Fireworks and summer vacation!

Back in the early to mid 80s my family had a fireworks stand.  This was before everyone had the big tent stands.  At that time, there was only one big tent, and it was run by the Reason family.  It was way on the other side of town from us.  Our stand was a little wooden...well, box, basically.  The front was taller than the back so that the roof had a slant to it.  There was a door on one end and two large hinged windows on the front that could be closed and locked at night. The back wall was lined with shelves. Our stand was painted yellow, school bus yellow. Dad had used stencils to paint, "Fireworks" on it in red paint.  It seems like there was even a rocket or two painted on it.  Our friends, the Whitesides, let us set it up at their gas station.  All of us worked in it.  We didn't sell big huge fireworks.  People didn't do their own big displays back then.  Mostly, we sold a lot of fountains, sparklers, bottle rockets, and firecrackers.  I loved it when we'd get a new kind in, because we'd get to set them off to see what they did.  My absolute favorite was the Chinese lantern.  It hung by a string from a tree limb.  When you lit the fuse, it would start to spin wildly and spit out sparks.  At the end, it would make one last burst of flame and split open into a pretty paper lantern.  Those were so cool.  The money made from the fireworks stand would go towards our yearly family vacation at Three Oaks Resort on Lake Norfork.  

Mom and Dad outside of cabin #1 circa 1985

Lake Norfork was just about an hour from our house then. That doesn't sound like much of a vacation to some, but it was paradise to us! Three Oaks was a small resort owned by Ken and Trudy Lien. They were an older couple. Ken was so handy and could fix anything.  Trudy was very friendly and spoke with a strong accent.  I'm thinking it was German. Their house was connected to the resort office/shop. The resort consisted of about six small cabins that overlooked the lake and a larger townhouse up on a hill. They had tennis courts, a boat dock, and a large pool. The townhouse was fairly modern and overlooked the pool and large pavilion area. The cabins were pretty bare. The walls were covered with wood paneling, and the floors were covered in dark, shiny, school-type floor tile.  The refrigerators were the old kind that had the handles that latched closed. And the bathroom was tiny. None of this mattered, though. There was a screened-in porch that overlooked the lake, cable TV inside, and no telephones. That made the cabins the perfect family getaway for us.

Ken & Trudy

The resort sat up on a bluff overlooking the lake, so to get to the boat dock, one had to either trek down a long rock stairway or ride on the electric cable trolley car. We opted for the trolley. It was slow-moving and took forever to get to the top if it happened to be at the bottom when you wanted to ride down. The bottom landing for the trolley would be in different places from year to year, depending upon the lake level. At the bottom, there were two docks. One was a larger dock with boat slips on both sides and a large deck area to sit and fish at the railing.  At night, there were lights in the water around the front edge, and you could watch fish flock to the lights. I can't remember for sure, but it seems like the fish that were always in abundance there were called chubs and weren't worth trying to catch. They were fun to watch, though. On occasion, Ken and Trudy would bring their dog, Gypsy, down to the dock, and she would swim in the lake. One year, my dad borrowed a friend's boat, and kept it in the smaller dock off to the side. To get to that dock, you had to walk along a narrow rock ledge from the trolley landing across to another set of steps. I remember walking along it one day with my dad when we heard a rattling noise ahead. We looked to find a small rattlesnake curled up on a rock just ahead of us. I'm pretty sure we abandoned our boating plans that day. 

Me, Mom, Shelley, & Brian in the pool

The in-ground pool was far and away my favorite part of the vacation. I couldn't wait to get in it in the morning and had to be forced out of it in the evenings.  There was a shallow end and a deep end. The deep end had a small diving board, and the two ends were divided by a blue and white nylon rope with buoys spaced out along it. I loved doing flips over that rope, attempting handstands in the shallow end, and perfecting my cannonball off of the diving board. I've always tanned easily, so I looked like a hispanic child by mid summer. The bottom of the pool had a rough concrete texture that made my feet sore, and the sidewalk around the pool also had a rough texture that would ruin every bathing suit I ever wore from sitting on the sides of the pool.  It didn't matter, though.  I loved every minute in the water!

When I was forced to take a break from the pool, another favorite spot of mine was a large hammock. We'd lay our beach towels on it to avoid the scratchy rope and lay there in the shade until we dried off from swimming. I probably even fell asleep there a time or two.

