Face in the window

As I mentioned before my father was often gone for extended periods of time with his government job.  This happened to be one of those times when my father was gone.  When he was gone each night one of us girls would sleep with my mom, she wasn’t able to sleep well all on her own so we would take turns.  We lived in a large two story house; the only bedroom down stairs was my parents.  My sisters were already upstairs sleeping and my mother and I were locking up and headed to bed.  Mom was locking the back of the house up and I was to lock the front door.  The front door had a little window in it that was about five inches wide and about 8 inches high, just a little window.  The outside porch light was not on so there was nothing to see on the porch.  I flipped on the foyer light and began to walk toward the door to check the locks when I looked up into the little window only to see a face looking into the house.  I screamed like a crazy woman over and over, I started to run really fast still screaming loud enough to wake the dead.  I was running like mad… in one place.  I wasn’t moving so much as one inch forward or backward, it wasn’t for lack of trying it just wasn’t happening.  My mother came flying around the corner fear written all over her face.  She looks at me screaming and running herself from the look of fear on my face.  She yells, “What is going on”?  I tell her that someone is looking in the little door window so she checks and I am still trying like mad though vainly to run away.  She doesn’t see anything so I turn around to look myself and scream again because they are still there.  My mother busts out laughing and asks if it is the same person as before.  I don’t think it’s funny but I tell her yes.  She starts to laugh so hard she begins to cry.  I start to cry but because I am upset.  When she finally catches her breathe she tells me I am seeing my own reflection, that’s who I am running away from although in vain.  Then I understand what is going on and I fall in the floor laughing, I realize what I must look like running in place fear keeping me from being able to gain forward motion screaming like a raving idiot over my own reflection. 

We lay in the bed for hours that night laughing ourselves silly.  Every time one of us would get it under control the other would lose it again.  I never approached that door again without a laugh and a shake of my head. 

Drunk

My father had odd ways of teaching.  My father did not want his daughters to drink alcohol so he decided to teach me that lesson in his own special way.  My sister Vickie was graduating high school in 1973 in Houston, Texas.  Vickie’s best friends’ mother was giving a huge graduation party for Vickie and Dotsy her friend so we, of course, were all invited to attend.  After graduation we all headed to Dotsy’s house.  There was alcohol being served to the parents in attendance while the youth were drinking virgin drinks and sodas of all sorts.  My father decided to ask me if I wanted a strawberry daiquiri to drink non-virgin.  I of course was very agreeable I couldn’t believe I was going to get to try it out.  I was 16 and my dad was sitting there so what harm was there?  I do not remember anything past that first drink but apparently I had more than one of those drinks and fell asleep on the sofa next to my parents and slept through the entire evening.   I knew nothing about anything until the next morning.

I was awakened nice and early the next morning, about 6:00am by my parents.  My mother had made a generous and full breakfast of eggs, bacon, pancakes and I was required to eat the entire meal while my parents kept up a constant and may I add loud chatter.  I repeatedly begged them not to talk, not to make me eat and to let me go back to bed, I was hung over and boy was I sick.  My parents instead not only chattered at me and made me eat every bite on my plate but continued even after I threw up multiple times.  Then, they made me clean house.  I was sure I was going to die!  Yet, I did what I was asked.  My torture continued.  After I finished cleaning and my stomach and head seemed to return to some semblance of normal my parents said they wanted to talk to me.  So now I figured the lecture would come, it didn’t really, just a series of questions.  #1 was who was I dancing with the night before?  Well, I didn’t know.  #2 was who had I kissed the night before?  Panic… I had a boyfriend, he wasn’t at the party, had I kissed someone?  #3 was how much had I had to drink?  I didn’t have any idea.  #4 was what had I done?  I didn’t have a clue.  Then my parents let me know after a while, after I had panicked long enough that in fact I hadn’t danced with any strange people, kissed anyone or done anything else with anyone, hadn’t gotten out of order in anyway but I hadn’t known; I hadn’t been in control of my thoughts or actions and they wanted to know how comfortable I was knowing that.  Now some people may be comfortable with that but my parents knew me well enough to know that I would not be able to deal with that so my father came up with this plan to teach me to not drink.  It worked.  It was my first and last time to drink and to be drunk.  Lesson taught, message received.     

