tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67991181348525494632024-03-05T15:29:51.981-06:00Branching Out Through The YearsAs we push through the garden gate of the old homestead,
we are surprised at how much smaller things are than we remembered them,
and how much work needs to be done.
-The Hummer-FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.comBlogger478125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-58713002440887948882024-01-05T18:50:00.001-06:002024-01-05T18:50:39.049-06:0052 Ancestors Week 1 Family Lore<p> When I was young, there wasn't any stories told. Never thought about it. The adults kept their conversations to themselves and my cousins and I romped outside in joyful bliss. </p><p>When I grew older and was taking classes that asked about family origins, I asked my dad's mother what our family's heritage was... Dutch, or English... Her favorite answer was "Dutch, Devil, and dog..." đWell, that didn't help. So I would press her, and her answer would be we are Black Dutch... I was pretty sure we didn't have any Negro in our background, so I decided to search on my own. I was in my teens. It would not be until I was much older and had become a genealogist I would find what she was alluding to, and understood her mysterious method of telling me what she thought was true. </p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Black Dutch was <span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">a term was adopted [by some people] as an attempt to disguise Indian or infrequently, tri-racial desce</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #202124;">nt. We lived in a small town next to an indian reservation. My grandfather had been a blacksmith and was well known. My older cousin was derogatory toward the old indian men who would get drunk and sit by the bank on the benches outside. I don't think she knew the belief in my grandmother's family that they had indian blood from the 1600s. I am pretty sure that my grandmother was the only one who had any knowledge of the efforts of her mother's family to prove that they were of Native American Descent. There were some by the name of Self that were accepted into the Choctaw Tribe, but it appeared it was through marriage. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #202124; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white;">We tried autosomal DNA the time period of the 1600s was too far back to pick up Native American DNA. So unless a wild find in records comes forth, it will remain Folklore. #52 </span>Ancestors</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><br /></span></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-39035652172341586582023-12-29T00:18:00.002-06:002023-12-29T00:20:25.907-06:00Introspective Glance into the Author<p><br /></p><p> Once upon a time, two young people fell madly in love, married, and within the year had their one and only child. A little girl who would grow to love her family and extended family and become a gatherer. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzHKrkELOYCWdor7pe8N1BPlQC8Psm-qgwYXXH570ZS03poXvjoTFk0wAqmJkoPfxONEDUYb1MCpiukvCez0OqSgWFCINfDpOvv3HzSULDJL20JKl4fNW17buGrf6SmV0nzim3Y2Cn4EjSYely5doHPGhOM3RwROcw-WTrHJyLiegEnQJFl7Sj18zd9m8/s730/frances%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="609" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzHKrkELOYCWdor7pe8N1BPlQC8Psm-qgwYXXH570ZS03poXvjoTFk0wAqmJkoPfxONEDUYb1MCpiukvCez0OqSgWFCINfDpOvv3HzSULDJL20JKl4fNW17buGrf6SmV0nzim3Y2Cn4EjSYely5doHPGhOM3RwROcw-WTrHJyLiegEnQJFl7Sj18zd9m8/w207-h248/frances%203.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Her father would tell her that during her infancy, her parents were so poor, that they had wall paper for walls in a big square room, and an outhouse for bathroom... The first winter, he would have to break the ice crystals off her blanket where her breath had frozen. Then when she was a toddler, she lived through the devastating event of her father having his leg cut off in a logging accident. Unknown to him, it gave her inner fortitude watching his recovery progress as well as how he conducted himself through life, never feeling sorry for himself and helping others. In her beginning school years, she saw her mother finish college and begin teaching, and her father go to trade school and become head of the heating and air conditioning department at the local College. When she learned to drive, she and a close friend, who travel through the state of Oklahoma to see where family lived and learn about her roots. Although she had grown up knowing her many cousin, and aunts and uncles, it was a discover for her as she sought out areas on her own and developed her relationship with them by herself. This was the beginning of her deep love of family and desire to hold them close. She moved away to another state to become a registered nurse and fell in love to marry in an area that was 10 hours away from friends and family. At first it was lonely, but as her own family grew to 6 children, she wanted them to know her family. Her parents moved to live near by so her children learned from her and their father the joy of having family close by. She and her husband would alter Thanksgiving and Christmas with the families. When she began studying about Family History and how to do genealogy, she was elated and began reaching out to all she knew to discover anything she did not know. She was blessed that some shared family treasures she did not know about and some shared stories that she was amazed to learn about. It was glorious time, her husband would take her on trips to visit earlier areas that early ancestors had lived in. Her love of Family continued to grow. When Facebook was introduced to her, she was working with FamilySearch to create Pages for each of the Untied States, and various Countries. This gave her an idea to create her own families Group that would allow for reaching out to new found cousins that because of circumstances of separation, she had never gotten to know until as she had worked on her Family Trees, and blogged and they connected. This has been a joy in her life and her children now are excited to find where their distant cousins are and have fun with them...</p><p>I have learned in life the joy comes from the ordinary things we do and the joy of being connected.</p><p>Thank you Amy Johnson Crow for your persistence in getting people to write. I have been trying to get back to blogging. I hope I can hang on this time.</p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans; font-size: 15px; font-weight: 700;">#52ancestors </span></p>FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-45682561272944159972023-11-14T10:20:00.005-06:002023-11-14T10:34:58.669-06:00A Familiar Question for me These Last Few Years "Where has all the Time gone"<p>Well, this is what happens when you think you pushed the publish button, and didn't. I have been busy with my FamilySearch Mission working on the War of 1812 files, and helping my 5 children and the 34 grandchildren. Yes, I procrastinated doing what I tell others to do....Write their family stories.</p><p>The last blog post I made was 3 years ago! So much has happened since 2019 and I feel almost overwhelmed when I contemplate what I have seen and done. This is an opinion piece, my thoughts, add yours in the comment section if you want. </p><p>My youngest son would say "my world has gone to Hell in a handbasket" ( đđwell not in those words because he is not from that generation, but you get the gist of the matter) . </p><p>Last year when the medical world lost its soul, I lost my oldest daughter, Aine. I lament because there are so many things she still had to do, but she was so overwhelmed with life, the disease COVID was able to take her from us. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQn7Ctk384O5cSk7-3gG7Bo15naJ6WkgnhuSb_5IjPUmt9Bi98FUmO5OBVwzKQB6cbcZRBeQv211Tyedta36mHvn1aMCRFJsocb9VU9nmZ0CfxQjqxmFUa73mRsw4hYswpKZtqlVpk186QGkfTsNqZTTYYrQdaO6Y7BMGCozAXzuCu9F7B1_3SfCvHkar/s640/aine%20and%20adam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQn7Ctk384O5cSk7-3gG7Bo15naJ6WkgnhuSb_5IjPUmt9Bi98FUmO5OBVwzKQB6cbcZRBeQv211Tyedta36mHvn1aMCRFJsocb9VU9nmZ0CfxQjqxmFUa73mRsw4hYswpKZtqlVpk186QGkfTsNqZTTYYrQdaO6Y7BMGCozAXzuCu9F7B1_3SfCvHkar/s320/aine%20and%20adam.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>What has brought me here was a thought about my sweetheart Aine and time. She tried to control her "time" by making beautiful planners. Mother of 8 children, an absentee husband ( he worked for 20 days at a time miles and hours away), she wanted to make sure all was taken care of. Her youngest had to be at therapy 2 days a week 40 minutes away. There was homeschooling to be done, and she was driven to make sure they were taught well. She was a writer and that creativity permeated her life. Those planners were very important to her, and because she loved beautiful things, she put time and thought in to how they were organized, what they looked like and how functional they were. I think we all have a need to have control over ourselves and circumstances, but some more that others. </p><p>This is an example of her life as she wrote on Facebook... "<span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px;">Russell just left for 20 days and my living room looks like Grandpa Joe's after his stroke (chapter 2 of my book) - it's filled with towers of boxes taped shut labelled with black magic marker written in bold letters. Like my protagonist, I haven't the heart to go through them. Funny how fiction can reflect a warped reality. I need to go write something fun.</span><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px;"> đ"</span></p><p><a href="https://www.wattpad.com/885965273-for-love-chapter-1">"For Love"</a> was the only book she publicly published and she used her pseudonym TexasBlu</p><p>I have an email file of chapters for a book I so wanted her to finish. Time was not on our side.</p><p>This is what she said about her family. "<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I am grateful to be the mom of 8 great kids. I love their personalities, their wit, their kindness, their talents, their uniqueness, their charity for others... and each other." So there you have it "Aine's Family" she was grateful for you and she loved each of you. </span></span></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-40655952171783027892019-12-22T21:52:00.001-06:002019-12-22T21:52:58.582-06:00Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year... Memories and Present History Report.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">First, I want to Thank anyone who has dropped by to
read my posts. It does make it feel like it was worth taking the time to research
and to share my findings as well as my stories.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am not a Christmas card person; I have never been
one to send them. I have cousins, my aunts, my in-laws, and my mom who were
great at sending cards. They would always include a little of their family
history as a letter tucked inside or feelings of love written on their card. Those
I kept and put in their history. This will be my Christmas letter (inspired by
<a href="https://reflectionsfromthefence.blogspot.com/2019/12/the-2019-version-of-dreaded-holiday.html?fbclid=IwAR0_Z-DuK9hZ4To1ELfJYS04NLvGzTKWp5HYRu4vZ1pvXqO4ofRNqNgQXvA">Carol over at Reflections from the Fence</a> to do so). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Christmas has become a bit sad for me as the older
generation has passed. No one to share their memories. My sweetheart went home the
morning before Christmas Eve. It does make for bittersweet memories. My heart
goes out to those experiencing the feeling of mixed feelings of gratitude for
those they have lost and sadness of not having them with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A bit of my history with Christmas Cards, it was my
momâs thing. Even in the world of her dementia, she found joy in Christmas. Her
eyes would light up as the carolers would sing the Christmas songs. It was a
ritual that I would bring a box of cards so she could still sign her name and a
small thought, sometimes just âI love youâ. She really remembered who she was
sending it to. I loved that moment of respite from her usual feelings of anger. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-scOLl6r60kD2U1o3GqZcY2ALp6zfJlK50QIBy7AEAyI5-OWoQcTBQ69Gc1WWi6O9hlh4HSRKFfzwPjzl30rv8BA0Uu5MZnhyxpwBPFGVC6fniGs9Ur-nf5QmjpE-wLUBNszwgAsLMPi/s1600/mom+Dec+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="467" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-scOLl6r60kD2U1o3GqZcY2ALp6zfJlK50QIBy7AEAyI5-OWoQcTBQ69Gc1WWi6O9hlh4HSRKFfzwPjzl30rv8BA0Uu5MZnhyxpwBPFGVC6fniGs9Ur-nf5QmjpE-wLUBNszwgAsLMPi/s200/mom+Dec+2017.jpg" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary Langley 2017</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Now, for a bit of my year⌠My family of 6 children and
31 grandchildren (before my brother-in-law says 31! I will insert, I have
gotten to know my daughterâs two stepchildren and love them too) keep my busy.
