013, my birthday month. A lot of birthdays have come and gone since that first one. February has a bad reputation for weather, but it was a fairly good day weatherwise. Also a good birthday, otherwise. Barbara came down for a couple of days. We went out to lunch and to the casino. Made playing money, but no good vouchers to turn in. Still came home with money left over. They are so heavily into the penny machines, you can hardly find anything else, and I intensely dislike the penny machines. I don’t think they are fun.


Carolyn’s good wishes came from afar and Jan was having foot surgery, so Russ was on standby, but I I talked to him on the phone. I had a lot better day than she did, plus the recovery time is not great from most of the people I’ve talked to that have had foot surgery.

They tell me the weather was, and had been bitterly cold, the day I was born. My Grandma Bowen had died on February 13th and on the 15th, she was being buried in Adams Cemetery a few miles outside St. James. Dad and Grandpa Bowen had left that morning with the rest of the St Francois County family for the funeral and got back late that evening. Mother , expecting the birth of a baby soon did not go. In those days with Model T and Model A Fords, plus gravel roads the approximately 65 miles or so was a long and tiring trip, in addition to the loss of wife and mother,. I’m not sure those old cars had heaters yet.

When Dad and Grandpa got home, I was already there, born about 5:00pm. Mother was very displeased that Dad was away when I arrived, and I don’t think she ever forgave him for that; or me either, for that matterm on my choice of timing on entering the world. From what memories I have of him, I think Grandpa was glad I had arrived that day, and this new baby was a good distraction for him in his grief at losing Grandma. He became my special friend.

As of this birthday, I’ve lived through 60 years of marriage, had four children, losing the first one at the age of two months, but still got to raise three great kids. I have 10 grandchildren and 18 great-grandchildren, and in a few months will have been a widow for ten years. Not one of those things we get to choose. We just do the best we can, one day at a time. Life is sometimes annoying and frustrating, but rarely humdrum. At this point, my vision problem is my greatest health concern.

Why I Will Not Vote For Mit Romney

Over the period of the past weeks of the presidential campaign, there have been a number of political references on Facebook. Except for one comment, all I have seen on pages that I have access to, havel been pro-Romney. I have refrained from using Facebook as a political forum, but at this point, I feel compelled to tell you why I WILL NOT vote for Governor Romney. The first requisite I look into when voting for a candidate is judgment. I believe Gov Romney has demonstrated a lack of judgment in several instance.



His seeming lack of knowledge of world affairs troubles me and his reliance on the war hawks for advice is scary to say the least.


Have you actually listened to what he has said he will do: Earlier on? A bit later? And lastly? The word, chameleon comes to mind. How can I vote for a person, who does a dizzying dance step in changing his position? Or whose campaign has to explain away his mis-statements? And when presented with facts that belie what has been said, are told, “We will not allow our campaign to be determined by fact-checking?” Since when doesn’t the truth matter? How can I vote for a person I cannot believe?

Lastly, and I think this also relates to judgment. I do not believe a person’s religion should be a factor in the campaign, though that was certainly a part of the last one. I do not question whether Governor Romney is a Christian. What bothers me is this: Does the church he actively supports consider any of the rest of us Christians, if we are not baptized into the LDS church? Their mission is to save everyone; not unusual, but to do so they must baptize us into THE church; if not in person, then by proxy, without our knowledge or permission? Even, our long dead ancestors, regardless of that person’s religious affiliation. I protest this practice in the names of my two great-great-grandfathers: Thomas Bowen and Samuel Right Brookshire; both Methodist Episcopal South Ministers, who worked mightily for the Lord in their lifetime. Thomas Bowen of Tennessee and Samuel Right Brookshire of Tennessee and Missouri. Yes, I question Governor Romney’s judgment; for this and other instances in the campaign.



Others have spoken their opinion. This is mine.

The Importance of Accurate Information

Today a hint popped up on my family tree on Ancestry. I found out that my mother’s dad was William G Stricker. And that Willie Stricker was the son of Minnie Nevada Ivie. Interesting isn’t it? Since neither is correct. I also found out that Willie was born in Japan. Which must have been difficult since neither of his actual parents, nor his stepmother were ever in Japan.