Legos

Thursdays are supposed to be my medical update days, so why are you seeing a box of Lego men in front of your eyes?  The only real update I have is that I have a second opinion concerning my seizures with a neurological appointment on April first so that's pretty boring!  You are looking at this picture so you will see what I spent about 20 to 25 minutes doing.  If you look carefully in the upper right hand top of the photo, in the box lid you will notice a TINY grey Lego gun, that my friend is the only GREY Lego gun I own and my grandson knows it.  I have quite a few brown ones, that makes them common therefore undesirable.  There are MANY hundreds of Lego men pieces in that little box and Greyson was very patient as I searched for the one, lonely little TINY grey Lego gun.  I do this for two reasons:  First and foremost, I love Greyson.  Secondly I love to play with Legos myself.  We were playing "Lego shark attack" so we had to have something to defend ourselves, of course it needed to be the grey gun because it was the only one that could shoot underwater.  Hence the search.  So, now you know what Grammy's do on Thursdays.  Note:   If anyone has any little tiny grey Lego guns they would like to get rid of feel free to let me know I would love to have them.    

Track & Tennis team

While attending Sahuarita High School in Arizona I ran track.  I ran the 440, 880 and cross country.  While I was not a star athlete I loved running.  We practiced our cross country by running out in the desert sands.  Trust me when I say that running in sand builds muscle and stamina really fast.  I even took a crack at the javelin and shot put.  The javelin was really fun but the shot put was a hoot.  I didn’t weigh but 86 pounds and here I was with this heavy ball trying to make a circle under control and launch it (still with control) within a designated area with some sort of length to it.  Although I practiced and practiced I never did get any length to my shot put.  I did manage to get to state with my running skills.  After high school I ran several miles every week for many years.   I love nature and my runs gave me the opportunity to enjoy all that God has created. 

I also played Tennis for Sahuarita High school.  Once at a tennis meet I got a pretty serious injury.  Our tennis courts backed up to the baseball fields.  We were having a tennis meet but I don’t recall if our baseball team were having a game or a practice all I know is their home plate was just behind the tennis fence lines.  Of course there were the usual high fence protection behind home plate and the bleachers for the fans as well, so there was a fairly good distance between the courts and the fields.  I was in the middle of a match and the tennis ball had just crossed the net onto my side of the court when I barely recall hearing the thwack of a bat.  Just as I moved my racquet to return the tennis ball a hard ball came from high behind my head, hit about five feet in front of me hard and bounced back into my face; more specifically, into my eye.  The baseball was a very hard hit foul ball, its momentum had carried it over both fences and its backspin had caused it to bounce back into my eye.  I dropped like a hot potato.  It felt like someone had poked my eye with a hot poker.  I couldn’t open my eye and it was pouring tears.  Coach ran over to take a look at my eye, he tried to open it but couldn’t so he called the female coach over to take me into the locker room.  She and I headed inside my tennis matches were over for the day.  I sat on the bench in the locker room with ice on my eye.  The coach came back and tried to look again  she was able to force my lid open to check my eye and she quickly sucked in her breath, when I asked what was wrong she said, “oh, nothing”.  Ok, I was a senior in high school did she really think I was that stupid?  The coach called my mother to come and get me, though I did not know it she told my mother that she would need to take me directly to an eye doctor.  I lived 35 miles from the school I attended so it took my mom a little while to pick me up.  I got to a mirror when the coach wasn’t looking and pealed my lid open took see what she saw that was so shocking and I was shocked to see that I had no pupil in my eye.  It was so weird.  Of course my eye was horrifically red and swollen but I had no pupil nor could I see out of the eye at all. 

Once my mother picked me up from school we headed on to Tucson to an eye specialist and discovered that the reason I did not see my pupil was because it was in shock.  Who knew a pupil could go into shock?  The ball had hit my eye so hard that it damaged my retina.  I had a bruise print of the baseball threads in my eyebrow for weeks and it took about two weeks for my pupil to relax enough to be seen.  I looked very strange without that pupil.  It was a lovely couple of weeks.  I have to say that I was a little paranoid when I had any tennis match if anything was going on at the baseball fields after that.

Louisiana Bayou

After my family moved to Texas from Virginia we, of course, planned trips across country to visit family “back home”.  We made the trips as often as possible and in varying group sizes; sometimes it would be Mom and the girls, sometimes all of us, sometimes this group or that but we would make the trip as often as our schedules allowed.  Some of our trips were slow and meandering with stops along the way for sightseeing or visiting anything interesting we found along the way.  Other trips were like crazy wild things without concern for the slightest creature comforts. When my father got a hair crosswise or when his time off from was work was limited we could pack the car, get in and drive nearly straight through from Texas to Virginia without a stop.  Our only stops would be those that were absolutely needed, like gas. 