Aine went to Rome with her husband in March to see the new Church of Jesus
Christâs Rome Temple. I watched her 6 children still at home. I should say 5,
the older two work. The youngest is a nonverbal autistic. I was apprehensive at
first because of the miles apart and only seeing him maybe once a year the
relationship would be considered thin at best. I didnât have to worry, the
older boys assisted in watching him and sometimes interpreting for him. The
best part was going to his therapy sessions and learning what they have been
doing for him. He has a device that he can choose feelings or words to
communicate. He was just starting, but now he is getting better at using it to
express himself. That is exciting. They are getting along fine. I was glad to
have been able to spend some fun time with Savannah. In August she left on her
mission to Denver and is loving it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#LighttheWorld #givingmachine</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Just before I was to come back home, Emily developed
problems with her 7<sup>th</sup> pregnancy and ended up being life flighted to
Salt Lake City for emergency care. Her sweet husband and 6 children were all
sick, recovering from the flu. I was glad I had extended my stay with Aine, and
that her husband could delay my flight back for a month. The trip down to stay
with Emily was not uneventful. My daughterâs windshield wiper went flying off when
she turned it on for the snow, to protect the windshield we had to scavenger in
the car to find something to go over the loose metal end. We found a stray sock
one of the boys had left in the car to fasten over it. We had to travel a good
distance to get to a town to get a new wiper blade. My daughter Christina flew
up to assist with the sick children and spend time with Emily when she got
home. Emily scared us all. All turned out well, I came back home when she was
strong enough and she had a cute baby boy about a month later. Scary spring. Tory got glasses AND braces... big deal for her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Christina has kept my year hoping. She has the 4
younger children at home and the 4 older ones are making it on their own.
Amadeus will leave this coming January for Rexburg, Idaho to go to BYU Idaho.
Willie started school this year, and Jamie has started therapy to help with his
emotions and coping. I am not expressing that well and it is a story for her to
tell. I will say the trip the three of us took up to see the new baby and go by
and see my granddaughter leaving on a mission was the hardest I have ever
taken. Lexi was baptized. It was a mixed emotion event, excitement that she was being baptized. Sadness because her Grandfather Whitworth just passed away. The funeral was before the baptism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoE87sDkItoh15AgpNF2eyq-kti4bO4DcqATJJ1-8ekCn_Ft5tfPdz7MTIFspWcBHuwf3mtUwYxKKj3sKo_Redzc6BYb6noXWtH_SkNquL8Gc7583rV8mlfL_eh1TdAj-nlGxoFKsBRrW1/s1600/after+baptism.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoE87sDkItoh15AgpNF2eyq-kti4bO4DcqATJJ1-8ekCn_Ft5tfPdz7MTIFspWcBHuwf3mtUwYxKKj3sKo_Redzc6BYb6noXWtH_SkNquL8Gc7583rV8mlfL_eh1TdAj-nlGxoFKsBRrW1/s320/after+baptism.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Edward is doing well. His oldest daughter left in September
to go on her mission to Cebu. Marian took her on a trip to New York just after
she graduated for her graduation present. My cousin has fallen in love with his
son and told him, they would steal him in a minute. I am glad my children have
my family to love on them too. The girls are busy performing, playing instruments,
and sports.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMoCBfPQUZLwjWe2W75Ifn44kh8vr2CwC0O-ibLPPFYGLfQqwuHcJEWRUAbCoehcf_P8R6uOwQZBYk6Q-5PDb1BeLfGijGk1UuBZwr4OPtBZeAt5KAPEfdUCZ1LX9f6DHe6tksapPurAPC/s1600/selena+in+cebu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1256" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMoCBfPQUZLwjWe2W75Ifn44kh8vr2CwC0O-ibLPPFYGLfQqwuHcJEWRUAbCoehcf_P8R6uOwQZBYk6Q-5PDb1BeLfGijGk1UuBZwr4OPtBZeAt5KAPEfdUCZ1LX9f6DHe6tksapPurAPC/s320/selena+in+cebu.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cebu, Philippines </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sarah has had a rough year, that looks like it
started off slow and is finishing great. During her husbandâs lay off they tried
doing Uber Eats. It was not what they had been led to believe it would be. He
now has a nice job that enables them to be home much more. Her oldest boy is
now 14. He and the baby who is 3 are fast buddies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sean is with a new company and is enjoying working
as a foreman on new plumbing construction in Austin, Texas. Downtown Austin is
not a favorite of most people to work in and not for him either. He does love
the work especially when they do work in historical buildings. He has even
worked in the capitol fixing stuff. This fall I went up and he treated me to a delicious dinner at a restaurant that had outside tables with heaters. Fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbknIW1Q7IWxKGkfUqXXjfTFPv77WDh1-mu4KVcjiBUgIdPlhLU1ed3PLYYCegQS9cDh_FrNgJMIjvKyFBzasVOo05zzW04NAl_DLQ6jAJ1RpPu1YRGhfBBzMBpD8ZDGGHvoq9TPEt5FJf/s1600/20191123_152957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbknIW1Q7IWxKGkfUqXXjfTFPv77WDh1-mu4KVcjiBUgIdPlhLU1ed3PLYYCegQS9cDh_FrNgJMIjvKyFBzasVOo05zzW04NAl_DLQ6jAJ1RpPu1YRGhfBBzMBpD8ZDGGHvoq9TPEt5FJf/s320/20191123_152957.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am president of the Montgomery County Genealogical
Society in Montgomery County, Texas for another year. It has been challenging
because of finding a place to meet that was consistent. We have, with the help
of a stalwart member, fixed up the office that is ours to accommodate holding
our meetings there so it will stay the same place. I have been working on a
project in my FamilySearch mission to document preserving stuff. It was
supposed to be my momâs and auntâs family stuff I was given, however, it turned
out I was entrusted with a strangerâs stuff to preserve that her family did not
want. I had to digitize and categorize pictures, papers and charts. (okay, I just
about cried when I found the big box of pictures, especially that she took to
time to identify and keep them in family categories. I am in awe of her professional
work. Just so sad it was in a trunk in a garage that no one knew of.) I am
writing about it and adding what I can to FamilySearch and uploading pictures. I
will entrust it to the Society I am president of when I get finished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">With that, I will say Merry Christmas and wishing
great blessing for all,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">FranE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-44253024059702932019-12-13T17:23:00.000-06:002019-12-13T17:23:42.901-06:00Mattie Roberts Whitson Was an Awesome Grandmother<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;">I was blessed
that my grandmothers were still living when I was growing up and both had quit
house-k</span><span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;">eeping and would
come to visit for extended lengths of time. My mom was a teacher, so she especially </span><span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;">would love when
Grandma Whitson came to stay⌠and I have to say, some of my best memories of
Grandma was helping her in the kitchen.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1J2VoDTGeaAA8nt3H8YG-gTF-gV-wGF9FmiQXPjGmp46fR48JKfqea_gDKUfgplBSCQHfOwoxq7p1XiPlNabiuZ8vC0WeuFsFu1bA14fwSn-9qFhFNe0pvtJXkSYFV9iYD6_VsemkMhja/s1600/Mattie+Whitson%2527s+roses+in+NM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1008" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1J2VoDTGeaAA8nt3H8YG-gTF-gV-wGF9FmiQXPjGmp46fR48JKfqea_gDKUfgplBSCQHfOwoxq7p1XiPlNabiuZ8vC0WeuFsFu1bA14fwSn-9qFhFNe0pvtJXkSYFV9iYD6_VsemkMhja/s320/Mattie+Whitson%2527s+roses+in+NM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matilda Roberts Whitson in New Mexico </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo36M9pn29ZdGOcaiiOmLi3SGM1mErmL8uXnh3Al5FGMeV8PcDs43kJ6IqB8d-ZV8EmpbFKvnvjTjqnUciWuBZiKVVXrYWgRee9L9GBRjBsPNR3nV0ohhmHz9FprMow8J8jS14xMtA-nzx/s1600/Frances+when+a+Freshman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="140" data-original-width="103" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo36M9pn29ZdGOcaiiOmLi3SGM1mErmL8uXnh3Al5FGMeV8PcDs43kJ6IqB8d-ZV8EmpbFKvnvjTjqnUciWuBZiKVVXrYWgRee9L9GBRjBsPNR3nV0ohhmHz9FprMow8J8jS14xMtA-nzx/s1600/Frances+when+a+Freshman.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fran at 15</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;">One precious
memory was making a boiled spice raisin cake from scratch with her. She let me
help with every step. First, we boiled the spices (wow the kitchen smelled
fabulous), then we added raisins to âplump them upâ (her words).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While the spices were boiling, we mixed the
dry ingredients together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;">We did let the
boiled mixture cool, and knowing Grandma, I am sure there was something we did
in the meantime. She was always busy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;">[While we are
waiting on the spices to cool, I will digress and tell another funny memory I
have of her. She was, in my fatherâs words, obsessed with washing clothes. I
think she was just obsessed with automatic washers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> đ </span>Back to the story, she would twist the knob too
many times (may have been because she had coke bottle bottom glasses) and my
dad would end up having to fix the washer, so he was sayâŚâMom donât do any
washing.â Before the day was through, she had done a couple of loads and hung
them out on the line. Probably one of the sources of my stubbornness.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;">Back to our
recipe. After the spices cooled, we added it to our dry mixture, then mixed well. We then poured the mixture in a greased and floured 9 X 13 baking pan and set
our timer for 35 minutes. When the timer went off, she let me take the cake
out. I was devastated. The cake looked like a ski slope. She just laughed and
said, âSweetie the best tasting cakes are failed ones.â She was right it still
tasted great. Never figured out what caused the cake to do that but learned
from her nothing was a failure if you found a bright side and learned from the
experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "century gothic" , sans-serif;">Years later I wanted
to make the recipe for my kids only to discover that Grandma never wrote her
recipes down. We lost the best tasting roll recipe because of that too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I searched cookbooks thinking maybe I could
find a recipe that someone else had done that was the same. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unable to find one, I used my memory and basic
cake making skills to recreate her cake. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as close as I could get, but the real
reason I sought the cake was centered around the memory of being in the warm kitchen
after school with my grandmother and just having fun with something great tasting
to share with my parents. Ah, days gone by. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: century gothic, sans-serif;">Now the kids have another Matilda Roberts Whitson story. (I have read that the boiled spice cake was invented in the depression when eggs and milk were a premium. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlti5yg1kY-zMBdOfXuzJnM7tkxUrquNzd3LU9uH3lPacjamGWe9tZKb8zNNBlIQBaw8rRjjx1PpZNyws9F2a10EvvZj2Dkmmq-kAc1v0KxjUQ2f8K7tFsLGcDQzREcnd7jbqgWKGLIKIZ/s1600/Old-Fashioned-Boiled-Raisin-Cake-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="234" data-original-width="354" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlti5yg1kY-zMBdOfXuzJnM7tkxUrquNzd3LU9uH3lPacjamGWe9tZKb8zNNBlIQBaw8rRjjx1PpZNyws9F2a10EvvZj2Dkmmq-kAc1v0KxjUQ2f8K7tFsLGcDQzREcnd7jbqgWKGLIKIZ/s320/Old-Fashioned-Boiled-Raisin-Cake-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was NOT how our turned out.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: century gothic, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Boiled
Spice Raisin Cake<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ingredients:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wet
mix: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
cup water<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
cup molasses<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2
cups brown sugar<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
teaspoon cinnamon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
teaspoon nutmeg<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
teaspoon allspice<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1/4
teaspoon ground cloves<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2
cups raisins<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
cup butter or margarine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
tsp pure Vanilla<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dry
mix:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3
cups all-purpose flour<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1
teaspoon baking powder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1/2
teaspoon baking soda<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1/4
teaspoon salt<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Instructions:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Preheat
oven to 350 degrees F. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In
a medium saucepan, mix water, molasses, brown sugar, raisins, butter, and the spices.