From our fireworks sales, my dad would fill a bank money bag with dimes to take on vacation. The office had a freezer stocked with ice cream bars, and each of us kids had a daily allotment to buy. When you entered the shop, it would sound a bell into Ken and Trudy's house, and their dog would start barking. They'd come to the shop to help with whatever you needed to buy. Thinking back now, we probably drove them crazy with our ice cream purchases. Another special treat that was doled out on a daily basis was fried apple pies that my mom would make before we left home. She wrapped them in foil individually, and we were each allowed just one per day. There were just enough to get us through the week. 

Brian & Dad on the tennis court

This type of vacation was truly family time at its best. We weren't all always together every minute of the day, but we knew where everyone was, and we gathered for all of our meals. Dad enjoyed the tennis courts with whoever would play with him. Mom always had a huge jigsaw puzzle set up on the screened porch, and we would all take turns helping put it together. It was a goal to get it done by the end of the week. 

Mom, me, & Dad with one of our finished puzzles

It all sounds so simple now. Many might even say boring, but the memories we made there are some of the sweetest of my life. The outside world ceased to exist for those seven days. All the stresses of work and household chores melted away. It's something that couldn't be recaptured in today's world. We wouldn't think of leaving our cell phone behind for a WHOLE week! Perish the thought! I still think the world would be a much better place if we did shut ourselves off from the outside and recharge every once in a while.

The resort is still in business, though run by new owners now. You can find them on the web at http://www.3oaksresort.com/.

 

Memories of grade school.

If you've read my blog much at all, you've probably noticed that I spend a little too much time walking down memory lane.  I can't help it.  I loved my childhood.  I don't dislike my life now.  Who knows?  I may walk down the memories of today in another twenty years or so.  The start of summer break has me thinking back to my grade school days and how much I loved summer time.  I thought I'd touch on a few highlights of my younger schooling years.

I think I've probably mentioned before that my parents both worked in education.  My dad was the principal at a rural K-8 school, and my mom taught second grade at another rural K-8 school.  The rural schools didn't offer preschool back then, so I stayed with my Grandma Horn and Uncle Gene until I reached school age. 

When it came time to start Kindergarten, my parents decided to send me to Fairview, where my mom taught.  Their Kindergarten program was a half day.  I would go to the afternoon class.  I spent my mornings at Grandma's farm, and Uncle Gene would drive me to the Moose Lodge to meet the noon bus to school.  Just a couple of memories about this... Uncle Gene's truck smelled of dirt, hay, and cow crap, but I loved riding with him.  There was always some old baling twine laying around in the seat, and he had an old bluish green coin purse that hung from the rearview mirror.  It had a creepy kind of face on it.  In the glove box, you would find a wide assortment of band-aids, mostly Curad brand.  We didn't care about seatbelts and rode with the windows down and my hand, or even head, hanging out to feel the wind.  My teacher's name was Mrs. Renfrow, and I liked her very much.  I had a problem pronouncing the letter "s" and had to take speech classes with Miss Parker.  I can remember having to read stories about Sis the snake.  One day, Michael Wilkerson brought me a bouquet of dandelions.  I hated nap time and couldn't wait until snack time, chocolate milk and graham crackers.  I'd end my day by going to my mom's room.  She had a great group of kids that year, and they were all so nice to me.  I remember Robbie Crites, Jimmy Hatten, Denise Brentlinger, Katy Holstein, Tina Summers, Suzanna Hand, and many more.  I still know many of them today.

First grade brought about my move to Glenwood, where my dad worked.  Mrs. DeShazo was my teacher.  I'm just being honest when I say that I didn't like her much.  I grew to like her when I got older, but she was no Mrs. Renfrow in my book back then!  She didn't smile much, and I thought she didn't like me.  I remember very little about that year.  Only a couple of things stand out in my memory.  Matt Day's Dolly Pops.  They were these little hard plastic dolls whose clothes could be changed by popping them off and on.  Us girls loved playing with his Dolly Pops.  I remember them going missing once and being found behind a toilet in the girls' bathroom.  I never did know who put them there.  Somewhere around the summer between first and second grades, I remember going to swim at Bidwell Point with my family.  The cutest boy in my class was there with his family.  There were three boys in the family, and they had a little bitty motorcycle that they were riding around down there.  I can remember Chad being a little freaked out when my brother took his leg off to get in the water.  I think he thought it was kinda cool and kinda scary all at once.  It was no big thing to me.  I'd never known any other way.  