I recently had some interesting correspondence with a researcher, who had Uncle Amos as a husband and father to a wife and daughter in Iowa. I would have been willing to bet that Uncle Amos was never in Iowa in his life. He was married to Aunt Oma when they were quite young and still married the day he died.

We corresponded back and forth. She was convinced she had the right individual and told me it wouldn’t have been more than 2-1/2 hour drive to Randolph, Missouri from where her people lived in Iowa. That didn’t sound right, so I did the Map Quest check, and even with today’s cars and roads it would be a 5 to 6 hour drive from where Uncle Amos lived to the place in Iowa, and no one in the family had a car as yet.

She did some more checking and now she has happily found the right William Amos for her. Someone else has done the same thing to the poor man, and I’m sure he is not guilty this time either. I just haven’t had the heart to take on that one yet. Ancestry has a lot of good records, many collected by the LDS. Some trees have a lot of incorrect information.

Since the LDS {Mormon Church} is counting on getting these people into heaven by proxy baptism, even after death, I wonder if it will make a difference it the wrong name is assigned to the wrong person. Wouldn’t it be awful to think you might go to hell just because you weren’t identified properly!

Fourth of July – Independence Day

Lucky are we – in so many ways – to be able to celebrate our Independence Day.

I remember one particular Fourth in my childhood. I’m not sure of my exact age, but I’m guessing I was five or six, because we moved away from that town when I was seven. The others are a blank, but probably similar; however this is the one Fourth that sticks in my memory.

Dad was big on celebrating the Fourth and apparently liked having a lot of people around. We always had plenty of ‘company’ and the yard was full of people [neighbors and family]. A ‘really big’ lard can of booyah was cooking outside. I don’t know what else we had to eat, but there were likely other foods in the kitchen. Though the booyah was by far the main item.

Dad filled a big wash tub with ice and Nehi soda. They bought ice cream in 5 gallon dry-ice containers. All in all, it was a kid’s delight, in those days. I’m sure we ran around playing, running and yelling as kids will do. We probably asked for ice cream and soda and found it hard to wait until after we ate. The adults visited while waiting for the booyah to be ready.

After we finished eating, we probably walked over to the town park for a baseball game if there was one. I remember doing that, but I can’t say for certain we did on that day. If a game was being played, I’m sure we attended because Dad really liked baseball. For a time, he was manager of the local baseball team. Several of his grown nephews were members of the team. I think they were called “The Leadbelt Cubs.” We have a picture of the team, which maybe I’ll post here later.

They usually had a carnival in the park on the Fourth too, though I’m not sure when they began doing that; or if there was one that particular year. When they had both, we alternated between watching the game and begging Dad for nickels so we could go on the rides [Ferris Wheel and Merry-Go-Round] and maybe buy pop corn or cotton candy.

Yes, there were fireworks for after dark, mostly sparklers and fire crackers. I never liked the noise the fire crackers made, which did not change when I became an adult. The noise made me jump and unexpected noises still do. Just ask the “balloon lady.” Some of the boys would toss them near your feet. Not smart – and I’m sure they were reprimanded if they were seen doing so.

In some stories I’ve read [set in days many years back in the ‘old’ country] fireworks were set off on other holidays, such as Christmas and New Year. That was apparently passed down in Dad’s family. His cousins I met told me that they remembered one Christmas Dad’s family spent with them and the boys brought along fireworks to set off. She seemed to like them about as well as I did. I enjoy the beautiful fireworks visual displays, but I’ve never been able to figure out why making of lot of loud noise is supposed to be fun.

Happy Fourth!

My Mother - Her 110th Birthday

One hundred and ten years ago today, my mother, blue-eyed, red-haired Mary was born, seven months after her dad died of pneumonia. She, her mother, and older brother and sister lived with her maternal grandparents until she was nine years old, when her mother remarried. They became what today we call a ‘blended family.’ His, hers, and then two more children which were theirs. When they were a little older, she and her older sister took turns looking after their grandparents’ household due to the frail health of their grandmother. Their grandmother died in the 1918 influenza epidemic while Mother was living with them. Pa was there, and Mother went racing across the fields to get her mother when her grandmother seemed in distress. As she said, she was scared to death.