Bring to a boil and let simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In
a separate bowl, mix, flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Add
the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir until well mixed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pour
into a 13x9 inch glass dish or cake pan that you have greased and floured.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bake
for 35 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean from the center of the
cake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You
can frost or not. Makes a great breakfast cake (high in iron).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(the vanilla is my addition... I use vanilla. đ) franE</span></div>
FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-45514029506127814172019-05-12T16:20:00.001-05:002019-05-12T16:20:22.747-05:00Sentimental Sunday Find Nancy Phillips Hankins Birth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Pjs70EAP7MXcBII_bov1yY8tpJ853EeL_Q_4tJFOXzasosPHf5XOj3s-CB4AT_aP0SVeSstRNPW26pME6Wc7pcuK4PTzPN-3tKNWrMta1pDYc22S7df6H3dZAtdnPfSNCKSaDLg_JFTK/s1600/Nancy+Phillips+Hankins+death+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Pjs70EAP7MXcBII_bov1yY8tpJ853EeL_Q_4tJFOXzasosPHf5XOj3s-CB4AT_aP0SVeSstRNPW26pME6Wc7pcuK4PTzPN-3tKNWrMta1pDYc22S7df6H3dZAtdnPfSNCKSaDLg_JFTK/s400/Nancy+Phillips+Hankins+death+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nancy Phillips Hankins Obituary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Until I found my 2nd great grandmother's obituary, I did not
have any clue as to her birth date or her death date or what her character was.
Today, I revisited my ancestor's birth dates on FamilySearch while filling out
the questions to ask your grandmother sheet for my grandchildren. I identified
that two of my daughters were born on my dad's two sisters birth dates. I was
curious as to who else might have been born on another relative's birth
date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several were really close like my
4th daughter was 2 days away from my dad. My oldest son was 4 days away from
mine and 3 from my mom's sister. My youngest son was born on my Mom's birthday.
One of my children was born in December. I have not found an ancestor born in
December, marriages, just no births. I do have to say that there are many we
don't have full birth dates on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back to my reason for this story... My birthday is the same
as Nancy's. I hope my longevity is as great as hers and more, but mostly I hope
there will be nice things said about me like they said about her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A life goals.<o:p></o:p></div>
This was a Mother's Day endeavor to practice what I preach and write down my personal information for my grandchildren.<br />
How about you. Have you written down things for your family. Maybe you don't have children, but you have memories you can share about family that nieces and nephews, cousins would love to know.<br />
<a href="https://www.familysearch.org/blog/en/20-questions-capture-grandmas-story/?et_cid=1386832&et_rid=106119205&linkid=CTA&cid=em-brc-8184&fbclid=IwAR0BIHW967-daAwtC1CvrLy8TIjgU-KzGQuvdcTat6dVK_jv5lNm6rQb0cE">FamilySearch Blog has some ideas to help.</a><br />
<br /></div>
FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-67995847353137889422019-05-06T09:41:00.000-05:002019-05-06T09:41:00.019-05:00The Hero Had GERD <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Talking with his mom, you would never know that the Hero had an obedient bone in his body, but I witnessed him being called, in a manner of fashion, obedient by his doctor.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In his mid fifties the Hero was diagnosed with GERD (GERD, is short for gastroesophageal reflux disease; a condition in which acidic gastric fluid flows backward into the esophagus, resulting in heartburn<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">. It had become painful and caused him sleep loss so we had gone into the doctor to find a solution. The doctor said the best treatment was weight loss and raising the head of our bed to a 45 degree angle. The Hero was cautioned to not use a foam wedge that was available on the market. The effect of that would be to cut him off in the middle and make the GERD worse. We will not talk about the weight loss.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">We went home and the Hero began problem solving. There weren't any wooden support extensions back then and our bed was a huge wooden backboard bed that had a memory foam mattress that he had paid 2500 dollars for, so he wasn't giving that up. Hmmm, said he, if I put blocks up under the edges I think I can raise the bed up to the 45 degree angle. He bought concrete cinder blocks, and began his process of measuring the angle and adding smaller bricks to achieve his angle. He did it. Our massive bed was like this...</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLzmAQvTmQJHNONCocUyHXtoEpo_S548tKJb6Nfi2Z_qXCWgKqMFsGLeNeisik73Qh2HNjUxas1TErxTWfFNU2xfZR2nmn7gPpyQVF6phFhgYjh2gntS0hpFn9sXa1lHtYej3Ibn-h-MW/s1600/elevated+bed.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLzmAQvTmQJHNONCocUyHXtoEpo_S548tKJb6Nfi2Z_qXCWgKqMFsGLeNeisik73Qh2HNjUxas1TErxTWfFNU2xfZR2nmn7gPpyQVF6phFhgYjh2gntS0hpFn9sXa1lHtYej3Ibn-h-MW/s1600/elevated+bed.png" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> It was exactly what the doctor had described. The only problem was you would have to occasionally crawl back up to the top at night when you slid down the slope. đđ I love that man, he made life such an adventure. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgsOu_vF2JgZ9dpgPjkJk3OG8T9fKRI6yTv8yldFabuNwC1JefOvWIH6_DeaCsnP0FrCe5PEjkZvWzY2FTmXWax0hzwRv3HuAgm25B_6XUoBTEgbSbr6ZMY4TNWpMpqYCd-odD92TIiTv/s1600/FrancesheldbyNed1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="502" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgsOu_vF2JgZ9dpgPjkJk3OG8T9fKRI6yTv8yldFabuNwC1JefOvWIH6_DeaCsnP0FrCe5PEjkZvWzY2FTmXWax0hzwRv3HuAgm25B_6XUoBTEgbSbr6ZMY4TNWpMpqYCd-odD92TIiTv/s200/FrancesheldbyNed1.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">When we went back to see the doctor on the follow up visit and the Hero told him what he had done. The doctor was amazed. He said no one had ever actually done that. (I am sitting here laughing at the doctor's face and the Hero's face who was amazed that no one had ever done what the doctor said... duh) We continued to sleep like that for a few years until the Hero was diagnosed with cancer and it became impossible for him to get into the bed like that.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Today there is actually a huge wedge that goes between the mattress and the box springs to elevate the whole top of the mattress and not bend the body at the waist like the "pillow" wedges do.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Well, when you go to bed tonight in your comfortable bed, think of the Hummer who would use her elbows to inch up in bed to the top quietly so as to not wake her Hero up. Life can be funny.</span></span></div>
</div>
FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-17522458638548606112019-01-13T09:39:00.000-06:002019-01-13T09:39:54.053-06:00Scenic Pictures - Sentimental Sunday story <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I have a rule that when I with family on a trip that the scenic
pictures always has a family member(s) in them. That way the scene means
something later when viewed by later generations (needs name and place on back
still. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">đ</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">However, there are times that a
picture maybe taken of an object or thing without a person and to you it
will mean great memories. To others without a story, it may get tossed to the
wayside and why did they take that picture. I have two such pictures and will
proceed to write the stories behind them for future generations to enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The first picture involves my
dad and my Hero, Ned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When we first moved to the
"farm" (6.7 acres) we had a small barn, chicken pens, and a pig pen,
and rabbit hutches. We were as my father-in-law put it, gentlemen farmers;
meaning the Hero worked in Houston then he and my dad built stuff on the
weekends. After clearing much of the brush and small trees in the back, my
dad was worried of losing trees. As he
was sitting next to the barn watching his chickens, he as he liked to do, he
noticed a small pine seedling sprouting in the </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">barnyard</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qS7E5yWX9eV7QMuX__8q50gE8fvdRsOcaHAK8s10VFt013tD9AtgyS9KusXWKJYxmpod3ca_36Rl7dEi48PIwIEQ8dSidTfgdc1R25t3Tv6wWQv8tRrPeYVrm8vFGxoY8vyDmvkuuNlf/s1600/13+Young+pine+tree+sprouting+on+rotten+bark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="299" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qS7E5yWX9eV7QMuX__8q50gE8fvdRsOcaHAK8s10VFt013tD9AtgyS9KusXWKJYxmpod3ca_36Rl7dEi48PIwIEQ8dSidTfgdc1R25t3Tv6wWQv8tRrPeYVrm8vFGxoY8vyDmvkuuNlf/s320/13+Young+pine+tree+sprouting+on+rotten+bark.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the actual seedling, but exactly like it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">He decided it would
be a fine addition there to give shade to his critters. Picking up a stick he
fashioned a stake and stuck it in the ground to protect it from foot damage so
we would know it was there. The Hero thought that was a great idea too. So as
the pine grew, so did the stake, thus everyone would know it was a choice
tree. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">40 years later both of my men are gone, but I imagine occasionally
they might look down and say that is a fine tree. It turned out it is a Loblolly Pine and is
beautiful. Every time I pull in at home and park, I face it. I remember the years of protecting it and the
care the two men did to make sure it survived to be the tree it is now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTnuV4ROZwg4-C68VGfalSDVGw3X43XAyhdnEjHkkf5Gm2BKwBNNkTK98yBuRODosfAldBUOL0CfXdo9bUROvSUvd5EVV2jbHZ5IcEroiq0yNEanU6wV18oiAlPAkQJdKxy51-AarRbP9F/s1600/20190112_143028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="942" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTnuV4ROZwg4-C68VGfalSDVGw3X43XAyhdnEjHkkf5Gm2BKwBNNkTK98yBuRODosfAldBUOL0CfXdo9bUROvSUvd5EVV2jbHZ5IcEroiq0yNEanU6wV18oiAlPAkQJdKxy51-AarRbP9F/s320/20190112_143028.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual tree 2019, 40 years later.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The other landscape picture is of a road going to our home. We
used to call it the tunnel. Everyone knew that when we arrive at the âtunnelâ
that home was just a short way down the road. We loved the oaks and pines that
covered the road and that you could see light at the end of the tunnel.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxQwTgzbyzLtBhyphenhyphenVgDQF9d9bQoRWz3YHcb4wwC8kdOirGoV3Qtfb9M8pWVVZmq3JD5Js5ZVtUtduaL318ouSbhQdpKV2YtZlfi6RawpyuYt3eO3dStYXpeZc-Aumrv8uU6oLN0hE8qLb3/s1600/tunnel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="762" data-original-width="960" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxQwTgzbyzLtBhyphenhyphenVgDQF9d9bQoRWz3YHcb4wwC8kdOirGoV3Qtfb9M8pWVVZmq3JD5Js5ZVtUtduaL318ouSbhQdpKV2YtZlfi6RawpyuYt3eO3dStYXpeZc-Aumrv8uU6oLN0hE8qLb3/s320/tunnel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As the children would say..."Almost home"...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">There were many stories about that area of the road. The the road
was an iron ore road that had to be graded by a road grader. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnOCGnR-MnyZA1UN84AB4tKiystDJzxISGHTw9CZAilXtkNt-izqrgjEZQvIMA3MnfKE97LNsAZrk0DgSeWCZabpazOP4nd6p-Uk-Eyfm1rrKGqvepdfhyphenhyphenyqUYGJ6_aAWhtQfAgChDZUK/s1600/road+grader.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="184" data-original-width="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnOCGnR-MnyZA1UN84AB4tKiystDJzxISGHTw9CZAilXtkNt-izqrgjEZQvIMA3MnfKE97LNsAZrk0DgSeWCZabpazOP4nd6p-Uk-Eyfm1rrKGqvepdfhyphenhyphenyqUYGJ6_aAWhtQfAgChDZUK/s1600/road+grader.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For my grands: a 1960s grader (like the one on our road) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The grader would
not smooth the road out after his first pass and it would leave the surface like
a washboard. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD24RQcMnm5RAq7x5iUuwGfzLyWrj0O0PWlj10CQ_q8CkD0sJWZ3pWQ9PDmNYs9yZOmXpDhHfH2a4CMLfdQhHMf6w2FC21On8oFoMfmFz7ppewYHOfbcDdFVBQqm6yK5VRYA_LK36h1LNT/s1600/8574535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD24RQcMnm5RAq7x5iUuwGfzLyWrj0O0PWlj10CQ_q8CkD0sJWZ3pWQ9PDmNYs9yZOmXpDhHfH2a4CMLfdQhHMf6w2FC21On8oFoMfmFz7ppewYHOfbcDdFVBQqm6yK5VRYA_LK36h1LNT/s1600/8574535.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For my grands: a washboard women used to wash their clothes...remind me to tell you a story about that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">You would drive down it and feel like your teeth were chattering.