I loved second grade!  Mrs. Bridges was awesome.  I always did like a teacher that could be strict but fun, too.  She was also beautiful.  She had the longest shiny hair.  I can remember her telling us that she used beer to rinse her hair every once in a while.  She taught us about con-quack-tions with little paper ducks on the door to the room.  People misusing contractions still drives me crazy to this day.  I think it's because she taught us how to use them so well, and I think everyone should know how.  Mrs. Bridges contacted my mom that year to tell her that I was spending too much time staring at a certain boy in class.  What can I say?  I've always liked boys.  I never had an aversion to them.  Since my mom taught second grade at Fairview, and I was in second grade at Glenwood, we started a pen pal exchange between the two classes.  I would deliver the letters between the two teachers.  At the end of the year, my class went to Fairview to meet the kids we'd been writing to all year.  The two classes kept up this tradition for many years to follow.  My dad resigned as principal the year before and took a job as the remedial reading teacher, so Mr. Walden was our principal.  He had suffered with polio as a kid and had one arm that was much smaller than the other.   

Third grade brought about the rehiring of my dad as the principal.  Miss McCoy was our teacher.  She was a stern teacher, and I loved her, even if I did receive my one and only C+ that year in Science.  She had lived all over the world and told the most fascinating stories about all of the places she'd been.  Every kid looked forward to third grade for one main reason, the circus!  The third grade always got to go to Springfield and watch the circus.  Now, I never was a big fan of the circus, but I loved a field trip.  I'll never forget my friend, Cindy, asking if a quarry along the way was Mt. Rushmore!  Ummm, no.  I remained close to Miss McCoy.  Two friends and I went to stay the night with her a couple of years later.  We had so much fun at her house!  I think we played like we were the characters from Miami Vice.  No, Miss McCoy didn't play with us.  

Mr. Bridges was my only male teacher in grade school, and everyone thought he was the coolest cat around.  He drank pop all of time (Pepsi) and loved to play games.  What kid wouldn't love that?  We played eraser tag, heads up 7 up, and did a little dance to learn that 6 times 7 is 42.  No kid that ever had him as a teacher could forget that.  We were always rewarded with pop, and he'd even let kids burp the alphabet while drinking soda.  Everyone called him Mr. B., and he called all of us by our last names...Miss Arnold, Miss Easter, Mr. Collins, Mr. Fisher, etc.  He was entertaining.  Tragedy struck our school that year, though.  A seventh grader was accidentally shot and killed while deer hunting.  It was awful.  Blake Gunter.  He lived not far from me.  I'd spent the night with his sister a few times.  He was a super smart boy and wanted to work for NASA.  He'd even been to Space Camp!  

Fifth grade was a little unsettled.  I loved our teacher, Mrs. Newton, but she was sick a lot that year and missed several weeks.  Mrs. Joy filled in for her and was also nice.  Her son, Nick, was in the grade above us.  Two things stand out from this particular year.  Mrs. Newton awarded tickets all through the year for various good behavior and accomplishments.  At the end of the year, she had a white elephant sale.  We could shop with our tickets for all kinds of odds and ends.  I loved it!  A much sadder memory from that year came in January 1986.  The Challenger space shuttle exploded with a teacher, Christa McAuliffe, on board.  I remember watching it.  

Sixth grade is probably the least memorable of all for me.  I've sat here trying to think of anything remarkable from that year and can't come up with anything.  Our teacher, Mrs. Cash, had a baby and missed several weeks of school.  I will say that the summer between sixth and seventh grades was awesome!  I spent every day at my friend, Diane's, house.  My mom was taking courses in Springfield to complete her master's degree, so my dad would take me to work with him so that I could walk over to see Diane.  We ate plain macaroni with butter and grilled cheese sandwiches every day.  We were boy crazy and fearless.  We spent hours and hours talking on her red phone to boys we knew and boys we didn't know.  KKDY was always playing on the radio, and we were recording mix tapes right and left.  Our friend, Stephanie, joined in at least a few days every week, too.  Diane's mom was very easily swayed and took us just about anywhere we wanted to go.  For some reason, I just remembered her mom singing Chantilly Lace.  Oh, Francie was a hoot!  