We had this coffee can with a tight fitting plastic lid that he would take along with us on our crazy trips and when one of us girls had to pee we would have to squat down in the back seat over the lovely coffee can and pee.  We would then put the lid on the can and store it and empty it when we stopped for gas.  As we drove along with four girls in the car our car would look more and more as though it exploded by the time we would stop for gas.  When the car came to a stop all the door would pop open as though they were thrown from the car.  We would all rush into the station some running to the bathroom others grabbing snacks and drinks to pay for, then we would switch, we would unload our trash and reload ourselves in the car once finished.  Dad had meanwhile gassed the car up, paid, gone to the bathroom and bought his snacks. Off we would go again only to stop when the car needed gas again.

Once during one of these straight through trips we got to Louisiana after dark.  We were in a Bayou area where there was literally nothing when the cars lights started to act up.  The lights were becoming more and more dim we could barely see at all.  Finally on this really creepy, empty back road the lights went completely off.  At that time cars had “generators” for the lights and ours was malfunctioning.  Dad drove right along at a pace I was sure would get us killed.  My imagination told me that at any second a swamp monster was going to step out into the road with his hands held high and his teeth barred to stop us with his buddies flanking his sides, then once we stopped, they would eat us.  This obviously did not happen. 

What did happen was my father spent a good deal of time searching for an open gas station.  In the 1960’s and 1970’s gas stations were not open 24 hours nor were they open 7 days a week.   Gas stations were where car repairs were made and they did have mechanics on duty during their open hours, so you could have our car repaired for a reasonable price without all the diagnostic tools they have now.  Mechanics were skilled craftsmen. 

It was around midnight when my father found a station opened that still had its mechanic on duty.  Actually the mechanic owned the station and lived behind it or we never would have had such luck. My father explained the problem and apparently the man knew what to do because he went straight to work.  When the man spoke to my father and asked questions I thought he was speaking in another language and I was quite impressed that my father not only understood the language but could communicate with this fellow.  It turned out the fellow wasn’t speaking another language he was “Cajun” and his accent was so thick that I couldn’t understand a word the said.  We girls slept in the car as the fellow worked under the hood.  I have no idea how long it took him to repair it as I slept through the whole thing but he got the job done and eventually we got back on the road and drove the rest of the way.  My father had amazing abilities to stay up and drive.  The only thing I could attribute it to was all the time he spent on stake outs.  That man needed little to no rest, but we sure didn’t have to waste much of our time in the actual “getting to where we were going”.

Just call me Queen please.

Years ago when I began to have granddaughters I began to call them my little princesses.  Even though they are currently 10, 8, 7, 6, 3, 1, 19months and 3 months they are still my little princesses and I will still greet them or address them by their Royal title.  They never complain when I do and they respond quite naturally because they have heard it all of their lives.  I truly do believe that each of them are princesses in their own rights and that they know it because they have been told it enough that they believe it. 

What about the boys you ask?  I have called them princes but they did not take to that title like the girls took to being called princesses.  They seemed to give me squinty looks, they didn’t say anything but I think they believed something must have been wrong with their grandmother I could tell by the way they looked at me.  So, instead of calling them princes I call them “little man” which each seems to appreciate much better.  Somehow I think that nick name is more manly and they appreciate it for that very reason. 

One day I was calling the girls Princess Haley and Princess Allie and Haley being oldest said, “Grammy if we are Princesses doesn’t that make you a Queen?  You are Queen Grammy!”  For just a moment I was speechless then my voice kicked in and I spokeright up and had to say, “I guess it does” and I have been Queen Grammy ever since.  That explains the “QGrammy” car tag on the back of my car in case anyone has ever wondered. 

I love my Grandchildren, all my princesses AND all my little men, they are blessings EVERY ONE!    



Ice Ice Baby

Out on the ice!

Front row:  Cousins Tommy, Paula and Julie

Second Row:  Sister Kathy and Cousin Fredda

Third Row:  Myself, Cousin Russell and Sister Sharon

Fourth Row:  Sister Vickie and I am not sure can’t see her face.