The worse time was when I was expecting my 4</span><sup>th</sup><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> child and every time
we drove over it I would exclaim âslow down!â The Hero would smile or even
(added injury) giggle and say wonât help. My body parts did not agree, but it
was what it wasâŚmiserable. Everyone was excited when they finally decided to
blacktop the road (wish I had written the date down).</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The tunnel is gone now due to development. New owners decided they
needed a clear view of the road, but the random picture I took one day to
remind my children of home, still survives. I am so glad I took it. When they
see it, they still think home. That is why there is a picture of a tree tunnel
in my picture box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Write the stories. Grandchildren will love them and they can pass
them down to theirs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-17910656111951503312018-11-23T07:51:00.000-06:002018-11-23T07:51:28.207-06:00A Funny Thing Happened the Way To Grandma's...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As I was making my way over the creek (no river on my land), and through the woods to see my son, I let my mind wander to Thanksgivings in the past.<br />
It was a tradition for my dad, mom, and I to go back to Pawnee to see family. Today an hour drive doesn't seem like much but back then, it was FOREVER. Riding in the car with my parents was always and adventure. My mom and dad loved each other very much, BUT were not above a spirited disagreement. My mom had a funny history of getting her driver's license that should have kept her from being one to tell another how to drive, BUT it didn't keep her from being a backseat driver.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGOj5hX6ivNxJ6jtt6wVTJ2HRSmOvYjTGB5NkLcNp7DHIO7miCtgoSeVsksUNGhW7Ye1R0FQCa_Rh5RP1OQdfnkAWf6aN6SC_ctD7bRajdq9TrBg0lsrwQ0uNhT09gHxkZVE4nTNfFiuT/s1600/Langley+Lester+Mary+1967EdmondOK+BurtonPL+addresscrop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="121" data-original-width="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGOj5hX6ivNxJ6jtt6wVTJ2HRSmOvYjTGB5NkLcNp7DHIO7miCtgoSeVsksUNGhW7Ye1R0FQCa_Rh5RP1OQdfnkAWf6aN6SC_ctD7bRajdq9TrBg0lsrwQ0uNhT09gHxkZVE4nTNfFiuT/s1600/Langley+Lester+Mary+1967EdmondOK+BurtonPL+addresscrop.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
My memory of this particular Thanksgiving was enhanced by my dad's response and follow up. It was the best ever...I was laughing as I drove with this playing out in my mind. (btw if you see a little blue car with a yellow stick on the back that says "Genealogist don't die they just lose their census" know the driver is 50 % in the present and 50% in the past. đ Back to my story...<br />
<br />
After we had been driving about thirty minutes and mom never stopped with "Lester, you're going too fast." "Lester, watch out you are too close to the car ahead of us." "Lester, slow down." etc. etc.,<br />
he said "Mary, that is enough." He pulled over to the side of the road, got out, handed her the keys, and said "Mary, you drive since you know best how to do it." She protested, but he got in the back seat with me and leaned back with his hands behind his head. She got into the driver's seat and started the car, and off we went. At first I was wondering what on earth was going on, then about five minutes on the road on my dad began pointing out everything she was doing and exaggerating about her choices. This went on for about fifteen minutes and she began to laugh and pulled over to the side of the road. Point made, and driver was changed again. The rest of the trip was made without conflict.<br />
Do you have a story to top it?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGk8bNrP6Kkmi7e6qT0AdBCGxF8iYJTj17olTNJWdTxArRwRqhwhUWysRpH-BlAa4g_u8nxDkU1HJ8oyavrQMmhTK9v2ND7mtfQofgOXvfykvTOfD-7IVCN9sSy71A5X-lwjc88o_nh1Df/s1600/turkey_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1012" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGk8bNrP6Kkmi7e6qT0AdBCGxF8iYJTj17olTNJWdTxArRwRqhwhUWysRpH-BlAa4g_u8nxDkU1HJ8oyavrQMmhTK9v2ND7mtfQofgOXvfykvTOfD-7IVCN9sSy71A5X-lwjc88o_nh1Df/s320/turkey_01.jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-75403780490369086172018-03-24T11:26:00.003-05:002018-03-24T11:41:20.056-05:00Obituary for Mary Lee Whitson Langley<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My mother died in Hospice at her granddaughter Christina's home in Houston, Texas on March 21, 2018 with myself and her granddaughter Christina sitting by her side. It was a peaceful passing.<br />
Her obit was penned by her granddaughter Aine.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2-8lvVaqUz0iSWrVXEVV7K-NBLOcqRUh9QMvK3cMEHL30V7OoSPm8Z7_IZwdkuGixfaOLIKW6w7MwtnyE7Glron27WPXdmy6EUpjdDyioEET6eilYZRFJftIz2Mj0mqwCAEJYcyP0ToV/s1600/Mary%254049+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="761" data-original-width="517" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2-8lvVaqUz0iSWrVXEVV7K-NBLOcqRUh9QMvK3cMEHL30V7OoSPm8Z7_IZwdkuGixfaOLIKW6w7MwtnyE7Glron27WPXdmy6EUpjdDyioEET6eilYZRFJftIz2Mj0mqwCAEJYcyP0ToV/s320/Mary%254049+%25281%2529.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mary Lee Langley, a long time resident of Montgomery, Texas, peacefully passed away at the residence of her granddaughter Christina Whitworth of Humble, Texas. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mary was born on May 4, 1928 in Fay, Oklahoma along with her twin, Marley Heggan. She was the thirteenth and last child of Harry and Matilda Whitson. Mary married her husband Lester Langley in 1947 and had one child, Frances. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When Frances went to school Mary got her teaching certificate and taught school for twenty-five years in Oklahoma City. In 1979 Lester and Mary moved to Montgomery Texas to be near their only child and her twin sister. Mary was hired as a teacher at Montgomery Elementary in Montgomery, Texas until she retired in 1993. She was active in the Montgomery United Methodist Church. She wrote weekly devotionals for the Montgomery County News and articles for The Courier and the Montgomery County News.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mary loved art, hot air balloons, Macy's parades, bird watching, fishing, watching basketball, and football, along with Olympic figure skating and gymnastics. Her favorite tradition was having the family over for <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_320823591" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Sunday</span></span> lunch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She is survived by her daughter, Frances Ellsworth of Montgomery, Texas, and her six grandchildren: Aine (Russell) Schulmire of Idaho, Christina (Douglas) Whitworth of Texas, Edward (Marian) Ellsworth of Oklahoma, Emily (Joel) Ellsworth, Sarah (James) Smith, and Sean Ellsworth. She is also survived by thirty great-grandchildren, her beloved twin sister Marley Heggan and her sister-niece Jeannine Houchin, as well as many nieces and nephews. She was well loved and will be missed.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The viewing will be on Monday March 26th 2018 at the Cashner Funeral Home at </span><span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">801 Teas Road, Conroe, TX. at 11 am followed by a graveside service in the Garden Park Cemetery officiated by Reverend David Lindwall of the Montgomery United Methodist Church.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Her m</span></span><span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">emorial will also be held on Monday March 26th 2018 </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #26282a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">from 2:30-4:30 pm at the </span></div>
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<span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints on </span></div>
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<span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">1516 Wilson Rd, Conroe, TX 77304</span></div>
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<span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Call or text 936 229 8291 if you need directions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Her Funeral Card... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The front is her painting of the original Montgomery United Methodist Church in 2001 that she loved so very much.</span></div>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-13946779092557112402018-03-07T14:26:00.000-06:002018-03-07T14:26:45.298-06:00Where Are Your Roots?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That is a good question and one that many are seeking an answer to by doing DNA test to find their "ethnicity". I did this too, and found that there were parts of my DNA that point to an area I had never consciously looked for. Sweden. My grandfather's name was Whitson. That should have already triggered a way point. As I have been involved in helping others used DNA to try and get past brick walls as well as myself, I have also been considering this question "Where are your roots?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I considered the question and I realized that for me, my roots are not where my family "came from" rather it is the people I associated with. I, as you know if you have read my blog, had both of my grandmother's live with our family as I was growing up. You might think, "that must have been awesome to have them around to tell stories.". It might have been had I known what to ask. There weren't prompts to do so, or places like FamilySearch to give prompts like <a href="https://www.familysearch.org/blog/en/52stories-weekly-questions/">#52 Stories Weekly Questions</a> when I was growing up. Oh what a difference that makes today. My grandmother's didn't talk about their past, and the few questions I did ask were quietly moved to the side and answered in a way that, I suppose, was where their minds lay. What I did learn was as I have said before was being spiritual, serving, and cuddling from one. The other was perseverance, fortitude, and getting along with others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thus my roots were planted and nourished by two women who not by words, but actions shaped what kind of person I would become. They were women who had been shaped by both pioneer parents and raising large families. They were of the land and had lived their adult lives during the settling of Oklahoma through the Great Depression. I am sure that is where my tendency to save and never throw anything away comes from. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">on Left Matilda Whitson on right Lenorah Langley</td></tr>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-80228999082284722022018-02-12T18:57:00.000-06:002018-02-12T18:57:54.196-06:00A Tribute to My Mom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Mom is still living albiet she is not active any longer.<br />
As I was sitting watching her in ICU and talking with younger cousins on Facebook, thoughts of how it was I knew cousins and aunts and uncles in my family strode through my mind. Those thoughts were intertwined with my mom and her love of family. Being number 13 in a family of 13 and all of her brothers and a few sister being gone by the time she was in school, must have given her some sense of need to keep in touch with family. There never was a picture of the whole family. I know her mom taking in two of her grandchildren and raising them with mom made an affect on her for opening your door to family.<br />