Mrs. Scherff made seventh grade quite memorable for several reasons.  First, she had this trick knee that was liable to pop out of place at any given moment.  That made for a couple of interesting times in class.  Secondly, she was a "hands on" science teacher.  This meant that kids could bring in just about any kind of critter they found to share with the class.  I can remember tarantulas roaming freely and jumping from desk to desk.  I also remember a black snake being allowed to slither around on the floor while we all sat in the floor to form a circle.  Seems like it started to crawl up one kid's pant leg, even.  Mrs. Scherff also was a big game player.  I can remember one geography game where we had to stand at the front of the room with the big map pulled down and had to locate a certain place on the map as fast as possible.  Jamalee successfully found whatever mountain range she was given, but Blake couldn't find his place.  He announced to the class that he knew where Jamalee's mountains were!  We all got a big laugh out of that.  Mrs. Scherff was also my cheerleading coach, and I loved everything about cheering that year.  Marilyn and I spent countless hours practicing and inventing different stunts to do.  The last thing that stands out about Mrs. Scherff was her singing.  Anytime we were on a bus for any reason, she would sing.  My favorite was Sippin' Cider.  She had a beautfiul voice.  

Eighth grade concluded my years at Glenwood.  Mrs. Waggoner was our teacher.  I also went to church with her, so I'd known her for years.  I think our class was very challenging to her.  We had a few troubled boys that would have driven any sane person crazy.  I remember that she had a quote in her room that read, "Good, better, best.  Never let it rest, until your good is better, and your better is best."  By this point in school, all I could think about was getting to high school.  I loved my class of eighteen, but I was ready to meet new people and get out from under the watchful eye of my dad (no offense, of course.)  I think it's sad now.  If only I could have seen with the eyes I have now, I wouldn't have wished away those years for anything.  Why was I in such a hurry to grow up?  Adulthood is WAY overrated.  I know it's natural for kids to want to grow up fast, but I would give just about anything to go back and be that little kid, again.  Every once in a while, when the days are warm and windows open, I get a whiff of something in the air that takes me right back to those cherished days with my friends.  I couldn't explain the scent if I had to, and it's always fleeting, but I feel it most often around the time of year when school is ending and summer begins.   

Listen to Sippin' Cider here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSgHpAOOYR4

...and then, pink peonies.

It's no secret that I've been an emotional basket case for the last few weeks.  I would have trouble trying to think of the last day that I haven't cried for one reason or another.  It might just be a sappy commercial on TV, or it might be something much more.  However, there are always plenty of blessings to be counted, even in these rough patches of life.

Last week, right in the middle of my weepy phase, my peony bushes decided to bloom out.  Peonies are my favorite flower.  I love their sweet smell.  It reminds me of my Grandma Horn's house.  She always had peonies along the front of her house.  Peonies don't last long, though, especially if it rains hard.  Well, it did rain hard just a couple of days after the peonies bloomed out.  I found them laying over on the ground, looking all tired and beaten down.  Funny enough, that's kind of how I felt, too.  I was sad to see their already short lives shortened even more so by the rain.  I was already feeling a little sad about the fact that I only had white and the palest of pink blooms this year.  Don't get me wrong.  They still smell fantastic, but I love the deeper vibrant pinks even more.  Yeah.  These peonies were a metaphor of how I had been feeling.  I shouldn't complain.  They blossomed.  They smelled good.  However, I was focused on the disappointments.


So often in my life, I find myself focused on what isn't going right.  I really should be taking a few steps back and seeing the bigger picture.  I have many things for which to be thankful.  The few things that are bringing me down are relatively trivial and shouldn't cloud my entire outlook.

This morning, I stopped and realized that I was feeling quite content.  It was the simplest things that had me in such a good mood, too.

There was nothing on TV to interest me, so I put on one of my favorite movies, "You've Got Mail."  I have watched that movie more times than I could begin to guess.  It makes me happy.  I know the lines by heart, but I don't even care.

I rummaged around the kitchen to find something to eat for breakfast/lunch.  I settled on a bologna and cheese sandwich.  Again, something so simple was making me happy.  I love bologna and cheese sandwiches.  I have the good bologna and the good cheese from Dennis's Meat Market.  It makes all the difference.  It has always and will always be my favorite kind of sandwich.