My Cousins and I spent many winter’s on the lake behind my house, Lake Whitehurst.  Our back yard ran directly into the lake so it was out our back door so to speak.  In the winter, at that time, in Virginia, we always had very snowy winters; if it wasn’t snowing it was still freezing.  Virginia was a very cold geographic area and because it was so cold in winter the lake would freeze often to varying depths multiple times a year. Nearly all of our favorite winter activities involved the lake.

We had some wonderful, frightening and fun times on that frozen lake.  I think our most favorite activity on the ice was sledding. All the cousins, my sisters and I would have contest to see who could slide the farthest across the lake.  Our yard had the perfect slope from the house down to the lake.  We would begin our sledding experience at the back door of our garage, fly across the back yard running as fast as possible throw ourselves on the sled just before hitting the ice and go out onto the ice and across the lake at a pretty high rate of speed laughing and pushing with our hands as hard as we could to get all the distance we could possibly manage out of the run.  The farther we went on the ice however the more silent we would be, we were listening for the dreaded cracking sound.  You would think our fear would  stop us from pushing forward on the ice but it never did, we just listened carefully.  If we heard the ice have that dull deep crack we knew it was cracking deep under the ice and we had to stop then before we got to the thin ice.  Our ride was over.   There was a small island in the middle of the lake inhabited only by ducks, wild geese, snakes, muskrats and turtles.  Our goal in sledding was to make it to the island that we named “Muskrat Island” though I do not know its real name or even if it had one.  Thinking back it was certainly a risky thing to do but we all loved it.  There were people who fell through the ice but thankfully we never had any serious issues and not a one of us children fell through the ice.   We had a few close calls but no serious problems.

We never had any Ice skates, some of the cousins did but we didn’t.  We just “skated” using out shoes.  We had just as much fun.  We would spend the whole day on the ice and half of the night if our parents would let us.  We bundled up and would stay out until forced inside for warm drinks and food.  It was horrible to come inside.  Our hands and feet would begin to thaw and the pain would be horrible.  We would writhe in the floor moaning in pain.  Your hands and feet would burn like they were on fire.  It was so painful.  I can remember sitting and silently crying.  We had to wait until our gloves and socks were warm and our hands and feet were “thawed” before we could go back out.  We would go right back out as soon as they would feel better even if it meant putting socks on our hands instead of gloves because our gloves weren’t dry.  (We didn’t have a dryer part of the time we lived there.  Yes I lived in a time when people did not have dryers!)  We would stay out until we couldn’t take it any longer and go through the same pain sequence again and again but never thought about it not being worth it.

There was one major rule out on the ice.  You had to start out on the ice very far apart from one another.  The ice had to be SUPER thick in order for us to be able to stand near one another and that was not too often.  If you started near someone and you heard the deep crack you quietly backed away.  Sometimes you got to play together sometimes it was a take turn kind of day but any day on the ice was a fun winter day. 

 

Barney the evil police dog!