When I was very small, due to my dad losing the lower portion of his leg, we lacked funds for a house. We lived with my Aunt Lynn for about a year when we moved from Iowa back to Oklahoma. I guess my cousins and I slept in the living room on pallets and the parents had the two bedrooms. I just remember the house and playing outside. Another example of family helping family in my mom's early married life. She was able to go to college and dad supported her by washing dishes. Since the college was a few hours away, she chose to stay there during the week and come home on the weekends. She worked for a lady to pay for her room and board during the week. We missed her, my dad's family said she would leave him, which he poo pooed at (using a slang term of the time <span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">đ</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">) </span><br />
and it didn't happen.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mom me and dad</td></tr>
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We moved to Edmond, Oklahoma where my dad was able to get training in HVAC. She finished at Central State College (it is a University now) and did some of her student teaching there. Their first house they bought was a duplex because my dad's mom needed to be close to someone. Mom was kind and helpful to her. Eventually they bought a separate house and moved it in on the oversized lot next to us. Dad remodeled the duplex into a three bedroom home, one of the bedrooms was a converted screened in porch that doubled as wash room and guest room. I was an only child. Mom taught 5th and 6th graders in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Millwood_Public_Schools_(Oklahoma)">Millwood School </a> from 1955 to 1980. (I need to write about my mom learning to drive...that was a trip).<br />
When holidays came, we would usually go to Pawnee, where my aunts and uncle lived. It was always fun, the women in the kitchen, the guys talking about hunting or a game on the tv and the kids playing outside. Then two of my aunts had a disagreement, my dad didn't want to go anymore, but mom insisted that we go and take a day going to visit each one individually. We did not lose contact.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad and two of his sisters</td></tr>
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On her side of the it wasn't that easy. Her sisters were all over, and three of her brothers she had not seen since she was 9 lived on the Pacific Coast. The youngest brother was in the Service so he would come visit when they were in the country. We would drive over to her niece Jeannine's in El Reno, who was just a year younger than she was to visit with her and her family or down to Oklahoma City to visit with Aunt Edna and her children... This family would come and visit at our house. One year dad bit the bullet and saved enough so we could drive to Albuquerque to visit her sister Lola at Christmas. That was a treat. Aunt Lola's husband was Polish, so she fixed Polish dishes one meal and then Southwestern dishes of New Mexico at another meal. Great memory.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lola and my Grandmother Whitson</td></tr>
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During the summer, I remember we would have cousins from either side of the family come at different times to stay for a multiple of reasons. Mom opened her door for anyone in need. Older cousins came with their families and lived with us in the small house while they were getting on their feet. One cousin, the son of the brother in the Air Force, came and stayed with us for a short time until he got an apartment while he went to college. Grandmothers on both sides came to live with us.<br />
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My dad's mother longer, that is another story.<br />
When they moved to Texas to be near me, the cousins and aunts and uncles came down to make sure that Ned and I were treating them right. <span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">đ</span><br />
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Mom was always on the phone with someone or writing to them. After my dad died, she had enough money to travel. One of the first trips was to California to see her brother George. She love that. Then she and her sister and niece went to Washington to see the brother in the Air Force that had settled near Spokane. While up there they met with her oldest living brothers Elbert and Ray and made contact with their son Ray who was an artist. Since mom loved art and was dabbling in painting, this was exciting to her. Ray and his wife Caroline kept in touch through mail until she couldn't think well enough to write. Even after Ray has passed away, Caroline and she still send Christmas cards to each other.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom, Meadie, Marley, Lola, and Jeannine</td></tr>
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When it was time for Fay, Oklahoma's bicentennial celebration, she was instrumental in collecting pictures and stories for a personal book called Fay Day's [a book of poems about family and acquaintances she remembered from growing up] which was illustrated by her cousin's husband William "Bill" Shotts and <a href="https://www.worldcat.org/title/story-of-fay-the-history-and-memories-of-a-pioneering-community-1894-to-1994-a-century-of-goodwill/oclc/38968013&referer=brief_results">Fay History Book</a>.<br />
Her heart and arms have always been open to love on family. Even now as she lies trying to overcome pneumonia, she keeps coming back the same question... Naomi and Melvin are gone? This is my dad's nephew and his wife that were the same age as mom. She loved them greatly.<br />
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At 89, she has seen all but herself and her twin pass away in their family. My dad and his brothers and sisters are gone. She loved on all of them at some time and held on to the nieces and nephews. She has been my example to gather family like a hen gathers chicks, and to not be selfish.<br />
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In closing, I will tell you... She taught 35 years as a elementary teacher. She taught all subjects but her love was reading and art. When she retired, she took up writing and was published in newspapers and a couple of magazines. Kids she taught still remember her and projects she did with them. She also tried painting. Many of the family have her paintings still in their homes. When she started developing dementia and anxiety, my aunt and I went through a period of denial because it was so foreign that she could be such an active mind and all of a sudden not even pick up a pen to write with or a book to read. She is a lovely lady and I am grateful for the example she sat for me through the years. It has made me a better person.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1MW-InZKacpraG508BiVtTEKPKn9rv03iz9RxUPlNVcQNLlR2TKSJ1HNd5dDguhONOSikVLHU2Sbky7MnXQUdkJXr_3hEHjSBn-L78YF503xjdghdHqasFsdJZ1gK75zKjF4CAdhlZL0/s1600/life_greatest_blessing_family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="851" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1MW-InZKacpraG508BiVtTEKPKn9rv03iz9RxUPlNVcQNLlR2TKSJ1HNd5dDguhONOSikVLHU2Sbky7MnXQUdkJXr_3hEHjSBn-L78YF503xjdghdHqasFsdJZ1gK75zKjF4CAdhlZL0/s320/life_greatest_blessing_family.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A note: I have the original Fay Days book. If anyone would like one, let me know.</div>
FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-9407960114441566382018-01-28T22:24:00.001-06:002018-01-28T22:24:33.254-06:00Goals to Help Me Shape Up and Get It Right<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Joining in with Elizabeth OâNealâs Blog party for </span><span style="background: white; color: #202020; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";">January </span><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://mydescendantsancestors.us12.list-manage.com/track/click?u%3D2274da5d2f540311e0f06c838%26id%3Def3c5ef3a2%26e%3D90a0e2e6d8&source=gmail&ust=1517283310717000&usg=AFQjCNEXKzq-X7-tj0xQbOnejOn7CGe45A" href="https://mydescendantsancestors.us12.list-manage.com/track/click?u=2274da5d2f540311e0f06c838&id=ef3c5ef3a2&e=90a0e2e6d8" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" target="_blank"><strong><span style="background: white; color: #2baadf; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";">Genealogy
Blog Party: Shape Up Your Research</span></strong></a><span style="background: white; color: #202020; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span> I
love following her, receiving her newsletters, and using her suggestions to stretch my
stride. I first became acquainted with Elizabeth when I took ProGen classes. She
is an amazing mentor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: #202020; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"> These are my <b>Genealogy</b> <b>Shape Up Goals</b> this year. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #202020; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">(had to add Genealogy so as to not give you false expectations. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-align: left;">đ)</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li> <span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">To lengthen my stride in
DNA understanding I am taking and giving classes on DNA. I am learning more
each time I attend or prepare lessons. Taking a clue from the experts, there is
always more to learn.</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I do not have the resources to travel much or to pay for many
conferences, I plan to take advantage of Webinars and Virtual Conferences. Not
as much fun socially but still informative.</span> </li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">I will write on my blog
and then transfer to <a href="https://www.familysearch.org/photos/">FamilySearch Memories</a> at least 6 family stories. Reason
for transfer is to insure they will not be lost.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">I</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> will finish my
applications for both T<a href="http://www.txsgs.org/programs/heritage-certificates/first-families/">exas First Families Certificate</a> and The DAR as well as "turn them in". </span><span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">đ</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">I am not brave enough to
Vlog, but I have the goal to post on my blog at least monthly this year. Life
happened and I fell short in the last two years but will accomplish it this year.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">I will continue to
encourage and assist my children that have expressed interest and are helping
with family research. Mercy it has been a trip trying to do the research on
mine and my husbandâs genealogy. Rewarding but exhausting.</span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is still time to join in with the others on Elizabeth's blog. Come and Join the party and make yourself accountable for the coming year. Reading over this makes me wonder how I am going to measure up. </span><span style="background-color: yellow; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">đ</span></div>
FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-34604859209900602592018-01-22T16:24:00.003-06:002018-01-22T19:17:02.775-06:00The End of an Era<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