I have some new wax melts to make the house smell good.  I put a Lemon Drop Cookie one in this morning, and my house smells heavenly.  During the warmer months, I love the smell of lemons.  I love the taste of lemons.  I just love lemons.  Another simple pleasure.

The thing that really made my morning was pink peonies, though.  As I left home last night to go to a graduation, I saw beautiful, bright, vibrant pink peonies blooming in my peony bush.  I couldn't believe it!  I thought my peonies were done.  The pale and white ones had come and gone.  I had no hopes of seeing my favorite kind this year, but there they were.  I couldn't wait to get down there this morning to take a couple of pictures and pick a couple of blooms.

See?  I just thought my peonies had failed me this year.  I was focused on the disappointment and assumed the remaining buds would also prove disappointing.  I was wrong.  Just when I was feeling like I could take a swim in my own tears,...PINK PEONIES!  A reason to smile.

All of this had me thinking of a song I love from "The Sound of Music."  It's called, "My Favorite Things."  It's a song about the simple pleasures in life.  If you had to list the simple things that make you happy, what would be on your list?  Mine would be too long to list here, but the things I mentioned above would make that list.  Pink peonies would be near the top for sure.  You can listen to the song at the link below.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IagRZBvLtw

I have another amazing grandma, too! Grandma Arnold

So, I went on and on about my Grandma Horn yesterday.  Can you imagine that I was fortunate enough to have TWO amazing grandmas??  My Grandma Arnold was also a woman molded in the image of Proverbs 31.  Oma Vacie Daily Arnold.  A funny name for a spunky, fun-loving lady.

Grandma's surprise 80th birthday at Mary's house.

Both of my grandmas lost their husbands in their early 60s, while they still had many years of life left to live as widows.  Sadly, I never got to know either of my grandfathers, but the love of my grandmas made up for it.  

When I was little, Grandma Arnold lived in Thayer with her sister, Sylvie.  They shared a small trailer house next to Sylvie's daughter, Burrelene, and her husband, Lewis.  I remember that trailer so vividly.  It had a smell that I just can't even put into words.  It wasn't good, but it wasn't bad.  It's a smell that I associate with propane and old people, probably on account of it reminding me of those two ladies.  It was very dark in their trailer.  

My great-grandma Daily, my dad, and me in Grandma Arnold's trailer house.  1975

Grandma had the little room (she wouldn't have had it any other way.)  I remember a curtain of hanging plastic pink and orange beads that rattled when you walked through them.  My first stop in the house was always at Grandma's jewelry box.  My Grandma Arnold loved her jewelry.  It wasn't fancy, either.  We're talking plastic, gaudy, costume jewelry.  Oh, how I loved it all!  I inherited most of those "valuables" when she passed away, and I still get them out and sniff of the boxes for a quick trip down memory lane.

Aunt Sylvie (seated)
Aunt Rosemary, Uncle Bob, Grandma, and Uncle Burl
(Many years after that little old trailer house)

In the living room, Aunt Sylvie had her recliner.  She was always sitting in that chair sewing or knitting something.  I can remember sitting down in that chair, on one of the rare occasions when she wasn't in it, and feeling the pokes of what seemed like dozens of needles on my arms.  Aunt Sylvie liked to use the arm of her chair as a pin cushion!  

The kitchen was small and dark.  I can remember these cups that Grandma had.  They were brightly colored aluminum and made a lot of noise with ice in them.  They kept your drink really cold, but the feeling of my teeth hitting that metal always sent a kind of shiver down my spine.  

^^THESE!^^

We didn't usually spend much time inside the trailer.  Everyone would congregate on the concrete porch out front.  They had this old metal glider that was covered with a cushion.  It squeaked something terrible, but I loved sitting in it.  I have looked and looked for one like it for myself, but those things are costly today!  I want an old, rusty one, too.  Grandma's was black and white and faced out toward the front yard and highway.  

There were Martin houses in the front yard.  I can remember Grandma talking about the Martins.  She would say, "the Martins are back for the summer," and I honestly thought she was talking about some friends of hers.  It was many years later that I realized the Martins were birds and not her friends or one of the families she cleaned for.

Dad pulling us kids in a wagon in Grandma's front yard.