While Mother and her family lived with their grandparents, one of Grandma’s older sisters, who didn’t marry until she was about 40 years old, was still living at home. So they had a mother, grandparents and an aunt telling them what to do on a daily basis, plus other relatives when they were at hand. As Mother put it, “Everyone told them what to do,” and she made up her mind that when she had children, no one was going to boss them around except her, and their dad, of course.

As I said, from what I was told, Dad was full of mischief when he was growing up. And from what Mother told me about herself, she apparently was quite willful. She said Aunt Lee told her she was a misery to herself and everyone around her. And they said “Pa,” her grandfather, spoiled her. I suppose he did, because she said when she got in trouble, she knew that if she could get to Pa, no one could touch her. And apparently the temper that we were well aware of as children made itself known early on. She told me of a time when she made a pan of cornbread. I don’t know what went wrong, but she was not pleased with the results. She said she threw the pan upside down in the floor and then stomped on it. Mother’s younger half-sister told me that their Mother had a very quick temper too.

I only knew my mother as a parent. What I know of her as a child is what she told me. And what I know of Dad as a child is what Mother and his cousins told me.

Relating what I’ve been told is not meant as a put down of them. Just giving you a look at their lives  as it was told to me. They were not perfect as we are not; just real people.

Their lives were not easy growing up. They worked hard; but it was the norm, except that Mother never had a chance to know her dad. And as adults, they both worked hard to raise their children. So, smile Mother and Happy Birthday. There are no tempers in Heaven - or reasons for one.

Remembering My Dad

Today is my Dad’s birthday. He was born 114 years ago. He was the second of twin sons born that day. His brother was accidentally killed when he was only 20 years old. My Dad lived to be 82. He never talked about his twin brother, and I always thought it was because it was too painful for him. What I learned about my uncle, I learned from my mother. In early years the two of them looked a lot alike in a picture we have; but where Uncle Alfred’s hair was straight, Dad’s hair was curly. In pictures of them as they grew older, to me they looked quite a bit different. Though if I could have seen them together, I would probably have seen resemblances between them. Resemblances and identical are not the same, but we all see things differently. For instance, when I was a young woman, I was in the small town where my sister lived. I went in a store where she had been shortly before. The clerk said to me, “You back already? You just left? My sister was a few years older than I, slightly taller, and at that time at least 20-25 pounds heavier than I was. Her hair was darker and styled differently. I admit that we resembled each other, but I’m not quite sure how the clerk could have seen the same person.


The twin brothers apparently were unlike in personality also. Dad was always talking, laughing, joking, picking and teasing [ometimes maybe too much so]. Uncle Alfred was quiet and serious, maybe even somber. In one or two of his pictures, he seems even a bit morose. One of his cousins that I met after I began researching family history told me how much Dad teased the girl cousins when the families visited when they were young. She said his twin was very quiet. Dad always told us that “Pa” was mostly Scots-Irish and “Ma” was German. However, as I found out, his mother was only half-German on her mother’s side; not sure about her dad nationality. So, they were, as I’ve heard it said, “mostly Scots-Irish.” It seems Dad got the ‘jolly Irish’ part and Uncle Alfred to the ‘dour Scots.’

In a school group picture we have when they are about 10/11 years old, they are not standing together. Dad is on the back left corner, and Uncle Alfred is on the back right corner, with their youngest brother in front of him.

Dad was full of mischief apparently, and my other grandmother was said to have referred to him  as "that curly-black-headed little deveil" when he was about 12 or so and incurred her wrath for some reason when they all lived near by each other.

It has occurred to me that the two boys being so different in personality, they might not have got along as well as one might think twins would. What I’ve learned is that someone who likes to pick and tease can’t abide seeing someone going quietly about, minding their own business. They have to shake things up a bit and get something going. With his picking, teasing ways, Dad might have done his share to make Uncle Alfred’s life uncomfortable. And I strongly suspect, Uncle Alfred didn’t know how to handle his more rowdy twin.

None the less, my Dad was a good man and a very good father. I’m glad he was mine.