I have mentioned before that my father was a Norfolk Police officer when I was a young child.  Part of the time he was a police officer his partner was a K-9, a police Shepard by the name of Barney.  My older sister Vickie and I would often have the opportunity to go with my father to the K-9 training compound and watch other officers train their dogs.  My father would assist in the training of these dogs.  I can remember watching from behind a very tall chain link fence and being very frightened by the intensity of the dogs being trained.  They taught them to attack on command,  there were men in huge protective suits being attacked viciously by those dogs when commanded and the dog would halt immediately when commanded to, they covered all the necessary commands needed in the field.  It was hard to watch but although I was young I understood why they needed to learn.  The dogs were taught to respond only to the specific officer as he was that officer's partner, he would be part of that officers family just as Barney was part of our family. 
Barney was very large, HUGE through my eyes.  Barney was a full grown German Shepard, a large dog and one of the most intelligent dogs I have ever known, however he did have a quirky personality.  He hated the boy next door because the boy would throw rocks at him every time he saw the dog, even over our fence. Any time Barney saw the boy through the privacy fence he would nearly scare the boy to death with his vicious attack mode just to show his displeasure at being injured by the rocks.  He never once touched the boy and would always obey my father or mother when they told Barney to hush. 
Barney loved our family but seemed to derive some strange pleasure out of torturing me.  He never did this to anyone else, only me.  Most often my father would take Barney with him to work, but there where those occasions where Barney would stay home depending on my father's particular assignment for that day.  Since my father went to work before I woke up in the mornings I would never know which days Barney was home and which days my father had taken him with him. 
In my youth children played outside at least a part of every day, it was considered healthy and natural.  We had a sandbox in the middle of our backyard that I loved to play in every day.  Since Barney loved to torture me, that clever dog, I would sheepishly call his name from the back door every morning to be sure he was not in the yard.  I would look around the corner of the house while calling his name to make sure he had gone to work with my father.  I would yell and yell and he would not come.  Each day I would do the same routine, each day with the same results, Barney would not appear in the backyard.  I would get my confidence up that he was with my father so I would start out to the sandbox, I would get about half way to the box and out of no where he would come galloping from wherever he had been hiding.  He HAD been hiding, he was smart enough to know he needed to hide the rascal.     He would chase me to the large tree that was in the middle of the sand box while I ran screaming.  He herded me to that tree, he never let me go to the door of the house or anywhere else, always that tree.  Once to the tree he would place each of his huge paws on either side of my face then growl and pant at me for all he was worth he face just inches from mine.  He would growl and grin and breathe all over me until my mother would come to pull him away from me.  He was such an obedient dog but he would NEVER listen to her when she told him to get down from me or to hush.  He knew exactly what he was doing.  He never intended to hurt me, he just wanted to bug the snot out of me for his own personal entertainment.  He knew he could and he did, every day he was home, I never learned and he loved it the rascal.  He would have eaten anyone who tried to hurt me, he honestly would have probably killed them but he would have his fun at my expense. 
We had Barney for years, when he retired he became or family pet, they didn't retrain them to another officer back then I don't know if things have changed now.  Barney died a few years later from heart worms, something that was not treatable at the time.  It tore my fathers heart up and he would never have another K-9 partner after that.  We had many dogs afterwards for family pets and my father claimed he would never love animals again but I would catch him loving them I could see it in his eyes.  He never lost his soft spot for animals. Barney, the evil police dog that would have given his life for mine if it had been asked of him.  Crazy dog!  Crazy lovable dog!

Ka boom!

My father was in the Navy and stationed aboard a ship as a mechanic during the time of the Korean War.  My mother and father were married and my mother was living in California as my fathers ship was based out of San Francisco. 
At some point while my father's ship was out at sea there was an explosion aboard ship and my father was blown up along with several other men.  I do not know if this was in battle or if it was an accident.  Apparently that day my father had lent a shirt to another seaman who had been killed.  My mother received a telegram from the Naval department telling her that my father had been killed so she had made arrangements to return to Virginia.  The Navy department told her that they would be sending my father's body back to Virginia and would contact her when his body arrived and all details needed. 
My sadly mother made her way back to Virginia and apparently had a funeral for what she assumed was my father.  My father meanwhile was in a Naval hospital in California in a Coma and had been for three months when he finally came around.  Even though he came to it took a while for him to remember who he was and what had happened.  He remembered lending his shirt that day and to whom he had lent his shirt.  He remembered being blown up.  The doctors told him about his injuries the only lasting ones effects were deafness in one ear and damage to one eye but everything else had healed while he had been in the coma.  He asked about my mother and they explained what had happened, what she had been told, how she had left, had buried a man, etc.  My father wasn't sure how he wanted to handle all this because he knew this was going to be a shock to her.
He decided not to call her and break it to her over the phone, he thought it would be better to take the train to Virginia and tell her himself, so he did just that.  After getting to Norfolk my father walked up to the door of her home and knocked on her front door like he had any sense.  She answered the door as normal, saw him standing there and promptly fainted!  Of course she fainted!  There stood her dead husband on her front porch! 
Once she came to my father explained the full situation as she sat in his lap and cried the entire time.  My father was honorably put out of the Navy on disability but I think my parents didn't mind so much at that point.  And that was the FIRST time my father was blown up....

Ann

I have no news to update on health so I thought I would update my sewing projects.  I have managed to complete both Ann and Andy dolls and get both heads of hair sewn in which, I must say, was a major accomplishment.  It only took me a full week of hand sewing to get both heads of hair done.  Thirty years ago it would have only taken two days, it's so sad to get old-er. 
I finished Ann's clothes today.  You will notice she has some red "bling" on her apron.  She will be Sarah Kathryn's doll and Sarah Kathryn's two favorite things are red and "bling."  I have to try to appeal to each child's favorite things if I can.  I still have to make Andy's clothes.  He's as naked as a Jay bird for now, bless his heart.  I have to get to the fabric store again which may take a while since I cannot drive but I will get there within the week and then he will get his new set of duds.  I hope she will like them.