Another great thing about visiting Grandma Arnold was getting to go to Burrelene and Lewis's house.  They had what I thought was the most amazing house in the world!  Their kitchen was ROUND!  Yes.  A circle.  The back half of the circle was a wall that housed the appliances and cabinetry.  The front half of the circle was the biggest bar you can imagine in a home.  From the kitchen side of the bar, there was a countertop and work space.  From the living room side of the bar, was a line of bar stools that went on and on and on.  The whole thing was open to a huge living/family/dining room.  The front of this massive room came to a point, like the bow of a ship, and it was floor to ceiling glass doors and windows, with a balcony.  Over in the dining area of the room was a huge grandfather clock.  I attribute my love of chiming clocks to that old grandfather clock of theirs.  

Grandma sitting in one of the bar stools at Burrelene's house
and waiting her turn to play cards.

I've wandered a bit from the subject of my grandma.  Forgive me.  Back to Grandma... We really didn't go and visit at her home much.  My dad would go and pick my grandma up and bring her to stay at our home for a week or so at a time.  She couldn't drive, so wherever she went was where she stayed, until she had someone to drive her somewhere else.  Us kids LOVED Grandma's visits.  Unlike my Grandma Horn, Grandma Arnold didn't sew.  She had a lot of eye troubles, so she didn't sit and read much, either (though she read from her Bible faithfully.)  Grandma Arnold was a gamer.  She played games.  She taught every one of us kids how to play Canasta at an early age.  We'd take turns playing cards with Grandma when she was staying with us.  We had an old brown plastic card tray that swiveled and slick, plastic playing cards that were aqua and magenta colored.  You had to use both decks for Canasta.  I'm sure Grandma took it easy on us a lot of the time, but I can remember her holding a hand of cards that was so full she could barely contain it with both hands.  You see, in Canasta, you can choose to hold your cards in hopes of laying them all down at once and "going out" on your opponent.  Grandma liked to do that.  So, if her hand was getting big and out of control, you had better be laying down whatever cards you had pretty quick!  Before I was old enough to learn Canasta, Grandma taught me Crazy 8s and Books.  She would always find a way to include me in the fun with her.  

Me and Grandma

Back at home, she and Aunt Sylvie stayed pretty active.  They frequented their Senior Center, Fun & Friends, and participated in most of their activities.  Aunt Sylvie was able to drive and took them to these outings.  Grandma was always playing cards with friends and family, wherever she went.

More than anyone I've ever met, my grandma had a mind sharper than a tack!  She never forgot a name.  She never forgot a story.  I sure wish now that I had picked her brain for more family stories back then.  Her paternal grandfather's branch of my family tree is barren, and there's no one left to ask about filling in the blanks.

Grandma and her kids, Glen, Mary, and Bob
outside of Burrelene's home.

Everyone that called our house knew when Grandma was visiting.  Of course, we only had the old rotary phones back then.  In the kitchen, it was yellow and hung on the wall near the windows.  For some reason, Grandma would hold the part you speak into upward, pointing to the ceiling almost.  And she was LOUD.  She'd answer with "Yellloo!"  Yep.  Yello, with a "Y."  

As I said, Grandma couldn't see well enough to do a lot of reading or crafting with her hands.  She spent her afternoons "resting her eyes" or "catnapping."  She could doze off just about anywhere.  She deserved the rest, though.  She worked hard much of her life.

Brian, Shelley, Grandma, Mom, & Me

My grandpa had polio as a child and was crippled for life.  He also suffered horribly with psoriasis.  All of the stories I've heard tell of how Grandma cared for him.  She graduated high school as class valedictorian years after marrying and having children.  She took in people's laundry.  She worked as a waitress and dishwasher.  She was a housekeeper for many families over the years.  She wasn't much for cooking.  Aunt Sylvie was a wonderful cook.  Sylvie cooked.  Grandma cleaned.  They were a perfect pair.  She didn't mind washing up dishes.  

Dad tells how, when he was a kid, they'd have chicken.  Grandma would always eat the neck.  As a kid, he assumed she just liked the neck.  Later in life, he realized that Grandma was being generous and letting her family have the choice pieces of the chicken.  That's just how Grandma was.  There wasn't a selfish bone in her body.  She found great delight in being helpful to others, especially her family.  

