"We moved in and they forgot to move out."  This is what Uncle Cy told us about this shack in Folk, Mo.

It was the mid 1920's, a few years before 1929's Great Depression.  For some, though, Black Friday came early.  Mom lived in this shack when she was a little girl, along with her two older brothers, Cy and Tom, her mom and dad, and apparently, for a short time, with her grandma and grandpa - until they remembered to "move out".   

Mom (on the right) and her cousin

Times were definitely hard. 

Joseph Forck

 

 



As I look into the eyes of this ancestor I never knew, I have to think his heart hurt to not be able to provide for his family the way he would have liked to.  He was an unsuccessful farmer most of his life. 

This was also during the time of Prohibition.  Desperate times meant desperate measures.  As Uncle Cy tells it, "One day dad came home all excited.  He knew what he was going to do to get rich."  You guessed it.  Moonshine. 

Uncle Cy poked his finger at the picture and said, "Dad put in a still in the upstairs of that house.  But we never did get rich.  He drank more than he sold and was never right in the head after that."  As Cy got into his story, embelishing as he went along, his much younger brother sat there and shook his head.  There was some disagreement about the "never right in the head after that" part.  But there was no disagreement that times had been hard.

Seven people in a shack with no electricity or running water, bugs and mice, probably a snake or two, with an illegal still being run out of the upstairs....  I have to think they were very lucky that the weight of the still did not fall through the upstairs floorboards to the floor below. 

Now I know

I've been spending my time labeling posts so I can make some rhyme or reason out of things when I begin choosing posts to include in the blog book Tess and Bill gave me for Christmas.  I so wish I had used labels when I first began blogging.  Shame on me!

As I (rather slowly) have been backtracking,  I come across drafts that were never published.  Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night with a head full of thoughts and write a few sketchy phrases on my computer and then go back to bed.  And then the next morning I find myself scratching my head, thinking "where was I going with that thought"? 

I came across this post entitled "Now I Know" that I started over a year ago.  Here is what it said:

cousins dying
never understood why mom would tell me when a cousin of hers I didn't know died
over 100 cousins both sides
now I know why

It didn't take me long to figure out where I was going with these thoughts. 

Although my immediate family is not large - two brothers and one sister, their kids, spouses, and of course my own husband, kids, spouses, grandkids, etc.  The numbers quickly begin adding up, but they are nothing compared to really large families.  My parents came from families with 8 and 13 children.  The number of relatives is huge.  I have hundreds of cousins.  Many I no longer know.  I could pass them on the street and not recognize them.  But that doesn't mean I don't care.  I know of them and I mourne them when they die.

And that is where the thoughts of this post started.  Quite a few aunts and uncles and a number of cousins have passed away over the past few years.  This includes my own dear parents.  When someone dies, I always feel compelled to call my children and tell them.  For the most part they don't know these people, other than sometimes with a faint recollection.  When I tell them somebody died, they say things "What did she look like?" or "Was he the one..." 

My own mother would always call me when one of her Aunts or Uncles or Cousins would die.  And I was like "Was she the one..."  And I would wonder,"Why is she telling me about these people I've only heard of and don't know?"  And now I know.  It is because they are important.  They are part of our heritage.  They are relatives, whether we "know" them or not.

So to my dear children, the next time I call you to tell you that someone you don't know died, just smile or act saddened (whichever feels right at the time ) and indulge me.  I do believe it is just something that a generation must do when they get to this time in their life.  Just wait.  It will be your turn next - and your own kids can roll their eyes at you.

Another thought now pours through my head.  The numbers continue to decrease.  Where I had hundreds of first cousins, my own children have 12 first cousins.  Their children already have more than that, but not by much.  Is this a good thing (reducing the population of the earth)? Or a bad thing?  I have no answers.  Just questions - and a compelling need to pass unnecessary informataion on to my children.  Love you guys!

I SPY!

Here it is.  HIS box!

As we laid out the assortment of treasures from Jim's box of old, I was reminded of the children's books, "I Spy"

Keep in mind that this box was packed and toted out of Jim's home when he moved out at the age of 19.  That was almost 40 years ago!

Iggy guessed the tools of his trades, but at that point he didn't have any trades, so that wasn't it.  He also suggested "lacy racies" (shame on you ;).  The closest he came to lacy racies is the hair pins of mine that he collected.  I was bad about leaving them in his car and he was good about saving them.



A lost and found collection of bobbie-pins



Julie guessed  year books, model cars and pictures.   You got the cars part right! But there was oh so much more!



An old model and car, old bottles and oh so much more!



I SPY... fools gold in a tobacco pouch, little boy bow ties, a doggy pin from his grandma, 4 leaf clover and pocket knives from his dad, his grandpa's old cuff links, a Walker Motor Company (now gone) pencil from Chamois, Old Zippo lighter, religious medals, ink pens, a peach seed carved into a monkey, old broaches, steering wheel turning knob off of an old 49 Ford pick up, tie clasps, santa with a light up nose that doesn't work anymore, a yoyo, a plastic cow made to be stuck in a streak to tell how it was cooked, his grandpa's old wallet, a little plastic globe, drink stirrers, a pinocchio pin



And that, my good friends, is what was in HIS box!
 