By the title you might think I mean, a death occurred. Not so. But it is the end of shared moments and fun times for these three lovely ladies that have had a long life of memories together. My mom, her twin, and their niece are the last of their generation living. My cousin who lives in Virginia has moved her mom, my mom's twin, to be near her. Neither of the twins are able at 89 to make the trip back and forth now, and the niece may or may not fly to see one or the other, she is just a year younger.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3ZGHY5u1yFaFOOV_uMLcnUtk8stEN4EJx1oqb1dVMJFmXRf8ecD6t3ubp8iGH6ObhZzdSAULTOVsbpHRGkwaM_yZhiWQthMdF1F8QzwFKFavSUToN4GuLuF2Q5hHov0zYd8q6pcXCwV2/s1600/20170709_121850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3ZGHY5u1yFaFOOV_uMLcnUtk8stEN4EJx1oqb1dVMJFmXRf8ecD6t3ubp8iGH6ObhZzdSAULTOVsbpHRGkwaM_yZhiWQthMdF1F8QzwFKFavSUToN4GuLuF2Q5hHov0zYd8q6pcXCwV2/s400/20170709_121850.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Niece is on the left. The twins are on the right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When they were young they were always together. The niece's mother was 23 years older than her sisters. When her mother died she was raised by her grandmother with her aunts, who were just a year older.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlg4nqSa3cjR8I4Qj8WzFB8kgZmNktB-jIXG6AZ55Q5f08kjZTubD8B4A1xTSKOV8jxcnjbi6WZME2rzMIlnBoCR4r_R_Zq0F_77Ef8Bj7I7Kkm0hoZkctpV0y7Z8xkcMZgJ8ODI-aDJY/s1600/Whitson+Jeannine+Mary+Marley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="1600" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlg4nqSa3cjR8I4Qj8WzFB8kgZmNktB-jIXG6AZ55Q5f08kjZTubD8B4A1xTSKOV8jxcnjbi6WZME2rzMIlnBoCR4r_R_Zq0F_77Ef8Bj7I7Kkm0hoZkctpV0y7Z8xkcMZgJ8ODI-aDJY/s320/Whitson+Jeannine+Mary+Marley.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you imagine being a mother, grandmother to this group. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRL2l97Hjh5S5c065IvlIwIKslxnE814GRnJEv4LYgY0-8N14vWoWl6W0Fqp2swT8ys59ANkQBIp7pbtTnPr5edQb0cqRWu7JEq1tDOyO9ZatY6pNMKYz_KUApaV5GVIepRzZIaEixT1K9/s1600/Whitson+Mary+marley+jeanine+heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1045" data-original-width="733" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRL2l97Hjh5S5c065IvlIwIKslxnE814GRnJEv4LYgY0-8N14vWoWl6W0Fqp2swT8ys59ANkQBIp7pbtTnPr5edQb0cqRWu7JEq1tDOyO9ZatY6pNMKYz_KUApaV5GVIepRzZIaEixT1K9/s320/Whitson+Mary+marley+jeanine+heart.jpg" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy graduation day!</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: left;">When they were raising their children, because they lived in different states and different towns and they all worked, there were few times they all got together at the same times.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhElgd2TIrzVJnEHXyr2C0u4A09ir_oHkyGF1RdCFfA_Ognx_I1vAdcIpD8zdTokWjCJ-BGc_wsXeQNju223r2sXauSbPq5QH1mgqMTYJhthAP6_MMgOpls0bFgkpZOrIhRFR5STAZch5Al/s1600/Whitson+Mary+Langley+Eula+W+Forbes+JeannineHouchin+Pat+Cook+Marley+Heggen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1022" data-original-width="1474" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhElgd2TIrzVJnEHXyr2C0u4A09ir_oHkyGF1RdCFfA_Ognx_I1vAdcIpD8zdTokWjCJ-BGc_wsXeQNju223r2sXauSbPq5QH1mgqMTYJhthAP6_MMgOpls0bFgkpZOrIhRFR5STAZch5Al/s320/Whitson+Mary+Langley+Eula+W+Forbes+JeannineHouchin+Pat+Cook+Marley+Heggen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom on the left, another sister, the niece, a friend, a niece of a younger generation, and mom's twin.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then my father and the niece's husband died. That began the times of the three going on summer time adventures until they all retired, then they found time to go on cruises and long trips.<br />
The last 10 years my mom has been in assisted living for a combination of dementia and depression. Her medication has helped her greatly. The result was we would have to get together on the birthday of the twins. My daughter hosted some meetings. Some get-togethers were at my aunts.<br />
I have to admit that I cried the last time we all met, and so did my mom, who realized in spite of her dementia, that this was their last meeting while living. My cousins and I went to great lengths and distances to make sure they had a time to say good bye.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8A1xIC3PtqUO1v128bOtAh2BuWYL_qcrNDosroohJJ8SYmkonbUqKNbh5efmF-lyxRtZflQwP262YEta1WatZ6ohOdUsxGB1K-c-Y82ZO7HXj6wNDIvuraiNB5D68zdP3fImbAzrYd1D0/s1600/Whitson+sisters+mary+marley+and+Jeannine+web.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8A1xIC3PtqUO1v128bOtAh2BuWYL_qcrNDosroohJJ8SYmkonbUqKNbh5efmF-lyxRtZflQwP262YEta1WatZ6ohOdUsxGB1K-c-Y82ZO7HXj6wNDIvuraiNB5D68zdP3fImbAzrYd1D0/s400/Whitson+sisters+mary+marley+and+Jeannine+web.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-73339894243212202282017-07-23T19:25:00.000-05:002017-07-23T19:25:00.267-05:00Sentimental Sunday A Hero Story...Love At First Sight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
I have told my story many times to others, but it is usually in conjunction with being a college student and trying to work full time.<br />
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I had just moved to Houston from St Ann, Illinois where I had been living and working with my best friend. I had decided I wanted to go back to college and finish. Now, I had only gone to one semester at the local college where I lived in Oklahoma, while living at home. I suffered a heart break and my best friend said come up and live with me to get away from it all. I was working for SW Bell telephone as an operator, so it was easy to transfer. We had a lot of fun.<br />
My mom and dad encouraged me to go back and finish college. I started researching places to go for a Nursing degree, and the best one was in Houston. My best friend was up for an adventure and decided to move to Houston with me.<br />
We got there. She had been able, if memory serves me well, to transfer with her skills. I on the other hand found there weren't any openings with the telephone company in Houston. The college posted jobs available in the area. One was to be an all night checker at the Methodist Hospital cafeteria. I guess they catered to students, because I got the job even though I had never worked as a checker before. It was a lot easier getting a beginning job back in the day. I often now feel like it was meant to be. My thoughts were how hard can it be? I can work all night, probably get some study in, and then go to school during the day. I can do this.<br />
Ahmad was training me. He was quitting, so he was training me to take his place. The first night I was in training, Ahmad had a huge group of friends come in during his break time to visit. The Hero was among them. He was home on leave from his Army Reserve Training.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzbsmjhBiRHB6xTnrKOxeuov2GgNQKz-cA98J0UEeo4O1SmmGinR-lt0pYeg9_CmR7rF9_GzM6o8rGhcMxPKqr8IN_Ac70Kqey_okZ_TCTqaYLoZdHNH7c8Z-O6GfFn6NUiVaJEc6PXHs/s1600/international+wedding+for+blog.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="432" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzbsmjhBiRHB6xTnrKOxeuov2GgNQKz-cA98J0UEeo4O1SmmGinR-lt0pYeg9_CmR7rF9_GzM6o8rGhcMxPKqr8IN_Ac70Kqey_okZ_TCTqaYLoZdHNH7c8Z-O6GfFn6NUiVaJEc6PXHs/s320/international+wedding+for+blog.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3rjpew5ogJ8k60sJUy9nP_KslDsYSoxYnZGxDaM5B4KuymezafWMGTNo5vBBdKSv-9x7Ya4lBU20Fx1_3OGl8wvAxh0ZpVbvJ1fsYnz0ItjCk5hCMYi4d_9FiuHA9icG-IXJJrFxd77P/s1600/nedmilitary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="404" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3rjpew5ogJ8k60sJUy9nP_KslDsYSoxYnZGxDaM5B4KuymezafWMGTNo5vBBdKSv-9x7Ya4lBU20Fx1_3OGl8wvAxh0ZpVbvJ1fsYnz0ItjCk5hCMYi4d_9FiuHA9icG-IXJJrFxd77P/s320/nedmilitary.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My handsome hero</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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As I sat there, I just listened to the conversation flow. The Hero was asking Ahmad for help because his wife had filed for a divorce on him the 2nd month of his training. At one point, our eyes met and held. I was mesmerized. Later in life we reminisced about our first meeting. He said he thought my eyes were so pretty and he wanted to know me, but at the time, his thoughts were on his crumbling marriage. I remembered being caught up in the moment in his eyes and wondering, how could I ever date a divorced man. Neither of us ever forgot the moment that everything else faded away and our eyes were locked.<br />
It would be 2 months later before we dated, and a year later before we married, but the love was there. He hesitated fearing to be hurt again. I was not ready to hesitate, and never let go. He laughed and said on our first date I was the most forward girl he ever met... Okay, I told him I was going to marry him and have his children...not the most subtle way to let a man know you have chosen him.<br />
It all worked out and we had our forever marriage sealed in the Mesa Temple...and ya'all have been hearing about the rest of the story.<br />
Sometimes, not always, hearts touch each other through the eyes. I am glad ours did.<br />
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-31143539034365778962016-12-21T01:27:00.001-06:002016-12-21T01:27:35.730-06:00Blog Caroling... A Favorite Time of year.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4b4b4b; font-family: "verdana" , "geneva" , sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;">Every year <b>footnoteMaven</b> hosts a fun event called <b>Blog Caroling</b>, a favorite activity for me. If you want to join, then head on over to this <a href="http://www.footnotemaven.com/2016/12/fms-tradition-of-blog-caroling.html">blog post at fM's.</a> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4b4b4b; font-family: "verdana" , "geneva" , sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;">There are many Christmas carols and hymns that touch my heart, but sometimes you just need to stop and have some fun. When the Hero and I would talk about Christmas plays and our children were in the Church party Manger scenes, he would always break out in song about "<b>The Angel in the Christmas Play</b>". This Christmas song was written in 1949 by Spike Lee. The Hero would have been about 3 when it first came out. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4b4b4b; font-family: "verdana" , "geneva" , sans-serif; font-size: 15.84px;">Wonder if our children remember the song... Good question.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: "verdana" , "geneva" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.84px;">[One year my daughter's church ward had a funny nativity scene at their church party. I was almost falling off my seat laughing at the antics of the shepherds and angels. Somethings never change. ] </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: "verdana" , "geneva" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.84px;">This is a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DG3_Ihj0CYI">link to the song</a> done by Karen Carpenter on YouTube. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #4b4b4b; font-family: verdana, geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15.84px;">Have a wonderful Merry Christmas my friends.</span></span><br />
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-32341494887331858052016-11-28T17:04:00.001-06:002016-11-28T22:28:22.171-06:00Family Traditions of the Past: A Hero Story in the Making.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Little Bytes of Life was a life saver. Her <a href="http://www.littlebytesoflife.com/">Genealogy Blog Party</a>, gave me the push I needed to get back to my blog. Without further a do... on with the story...<br />