I could really go on and on about how much I loved my Grandma and why.  She had the sweetest little laugh and smile that made her eyes wrinkle around the edges.  She was never without a Kleenex tucked into some part of her clothing or her watch band.  She would put her hand to her forehead when she was trying to think of something, as if it might help to pull the information out.  She enjoyed life and didn't mind traveling to visit with loved ones.  She would spend most of the summer with my Uncle Glen and his family in Texas.  She even visited them when he was stationed in Germany.  She would go and stay with my Aunt Mary and her family for weeks at a time on their dairy farm in Nixa.  No matter the length of her stay, it was never long enough, and she never wore out her welcome.  Grandma brought light and laughter wherever she went.

Yes.  I had two vastly different ladies as grandmas, one quiet and one not-so-quiet.  Each was a treasure, so different but so much the same, too.  Both were Godly women who put the Lord first in their lives and family a very close second.  I am so thankful that my parents loved their mothers so dearly and moved them both into a trailer on their property when they needed a place to go.  Grandma Horn couldn't hear well, but she could see.  Grandma Arnold couldn't see well, but she could hear.  In their own way, they were a perfect pair, and I miss them both every day. 

Grandma Horn and Grandma Arnold
at my wedding in 1994.

Grandma Horn: Her legacy.

In my ongoing quest to embrace certain aspects of my Grandma Horn's simpler lifestyle, I am learning a few things.  As I've said before, I have concluded that a quiet house isn't necessarily a bad thing.  Having half as many channels to choose from doesn't affect much around here, because the TV is off more than it's on.  That extra $60 a month is nice, though!  Our lower electric bill has been another nice perk.  It was down over $140 this past month.  Along that same vein, I've decided to try to diminish my use of the air conditioning in the house.  The cost of running fans versus the cost of the a/c remains to be seen.  I do know one thing, though.  I am altogether too fat for this.  I sweat.  A lot!  I try to keep telling myself that it's just another perk.  I'm detoxifying my system while I save money on electricity.  So far, that psychology isn't working on me.  I need a good box fan, you know, the big square ones that sit in the window and suck the air out of a room?  Yep.  Or better yet, an attic fan!  That would be awesome----if we had an attic.  

My grandma had so many wonderful virtues and talents that I long to possess.  She was the epitome of a Proverbs 31 woman.  If you are scratching your head and wondering what I'm talking about, let's take a look at the scripture:

Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.

11 The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.

12 She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.

13 She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.

14 She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar.

15 She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.

16 She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard.

17 She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms.

18 She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night.

19 She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff.

20 She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.

21 She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet.

22 She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple.

23 Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land.

24 She maketh fine linen, and selleth it; and delivereth girdles unto the merchant.

25 Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.

26 She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.

27 She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.

28 Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.

29 Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.

30 Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.

31 Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.

Yes.  This could have been written for her.  My grandma and uncle ran a small dairy farm when I was a small child.  They rose before the sun to tend to the cows, chickens, and pigs.  There was always a host of wild cats running around and a faithful dog.  

Three hot, home-cooked meals were a given.  I honestly don't remember ever seeing them eat just a sandwich, and they certainly didn't use their time or money to run to town for take-out food.  Leftovers were never thrown out, and microwaves didn't exist.  Everything was reheated on the stove or in the oven.  Trips to town happened once a week or every other week.  They only lived about three miles from town, and I loved our trips to Richard Bros. for groceries.  

My grandma's house was always immaculately clean.  She used spring-loaded mops with ripped up old bed sheets to clean her kitchen floor.  She wasn't stingy with the bleach, either.  Maybe that's why I still love the smell of bleach.  She used a carpet sweeper instead of a vacuum, a dust mop instead of a broom, and an orange feather duster.  

There was usually some kind of garden produce to tend to.  She might have as many as three massive garden plots that she cared for.  I can remember her snapping green beans while sitting in the kitchen.  She would dry apples on old corrugated tin pieces for days outside.  I don't even want to think about the critters that tasted those apples before we did!  She would work walnuts until her hands were stained black.  