Dancing in the middle of the night?

When Robin worked for Kappler he tended to have to go out of the country not only often but near Christmas every year.  I was used to it so it never bothered me since I had grown up with my father being gone so often with his job it wasn't a thing I found out of the ordinary or distressing. 
This particular year Brent was out in California on his mission so it was only Stephanie, Warren and I at home alone.  I am one of those crazy women that will confront you if you bother my family or home.  This evening was no different.
I had heard some noises around my house several nights in a row.  Each night it had happened late at night and I had gone out and circled the house looking to see if anyone was out side.  I was not happy anyone was bothering me with my children at home.  My children by the way were 12 and 17 but hey, they are still my children.  I was still going to protect them!
Stephanie and Warren had been asleep for hours but I had stayed up to make sure my children would be safe with an apparent prowler in the neighborhood.  When I heard someone on the front porch of my house I decided not to go out my front door again but instead to go into Stephanie's bedroom and look out her window.  Her bedroom window had the best, widest view onto the front porch.  I snuck into her room so I wouldn't wake her.  I quietly pulled back the curtains and blinds simultaneously so I wouldn't wake her and I was immediately confronted with a huge close unidentified face right before me.  I was careful not to scream so I wouldn't wake my sleeping child but the face was so bold and didn't move away.  Surely he'd seen me standing there.  I started pounding on the window to frighten him away.  He still didn't move.  Stephanie did!  She bolted out of her bed screaming at the top of her lungs.  She had heard the banging coming from her window and saw no one because I was hidden behind the curtains and blinds and she'd been awakened from a dead sleep.  Her screaming was so terrified and genuine that it somehow made me scream.  I ran across the room and grabbed her shoulders and told her it was ok, it was just me, she was still screaming.  I hugged her and started crying, I had nearly frightened my child to death.  I forgot about the man at the window, surely the man at the window had bolted by now with all the screaming going on in the house.  Stephanie was so out of it she continued to scream and cry until she came fully awake and finally while crying, accusingly asked me what I was doing.  I tell that her I don't want to scare her.  She asked again.  So I told her.  She looked at me like I was half crazy, "Mom, that's the wreath YOU hung there last week!".  Oh... my... gosh.  I just nearly gave my daughter a heart attack over a wreath, hanging at her window, right where I hung it the week before!   The noises I had been hearing the last few days was the wreaths at the windows in the house under the high winds we had been having.  I had been checking around the house in the middle of the night for the specter of the wind.
There was only one thing left to do.  Throw ourselves back on the bed and laugh until we cried AGAIN!    

Mexico boo boo

Part of my growing up years was spent in the Episcopal church.  The Episcopal church was a break off from the Catholic church (nobody throw rocks please).  We went religiously every Sunday, I covered my head with a beautiful white lace scarf, my mother covered hers with a black one, every woman who entered the church had their head covered.  We also always wore our very best dresses when attending church.  This was what you wore, this was how you showed respect. 
As time went on and we spent more time camping on weekends we spent less time in a formal church.  Most of the campgrounds we stayed in provided a worship area.  Some campgrounds would provide a nondenominational service others would have a particular denomination represented each Sunday, still others would have no one there but had an area for private meditation.  We got in the habit of taking our interest in God with us as we went and we each worshipped individually in our own way. 
While we were on our trip in Mexico no one even bothered to ask about church because we were so far into the interior of Mexico that we knew anywhere we might go we would not be able to understand a word that was being said.  It just wasn't even thought of quite honestly.  So when Sunday came we got up and dressed just as we did any of the other days we had on our trip, nicely in our skorts and tennis shoes, ready for the days adventure.
We drove in to the next big town which was amazingly beautiful.  Such beautiful architecture.  As my family walked around I was looking up at the old buildings awe struck, I was in love.  (I think it was there that I decided to become an Architect.)  There were very few people out and about and even fewer buildings open to the public.  That was back when everybody and everything was closed on Sunday's.  We didn't think anything of it because we were enjoying our walk through town and that was pretty normal.  After a while there were more people and they were following us and where speaking harshly in Spanish and I was fairly sure they were saying some unkind words by the looks on their faces.  I couldn't figure out why they were being unkind though, we weren't doing anything, we weren't touching anything, disturbing anything, nothing.  The women especially were unpleasant.  Our skorts were a little short but they weren't to the point of immodest so we could not figure it out.  After what seemed a lifetime of being surrounded and scolded by these Mexican women it finally dawned on us, it was SUNDAY.  It was Sunday! 
We were in VERY Catholic Mexico on a Sunday and we were in shorts.  We had been disrespectful to the traditions of these people.  We should have known better, our roots should have reminded us.  Good grief, had we lost our minds?  No wonder those women thought the "gringo" ladies were bad, we were!  We left the plaza where we had been walking and went back to our campers.  The next time we left the camper that day we had "appropriate" Sunday clothes on and tried to be sure to keep up better after that.   It kind of taught us a lesson in making sure to keep up with the traditions of the country, state or area you are visiting in because you can certainly hurt someone's feelings even without effort just by your ignorance. 
Question?  I wonder if in these new times if Mexican Catholics in Mexico still only wear dresses to church?