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When the Hero and I were married, my parents lived in Oklahoma and his parents were 30 minutes away. My mother-in-law sat down and talked with me and it was decided that the holidays would be split. Reminds me of how my daughter who is divorced has their holidays split. One year it would be Thanksgiving at Oklahoma one year and Christmas at Houston, then the next it would be reversed. This continued all the years of my children's growing up.<br />
The trips to Oklahoma were always more that just a trip to see my parents. It would then be, on Thanksgiving day, a two hour trip from Edmond up to Pawnee. There we visited my two aunts and uncle. Fabulous memories. The Hero developed relationships with my dad's family which led to letters and sharing of memories. Things I didn't fully realize at the time would be so valuable now. I wish he were here with his fun mind to tell the stories. The gatherings were very informal. To my knowledge (note to self, as mom) no one assigned the side dishes, everyone brought what was their favorite. As they came in they would put their dish on the table with the rest of the spread of food. When the main meat dish was ready, people filed in and loaded up their plates, then found a spot to sit and eat. The men loved the football games same as now, and there were hunting stories from their excursions earlier in the morning. There was one draw back. Due to a family spat, we would go and visit each of my dad's siblings separately. When I was growing up, it was all his siblings together with their kids in tow. Now, those were really the unruly days.<br />
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A special love of his was my Uncle Ed. Oh my, they would out tell each other in how things were. I unfortunately followed the trend and went in and sat with my mom and aunt and we would talk about who was where and doing what.<br />
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When we went to Houston, it was so different. The Hero's mom had a beautiful table setting, and my father-in- law would carve the turkey or ham depending on the holiday. He had 3 siblings, later 4, a foster daughter, and included at first were his father's mom and uncle's family of 5. I was and only child. These gathering were somewhat overwhelming at first for me, because of the formality of the setting. She even would have settings later for card playing... Bridge. I do not play.<br />
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My mentor mother-in-law once sat with me and told me, it was her mother-in-law who was her mentor because she had grown up as I had, going and visiting a big unruly family and they did not do formal dining. One of my daughters took her grandmother's example to heart and when you attend her holiday dinner, it is one of formality. Others grabbed a page out of my history and they are much more informal. <br />
Both family gatherings are wonderful. The most important part is the family coming together and the children of those family making connections. If allowed and nurtured, the relationships built will continue when the older generation is gone. That is what we are now working on in our family, hope it sticks. The second and very important thing coming from the gatherings are pictures.<br />
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-33349996326168637092016-01-25T10:51:00.003-06:002016-01-25T10:51:39.415-06:00The Hero and the Rottweiler ~ Sentimental Sunday (thought of then.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The Hero did flooring jobs to supplement his day time job income. His primary workers were his family members. <br />
This one job was for a doctor resurfacing a second floor patio above the first floor patio. Everyone was excited and thought, this will be a fast easy job. <br />
The doctor had a pet Rottweiler. He looked like this dog.<br />
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A beautiful healthy, happy, big dog. The guys were apprehensive at first about how he would accept them, but soon found him to be friendly and funny, because he would run up the stairs to greet them then his claws would slip on the wood floor and he would end up in all sorts of positions, and gyrations trying to get in control. No one minded his presence, until... they noticed tools would go missing. He would come out get petted and when they turned back to work, he would pick up a tool, tape, what ever was sitting there unattended, and quietly slip back inside. This started causing lost time because the guys would have to go looking for the item, and would find it with their friend the dog. It ended in him being banned from the area, and them keeping a watchful eye in case someone would forget to close the door. He was then such a sad dog looking longingly out the door.<br />
The Hero laughed telling the story and loved petting the Rottweiler when he was there. The guys would hoot and laugh talking about his antics. All in all, the Rottweiler made the job a fun one that had good memories.<br />
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1. Image, <a class="internal" href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7a/Rottweiler3.jpg" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;" title="Rottweiler3.jpg">Rottweiler3.jpg</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"> , </span><span style="color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rottweiler3.jpg</span></span><br />
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-86932677249409189102015-12-06T18:37:00.001-06:002015-12-06T18:40:01.420-06:00Christmas ~ My Testimony of Jesus Christ, the Son of God<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I was contemplating my Christmas post, I was broadsided by a health affliction that left me in painful dark places reaching up for help. One night, I wrestled almost the entire night with my feelings and thoughts until the Lord and I came to an agreement it was time to write my testimony for the future generations of my family.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It started with parents that had been taught of Christ.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My children have never known our home without Christ, but that doesn't mean that they didn't have to develop their own testimony. That is what one does. You can't go on other's testimonies for all your life, at one point; you must develop your own. Over time my testimony of Christ and his divine mission has grown until it is just like breathing for me. It is me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I will begin with what took a time for me to understand as my testimony was developing. I wondered, "How did God feel when he observed the atonement of Christ in Gethsemane?" Then I wondered about how He felt when he withdrew himself from Christ while His son was facing the last hours during the Crucifixion. I am not a Prophet or biblical scholar, just a child of God and a mother, so I am sure my perspective must come from there. I felt as I was wrestling that night, that what God felt was gratitude. Not pride in his Son, but gratitude for Christ facing his personal challenge and bearing it without being coerced and a pressured into those actions. Christ did his Father's will because it was his desire to do so and because he loved us. Christ embraced his Father, us, and the plan of Happiness in his actions, which testified to me that his actions were, in truth, a sacrifice.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Christ in Gethsemane" by Heinrich Hofmann - Brigham Young University Museum of Art.1.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Christ at the Cross - Cristo en la Cruz" by Carl Heinrich Bloch 2.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It all began on a night in Bethlehem when Christ came to this earth to be born to Mary in a lowly stable. Such a lovely tale, and I have crèches that I have collected to commemorate that event. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">God did not abandon Christ when he came to earth. He sent angels to guide and protect this family of Joseph, Mary, and Christ from the beginning. God is always with us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The babe in the manger that was Christ the Savior has been my friend and has always been the person for me to go to since I was little. I remember seeking places to sit and talk with Jesus (another of Christ's names) when I was as young as 5 years old. If there were problems I didn't know how to deal with, I knew He was always there and listening. The comfort, the unfailing care, and the guidance I have received over the years, has never left me found wanting and always His footsteps has been a chosen path to follow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I not only believe in Christ, I know He is there. He cares for me, and He takes my up lifted hands and guides me. He lives. He is The Savior. He is my all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is my Christmas testimony which I will save in </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Memories on FamilySearch for when my blog is long gone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">~Frances Ellsworth</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">1. </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Licensed under Public Domain via Commons - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christ_in_Gethsemane.jpg#/media/</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">2.</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;"> Licensed under Public Domain via Commons - </span></div>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-12767403764945256752015-11-11T22:40:00.000-06:002015-11-11T22:40:14.711-06:00Wordless Wednesday ~ Body Language<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating Veteran's Day 2015 My dad in Europe WWII</td></tr>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-77708526399810001762015-11-10T12:04:00.000-06:002015-11-10T12:04:04.520-06:00Tombstone Tuesday ~ Ed Langley and Ethel Grote<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Near last week's tombstone was my Aunt and Uncle. Edwin R Langley was the brother of my father and Dora Langley... (she will be for next week).<br />
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My cousin and I had been talking about family history via email. In our conversations were discussions about tombstones. He decided he wanted to personalize his parent's tombstone with a picture. He did some study on it and this was his final email on the subject.<br />