 

Dear Diary

When we dug the Christmas "stuff" out from under the steps this year, Jim decided to pull some old boxes out that had been stored in the back of the storage area for many, many years.  Neither one of us had any idea what was in those boxes.  What a treasure trove!

There were things from before we got married and some other stuff.  One box mostly contained keepsakes of Jim's and one box was full of... wait for it... my diaries.  I've always wondered what happened to my childhood diaries.  And now I know.

39 years worth of diaries.  The earliest is the Black Five Year Diary with lock and key.  It was given to me on my birthday in 1964.  The last Diary was in 1999.

I think Jim said it best.  If there was a slip of paper available, I  would write on it.

The very first entry:  May 20, 1964.  Dear Dirary, today was my birthday & I got a pair of pants, a pair of booteeze, a dollar, a long chappel veil, a party, & a diary (you).  Good Night.  P.S.  I am 12 years old.

I also found a poem I wrote when I was 16 that I have searched for many times over the years.  I always remembered it and wanted it back.

The Moody Heart

I guess when you really look at me

With frank and truthful eyes

I am immature and quite naive

With a heart that yearns and sighs.

The weird thing about this poor little heart

Is it doesn't know what it desires

It looks for love, though it's in the dark

And the least spark sets it on fire.

It wants friends that are ready to stay

And help when there's a need

And friends who understand the way

My heart is filled with greed.

My heart needs more than friendship, too

It needs a love that's strong

A love to stand the hardships through

And last me all life long.

As you can see, quite readily

My heart's a complicated thing

Love brings it a happy melody

But lost love just bring it pain.

Right now it's at the breaking point

Tomorrow may bring nothing wrong

But through happiness and all that disappoints

My heart'l go on, and on.

Deanna 16 

Keepers of Memories

Aunt Jane and Uncle Ivo did not have children of their own. 

I never knew why for sure.  This was not a topic discussed by that generation, other than in whispers.  I remember asking my mom "why" once, but don't remember the answer.  I was pretty young at the time.  I really need to remember to ask Aunt Yvonne, mom's youngest sister.

Jane and Ivo - 1946

You would think that since there were no kids to fight over the estate, that for once there would be no family squabbles.  Unfortunately, that isn't the case.  One family was closer to Jane and Ivo than anyone else, so I always assumed they would be the beneficiaries of their estate.  That is what happened  - and rightfully so.  One person has quit speaking to everyone else in the family because of this.  I want to shake her 70+ year old body and say "grow up".  It was theirs to do with as they wished.  Period.

Jim and I find ourselves often taking on the roll of caretaker of memories.  We like to preserve the past.  Our kids will be left with the task of deciding what to do with our addiction when we're gone. 

Sorry guys!

Iron Bird Feeder

This iron bird feeder was hidden away underneath one of the sale tables.  Jim spotted it first.  It was love at first site.  We have no idea how old the feeder is or where they had it.  They had a farm in Lohman, so I'm thinking it might have been there.  Or maybe their back yard.  I just don't know.  There is an iron spike that sticks into the ground to stabilize the feeder.  One.  There used to be four.  The remaining one will probably break off soon, but the feeder is heavy enough that it isn't going anywhere as long as  it is sitting solidly on the ground.  We need to put on our thinking caps and figure out a way to repair it, but for now, I'm enjoying just seeing the birds flock to their new/old restaurant.



This carpenter's box had to come home with us.  It is rustically primitive.  Since I don't know its story, I've had to come up with my own.  I'd like to think this box belonged to Ivo's dad.  I can just see him loading it onto the back of his buggy or model-T at the turn of the century as he headed out for a long day of work.




Carpenter's Box turned Game Chest

  We were outside loading up some of our purchases, when I happened to walk back into the auction hall and the auctioneer was holding this skillet in the air.  I raised my hand to bid and he said SOLD!  I got it!  I've been wanting a good old, already seasoned, cast iron skillet this size.  My friend Patti at Osage Bluff Quilter says she has been watching for a Wagner #11.  This one is a Wagner #12.  Close enough?  Although I've yet to fry chicken in it, I've used it several times.  Love, love, love it!


Iron Skillet

These pillow cases were my steal of the day.  They were preserved in a plastic bag.  The auctioneers had thrown them on the table with old linens, bath towels, and such.  It was towards the end of the sale and they were the last thing I planned to bid on.  By this time the auctioneers were lumping things into piles and these were added to a pile of towels and pretty much worthless kitchen stuff.

Since I was the only bidder, I'm pretty sure I was the only one who knew what treasures that pile of stuff held. stuff.  The auctioneer said, "who bids $2".  I raised my hand.  "Do I hear $3.00".  I kept my hand in the air.  "$2.50"  I kept my hand in the air.  He finally looked at me and said "I already have you at $2".  I didn't care.  I was taking no chances.  Finally, I heard "SOLD for $2 to # 159"

Lace edged pillow cases

 I like to think Jane & Ivo's neighbor lady, Mrs. Gadd, crocheted and embroidered these beautiful pillow cases.  They are too pretty to use.  I will probably display them on a quilt rack. 