She loved to sew and quilt and did so until her hands were too disfigured by arthritis to do it.  She owned a sewing machine, but I rarely saw her use it.  I can still smell the smell of it, though.  Old, very old, electrical appliances have a distinct smell to them when used.  She got a paper called "The Cappers" back then, and it would have various quilting block patterns in it.  She would cut those out and start cutting scrap material for the blocks.  She would then pin the pieces together and stitch them by hand.  Once all of the blocks were ready, she would sew the quilt top together and start quilting it by hand.  The back bedroom was painted pink and housed a quilting frame on the ceiling.  It was four large hooks with heavy strips of canvas that attached to four very worn and hole-filled pieces of wood that had small black nails driven into them to hold the edges of the quilt in place.  C-clamps held the frame together, along with twisting the canvas strips around and around the four corners of boards.  I remember the rolls of cotton batting that would be used as filling for the quilts.  They just don't make that stuff like they did back then.  It was more dense, soft, and fluffy.  Grandma would sit in that room for hours quilting in silence.  A radio was usually playing in the kitchen, but it was quiet in that room.  

She never failed to read her Bible daily, often several times a day.  She would get a quarterly devotional called, "Open Windows" and would study it faithfully.  Later in life, when her quilting hands failed her, she would spend hours and hours reading Christian romance novels.

We didn't miss a morning episode of "The Price is Right" with Bob Barker.  I'd turn her old leather ottoman on its side and pretend I was spinning the big wheel as I rolled it across the floor.  She also never missed an episode of her "stories," aka "Another World."  This seems so funny to me now.  It is the one thing that seems out of character for her.  I didn't think much about it at the time.  I just watched right along with her.  Soap operas weren't quite as racy and trashy back then, but Rachel and Mac Cory always had some kind of drama going on.

Idle hands did not exist in my Grandma's world.  The only time that her hands were at rest were in the evenings when the lights stayed off to save on electricity or when she slept.  The only light coming from their house after dark was the glow of the TV.  They did like to watch TV at night.  I so vividly remember the three of us kids staying at her house in the evening while my parents were busy elsewhere.  My sister was obsessed with sitting on the couch and watching out the window for their car lights.  She had an unusual fear of them not making it back to us, so she was always so relieved to see their lights turn in the drive.  I don't know if she thought they were going to leave us there or what!  

On occasion, I'd get to spend the night and sleep in Grandma's bed with her.  During warm weather, the windows were always open.  They didn't own an air conditioner.  They lived right on the highway, so the sound of cars whizzing by filled the night air.  Grandma wasn't much of a talker, but lying in bed at night, I could usually coax a few stories out of her.  Oh, what I'd give to go back and remember every last one of them now!  She and Uncle Gene had a nightly routine.  It involved taking a swig of Pepto Bismol, rubbing BenGay all over Uncle Gene's back, and Grandma taking a swipe of Vick's Vaporub and rubbing it on her gums.  I do not know why.  Those smells are very distinct, though, and take me right back to those cherished nights.  

How blessed I am to have had such an idyllic childhood.  I know not all kids are so fortunate.  How blessed I am to have had such a wonderful example as my grandma.  I will never live up to her legacy, but I will never quit trying to be a little more like her.  

Breathe in the good. Exhale the bad.

These last couple of weeks have been trying for me.  I'm emotional.  I'm discouraged.  I'm on edge.  

I've always been pretty free flowing with my opinions.  I kind of feel like, if you don't like what I have to say, too bad.  It's my right to say it.  As long as I'm not coming from a place of meanness, my voice should be heard.  

Then, I opened my mouth.  Even though I was coming from a place of love and concern, I hurt others.  Yes, plural.  More than once.  It wasn't my intention, but it happened, nonetheless.  

In one instance, I liken it to trying to yell out and warn someone of a danger they may not be able to see from their perspective.  Would it be "right" to just sit back and let that person stumble into a dangerous situation without so much as telling them what you can see?  I thought it was necessary to scream out and tell that person to turn around.  I guess it was really none of my business.  That person is old enough to see those dangers and make a choice whether or not to proceed.  

In another situation, I felt that my voice of experience needed to be heard before someone else made an important decision.  I have been in their shoes, to a degree, and I know the pros and cons of both sides.  I have a vested interest in this decision, but it's not mine to make.  Maybe I overstepped my boundaries, but I felt it necessary.  It caused hurt feelings, and hurtful things were thrown right back at me.  Again, my intentions misunderstood.

What have I learned?  I can only be myself.  I can only make decisions for myself.  No one else out there needs to hear my voice.  No one else cares to hear my opinions.  All I can do is choose to be there, regardless of hurt feelings, if others should eventually need me.  I will breathe in the good and exhale the bad, all while keeping my mouth shut.