"<span style="background-color: white; color: #1f497d; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Dad purchased the cemetery lots and this stone about 5+ years before he died. He put a lot of thought into the stone and was very proud of the fact he got it done. I have always been amazed at the pictures on some of the older stones</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"> that are always very clear and never seem to fade even when facing the sunâŚ..recently I found out that the reason for never fading is because they are ceramic (imagine that!!!!). Recently I sent you a pic that I took from a portriat that was taken when mom and dad were in their mid-40's which they both liked. I have decided to add a ceramic pic to the headstone using the one I sent youâŚ..I think they would approve."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">I agreed. I think they would have been greatly pleased.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHdkiQrsgOxEjUtNQdB__laHTeNxf-p6D8RwytrTXxBCHWypofIUh-wK3gJnf0pQvfvn4Kxw4CEqJdG1yHXd4apl0SeYklabp8V53jU2fg-bx4RweL0FwR48mFFrEsiYsAFvRDarjOlIv/s1600/ed+and+ethel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHdkiQrsgOxEjUtNQdB__laHTeNxf-p6D8RwytrTXxBCHWypofIUh-wK3gJnf0pQvfvn4Kxw4CEqJdG1yHXd4apl0SeYklabp8V53jU2fg-bx4RweL0FwR48mFFrEsiYsAFvRDarjOlIv/s320/ed+and+ethel.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The picture he chose.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ethel is the Daughter of George and Hattie Grote</td></tr>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-85216926751323429672015-11-05T23:30:00.000-06:002015-11-05T23:30:43.842-06:00Treasure Chest Thursday ~ Grandchild Number 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Bright and shining Copper Top...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1lZ9aTpaE3u-XPS-XwipkaL2YnurIzaShiSvGmyIJRKmLigITw1-Eu4LsUU0ZdMV0CC0hwGVHsAP0Wr5QQZp9ZsTtMfeW4mrTV3sHmGs4iQhLLvpFJoZZajhepWq-damUDaGC5TXz1xw/s1600/Suzy+Q+Baby+Princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1lZ9aTpaE3u-XPS-XwipkaL2YnurIzaShiSvGmyIJRKmLigITw1-Eu4LsUU0ZdMV0CC0hwGVHsAP0Wr5QQZp9ZsTtMfeW4mrTV3sHmGs4iQhLLvpFJoZZajhepWq-damUDaGC5TXz1xw/s400/Suzy+Q+Baby+Princess.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princess Dynamo... She was always moving.<br />This is <a href="http://branchingoutthroughtheyears.blogspot.com/2011/11/sentimental-sunday-hero-helped-save-his.html">the story of the Hero helping save her</a>. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She had a special relationship with her uncle.<br />He loved watching her and had a way with helping with getting her to take a nap.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo8rFiuRcWGS8sLmVUrPkWuW4xgaY-_IxT9Vjeim63upFPpiIrrL0eZG03gAVaCEaSjwP3G2-30Ed3JLtbgid4QQr9-cjCzd4GA80JMRs41fV0n0uOhQfoURnekwhpKuh5iS8RiKTYulD/s1600/Schulmire+Suzie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo8rFiuRcWGS8sLmVUrPkWuW4xgaY-_IxT9Vjeim63upFPpiIrrL0eZG03gAVaCEaSjwP3G2-30Ed3JLtbgid4QQr9-cjCzd4GA80JMRs41fV0n0uOhQfoURnekwhpKuh5iS8RiKTYulD/s320/Schulmire+Suzie.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was one of my favorite studio pictures of her. <br />She did not grow up to be a phone person.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her 6th birthday. She was flexible with celebrations. Look at that copper hair.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always animated... Here she is at her uncle's wedding and freezing. <br /> If she had to smile she would give it her best.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She became quite the multi media artist. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2010 such a sweetheart.<br /> She sings and helps. <br />A naturally good person.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8UwQGbNKtIvQZAPbG_x1sISORAbwB3RoXLZ0jnK81VxnUgPkg0M4wA-UI1NWB9DRVd3fHg5sPblaQ7BJF0eAM-QGiPdzhOkZZZ6wgG3xYtvE_VTYPdpaTtOXvQJJG0w49m9uVHI4SuCzT/s1600/susie+mermaid+costume+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8UwQGbNKtIvQZAPbG_x1sISORAbwB3RoXLZ0jnK81VxnUgPkg0M4wA-UI1NWB9DRVd3fHg5sPblaQ7BJF0eAM-QGiPdzhOkZZZ6wgG3xYtvE_VTYPdpaTtOXvQJJG0w49m9uVHI4SuCzT/s320/susie+mermaid+costume+2014.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She asked if I could make her a mermaid costume in 2014, <br />then she decided that she could do it herself. <br />What a great job she did.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXxcK7RnVlA4TFwQC7VNSjY-LfUXxpVpVSiT5ENdia8Oh-Erhak5_rEJAHvY9M5z0J2n8-_oqpc27s3WbuLYBYVDtUPXTECTZGgfkBZR5MdMQdO_GOctvTFhyphenhyphenOUyjGbS75fJJ-q-ulPRfu/s1600/suz+in+plays+2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXxcK7RnVlA4TFwQC7VNSjY-LfUXxpVpVSiT5ENdia8Oh-Erhak5_rEJAHvY9M5z0J2n8-_oqpc27s3WbuLYBYVDtUPXTECTZGgfkBZR5MdMQdO_GOctvTFhyphenhyphenOUyjGbS75fJJ-q-ulPRfu/s320/suz+in+plays+2015.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She has started performing with a local theater group.<br />She sings and dances.<br />Her personality sparkles</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtm_dINIefYdmqx-UXuGm62UQBg1Us-tNYuXP_MovxtgWlxJZD01DaEyov_hDi-rL24yvT6nzfUNY4JwNnzjJklB-KE7XFx9jykg8FLzWCfgpuVsntFoZrxF2wxxCf_y29pt7TKDQBMrBa/s1600/Susie+fb+coversm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtm_dINIefYdmqx-UXuGm62UQBg1Us-tNYuXP_MovxtgWlxJZD01DaEyov_hDi-rL24yvT6nzfUNY4JwNnzjJklB-KE7XFx9jykg8FLzWCfgpuVsntFoZrxF2wxxCf_y29pt7TKDQBMrBa/s320/Susie+fb+coversm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is her scrapbook page I made especially for her.<br />I adore being with her.<br /><br />May you all enjoy your Treasures.</td></tr>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-15909419378279934152015-11-04T23:43:00.000-06:002015-11-04T23:43:50.941-06:00Wordless Wednesday ~ What We Support<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-43349802857742487562015-11-03T15:05:00.000-06:002015-11-03T15:05:58.409-06:00Tombstone Tuesday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A post by Amy Johnson Crow took me to my cemetery pictures to see if I was following her <a href="http://www.amyjohnsoncrow.com/2015/11/03/5-photos-you-should-take-at-the-cemetery/">"5 Photos You Should Take at the Cemetery"</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was good. Whew. Want to make sure time is not wasted when making the trip and stop.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Below is the picture of my Aunt and Uncle's Parents. My dad's brother and sister married a brother and sister. Those are for easy genealogy lines. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">I was looking for their tombstones, which I did get, when I noticed most of the Grote family is buried in close proximity, I went ahead a grabbed a picture of the parents tombstone.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAObphe6TPklQOHsQGWhA_YAC5n1kf1NAQ-XGPaW4AGkt9fsjMcREJ-wwhYxFOxTK-NRhsCnEozShjcjRdd33U1n1BOG6o0kZiRHxraGBJPKx7LZtzusAOjbKXXQ90tVAR8mv4nepPViJc/s1600/grote++related+to+Ethel+and+Ed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAObphe6TPklQOHsQGWhA_YAC5n1kf1NAQ-XGPaW4AGkt9fsjMcREJ-wwhYxFOxTK-NRhsCnEozShjcjRdd33U1n1BOG6o0kZiRHxraGBJPKx7LZtzusAOjbKXXQ90tVAR8mv4nepPViJc/s400/grote++related+to+Ethel+and+Ed.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tombstone for George and Hattie Grote and their son Delbert.</td></tr>
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A close up: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8T008yRNK4f-EiLIpdDXb7CZTOTT-chfYY7BNyvVax2XedK-Q-E3p0OIVIhrdbxEvRLsrDCHriQA8PbwDmEdQDS6N9sQA37nIc5k0U6zZZ-7WHG8VHxYF02_lLYNfk6THYj7Mlnqpuw2/s1600/grote++related+to+Ethel+and+Ed+close.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8T008yRNK4f-EiLIpdDXb7CZTOTT-chfYY7BNyvVax2XedK-Q-E3p0OIVIhrdbxEvRLsrDCHriQA8PbwDmEdQDS6N9sQA37nIc5k0U6zZZ-7WHG8VHxYF02_lLYNfk6THYj7Mlnqpuw2/s400/grote++related+to+Ethel+and+Ed+close.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />I made sure I could read the epitaph.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7JbamjbWKnrRYFPJ6bSomG9H8abOtkfANC5eIq4qhk87ZMnIbn0xrEzuYJHjyPxjshgqdeYfqmQDOfdqDqI9CZMV9DVlGhGiGcr28TIsNepDK6HemJypjWar9U__uvhc34kpjIH1_p2D/s1600/grote++related+to+Ethel+and+Ed+epitaph.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="64" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7JbamjbWKnrRYFPJ6bSomG9H8abOtkfANC5eIq4qhk87ZMnIbn0xrEzuYJHjyPxjshgqdeYfqmQDOfdqDqI9CZMV9DVlGhGiGcr28TIsNepDK6HemJypjWar9U__uvhc34kpjIH1_p2D/s320/grote++related+to+Ethel+and+Ed+epitaph.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"At rest but not forgotten"<br /><div style="text-align: left;">
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The cemetery sign was a must since a huge number of my dad's family is buried there.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAUDl744aNui8utVDstX7Dm9rb73W3V6WB4aV_HmMoZG9z3wNXHaIX2Pnt6H5sK1kVGDyzJ5Y5zYEW_VJEzfNRGyf_8vlkiS_PJpctciXkuJUBQMOVkCyMJw6NbG940fchcjyzdJnuMxr/s1600/Highland+Cemetery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAUDl744aNui8utVDstX7Dm9rb73W3V6WB4aV_HmMoZG9z3wNXHaIX2Pnt6H5sK1kVGDyzJ5Y5zYEW_VJEzfNRGyf_8vlkiS_PJpctciXkuJUBQMOVkCyMJw6NbG940fchcjyzdJnuMxr/s320/Highland+Cemetery.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I went a little back wards at this, but I did the work. Happy Tombstone Day,</div>
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This is for Kenny and his cousins.</div>
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FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6799118134852549463.post-14133425745586496852015-11-02T23:33:00.002-06:002015-11-03T07:50:29.431-06:00Madness Monday ~ Why Can't I Leave It Alone.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am choosing to write about that which I have a tendency to do. I will come across a descendant in my family line that doesn't have a death date or any other information. I become distracted from my own direct line and begin searching to make sure everything is filled in for that person. Of course, that tends to send me off down other rabbit holes as Carol of the blog Reflections from the Fence says.<br />
Today, I began to research a sister of my great great grandmother. Her name was Mary Hankins. I found she married a Reuben McCroskie, whose surname had been slaughtered in almost every census and ages messed up. I soon found their child Nancy's, who turned out to go by Ellen, married a Samuel Green in Ray County, Missouri and her line was not finished. Now these are from the 1830s up so most I would expect some to be done. I am not finished yet, but one young lady intrigued me... Phyllis J Holmes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6kIuqg8RN2gfShFMC8-eaUmJBbl0xyfUzpA-XjijOa6oYdndjgj9YZLGdMzxQTK8bOJxECU8hf74fjMcg_j4ts72qc30mzHsRuLID4meTq5Nsro7aWzk-zgypM86qQJ4MD8yxjGcfCe7m/s1600/Phyllis+Holmes+1942+Kansas+Weslean+University+yearbook.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6kIuqg8RN2gfShFMC8-eaUmJBbl0xyfUzpA-XjijOa6oYdndjgj9YZLGdMzxQTK8bOJxECU8hf74fjMcg_j4ts72qc30mzHsRuLID4meTq5Nsro7aWzk-zgypM86qQJ4MD8yxjGcfCe7m/s1600/Phyllis+Holmes+1942+Kansas+Weslean+University+yearbook.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phyllis Holmes 1942 Yearbook picture</td></tr>
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Her mother the daughter of Nancy Ellen McCroskie Green, Beatrice Helen who married a Clayton P Holmes. Beatrice died at 24 of Tuberculosis. Leaving Phyllis who was 2, motherless. I do not know who raised her because I not found her yet on a census with her father who remarried. He was a pharmaceutical salesman and he married a pharmacist. I did find Phyllis went to college at Kansas Wesleyan University and found a picture of her, as well as who she married. Unfortunately, it was in a time period, I do not know if she ever had children. She died in 1973 in Los Angeles, California; her husband remarried and moved to Oklahoma. No clues. I hope if she did have children, they will be joined with her tree. <br />
Beatrice opened another dilemma for me as her obit names a brother Bud Green.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdlh05jW5CunqHxCWBq1u1jNrJsAGstnZr7Zj7aIPEiHtXYutAF3N2Yg8K5Pouvl-0lq05WLYjDWHMCGLCCcTd_6ZJEpCduhF0r9U3C5pbAGKqLlhWzOdZtG0q3tSlexZkjoODF_u2Pyh/s1600/Beatrice+Helen+Green+death+scrap+with+obit.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdlh05jW5CunqHxCWBq1u1jNrJsAGstnZr7Zj7aIPEiHtXYutAF3N2Yg8K5Pouvl-0lq05WLYjDWHMCGLCCcTd_6ZJEpCduhF0r9U3C5pbAGKqLlhWzOdZtG0q3tSlexZkjoODF_u2Pyh/s320/Beatrice+Helen+Green+death+scrap+with+obit.png" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beatrice death certificate and obit</td></tr>
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Another one I have not found on the census. Wonder if Bud was a nickname. Well, still working on that rabbit hole. Need to stop and do some work as I have been at this all day. <br />
Genealogy throws you curves. <span style="font-family: "wingdings"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: red;">J</span></span></div>
FranEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00727917499152200255noreply@blogger.com2