Shame on the auctioneers for not valuing what they were selling more.

Embroidered Pillow Cases

My new favorite yellow coffee cup was also included in that $2 pile of handiwork. 

As I sit here blogging and sipping coffee, I think of the need to start documenting the stories of the many antiques and family items we have chosen to preserve.  Hopefully my children and grandchildren will want to carry on the tradition of keepers of memories.

Together Again



I've had this utility cabinet for a few years now.  It first belonged to my grandma, then my mom, and now me.  It is kind of like a magic cabinet - it holds way more than anyone would ever think possible.  Canned goods, paper goods, canners, canning supplies and other odds and ends.  It is amazing!  And the best thing about it is that it has history... my family history.  Love it.





Utility cabinet with an endless capacity for holding stuff

 As I mentioned in my previous post, we spent Saturday at my Aunt Jane and Uncle Ivo's estate auction.  Imagine our surprise when Jim spotted a twin to our cabinet.  A twin!  I can only speculate here, but I am assuming that when this family of eight children divided up their parent's possession's, mom took one of these cabinets, and her sister, Jane, took the other.

There are two of them!

And now they sit side by side, with a concrete wall separating them - just in case there are any hard feelings or unsettled sibling rivalries still exist.  I did hear them whispering to each other last night after they thought I had gone to bed.  Something about "remember when..."

For $35 and a little heavy lifting, we were able to rejoin these two

Back seat of our truck after Jane and Ivo's estate auction

The reason all this junk is in the backseat of our pickup was because the bed was already full to overflowing.

The bed of the pickup - filled to the brim

So..... like it or not, folks, there will be more auction posts in the coming weeks. 









Coming full circle

My mom taught me to sew when I was pretty young, probably ten or twelve years old.  As I grew up a new store bought dress, or any other piece of clothing store bought, was a rare event.  Mom made everything.  Shorts, shirts, dresses,and jeans (which I hated because they just weren't cool!).

Kathleen, Tom, Deanna
How I wish I had this dress hidden away in my cedar chest!



Homecoming 1969.  I was dreaming of a "store bought" dress like all my friends would be wearing.
Lost on me was the fact that I was already wearing the dream mom had slaved over.



When I got married in 1972, I continued the tradition of making my own clothes, mixed in with store bought. 



Jim, Tessa, Deanna
Pregnant with Greg, I soon found maternaty clothes were a dream to "whip up"
No zippers and no fitting seams



The arrival of Tessa in 1974 gave me a reason to expand to children's clothes.  I was having fun!

Tessa - One Year
These little smock tops were easy and quick to make

Then Greg arrived in 1976.  I took a year  off work, so I should have had lots of time for sewing.  Hmmmm.  Boys clothing were not so much fun to make.  And boys clothes looked more home made for some reason.  But I continued making some of my own and Tessa's clothing. 

Then in 1977 I returned to work and discovered a time proven truth.  There are only so many hours in a day.  With a husband, restoring and remodeling a large old house, two kids and a full time job, I no longer had time to sew.  Nada!  The sewing machine was covered and stored, making an appearance only when a seam ripped or britches needed shortening, or to "whip up" a skirt or two for work.  But it was never far from my mind. 

This continued into 1980, when Julie was born.  By now we were designing plans for a new house and preparing to move.  My poor sewing machine was mostly lost in the chaos. 



Greg, Julie, Tessa
I'm not too sure where I found time to make Halloween Clown Costumes



Then something happened.  I hooked up with a friend, Rita, who was into quilting.  I was hooked.  I made a nine patch quilt, she and I took a class together and competed with who could piece together our "Trip Around the World" quilt quicker.  For the life of me I cannot remember who won.  Actually, we both did.  Rita and her sister spent one whole afternoon and late into the night helping me quilt the nine patch quilt.  It had become a sickness.  We couldn't quit. 

Nine-Patch Quilt in muted colors

Again, the sewing machine was never far from touch, but had become like an old friend that I could ignore, but would always be there for me.

When I retired in 2001 ( I think it was 2001...) thread and machines once again caught my attention.  Machine embroidery became my passion.  Towels, wash cloths, t-shirts, hats, bags... nothing was safe!

Recently I've begun sewing again.  I don't believe I'll ever return to the days of home grown clothing.  Bags, aprons, and quilt tops have become "my thing".


Earlier this week I was despairing about how to quilt this Irish Double Chain quilt I  pieced together.  But thanks to an evening of friendship and fun, I now know that I am going to having to dust  off my quilting frames and hand quilt  this one.


Double Irish Chain Quilt Top

 Here we are quilting away at Patti's.  It turns out my friends, Patti on one side, and Rita on the other, went to school together.  I still haven't figured out who half the people were they were talking about!  But what is said at a quilting bee, stays at a quilting bee.  We had a lot of fun visiting and adding some love to this beautiful quilt.  Patti's mom embroidered this quilt top.  What a special heirloom for her family.


Quilting with friends, Patti and Rita