Spring Valley Beach

 Every summer in July Robin’s company has a picnic at Spring Valley Beach.  His company allows you to bring your children to the picnic and so we do.  Our children just happen to be grown.  Our children and grandchildren all come every year.  Steph has missed one I think.  We have SO MUCH FUN!  Spring Valley Beach is an adventure park for the grand children, they think they have died and gone to waterpark heaven.  The little kittle area is huge and is tons of fun!  I normally spend all my time there watching what seems like 40 grandchildren.  Have you ever noticed that when your little non swimming children are in the water that one child seems like fourteen?  Somehow that child takes more watching after than the average herd of buffalo.  You are so sure they are going to drown in the one second you look away because anytime you do look away for one second and you turn back around they are vomiting water so you are screaming in your head, “it was only one second man!”.  So, as I was saying I normally spend my time watching all 40 grandchildren (I have 11, 4 swim) with the help of 1 or 2 parents (out of the 6).  The parents generally take turns so they can go ride the adult rides.  I don’t go take turns because once again if I turn my back for one second one of the 40 grandchildren will drown, I just know it.  I prefer to spend my time going 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 where’s Joseph?  Where’s Joseph?  What do you mean he went with is dad?  Brent didn’t tell me?  Brent took him without telling me?  Ok... I guess he is his child.  1-2-3-4-5-6-7…

In the late afternoon once I am too tired to count and have come to realize the children are no longer vomiting water but are holding their breath better when they tip over I do trade out with someone and go for a ride or two on the big slides. 

This last summer I spent a lot of time with Robin, Haley and Allie riding the big slides.  I am not sure how it happened but it did.  We had a blast.  The big girls thought it was great that Grammy went with them and I think that was the most I have ever ridden there.    

This year however I need to ride what the kids call the toilet bowl.  I have no idea if that is the real name or not but that is what they call it but I have to ride it at least once.  But I am sure my day will at least begin with  the baby pool and the 40 grandchildren and the counting, lots and lots of counting and I will be happy counting and knowing that my babies are safe and my children are having a carefree, happy, fun filled day.

    

A Crabby day

One of the things I loved doing as a kid was “crabbing”.  My family loved crabs and living right by the eastern seashore gave us the opportunity to have crabs on a regular basis.  We would just decide some random weekend that we wanted to have crabs.  Dad would get us big girls all excited and often we would take some cousins or others or whoever was available with us to crab at Virginia Beach.  The more the merrier for the more crabbers the more crabs! 

My father would bring along plenty of twine, nets, buckets and chicken legs.  Chicken legs back then were so cheap you cannot imagine.  So we would have plenty according to how many people came along.  We would head to the beach not too far from where we spent our time swimming and we would set up our little crabbing station.

Dad would cut of a length of twine according to your height, then he would tie a chicken leg to one end of it and make a loop on the other end so you could hold on to the twine, then you would be given a net.  We would each get this set up then set off to wade into the ocean into different directions up to our waists or arm pits but no need to go any higher.  We would drag that chicken let behind us slowly or sometimes stand still and just let it float along the bottom of the ocean floor (my preferred and most successful method).  You could see through the water, not perfectly clear but clearly enough to see when you had a crab chewing on your chicken leg.  Those crabs would clamp down strong enough that once they latched on they would hang on for dear life.  You could slowly bring them high enough toward the surface to slip the net we had brought along right under them.  We would then take the crab to shore and stick it in the bucket with its buddies and set out for more. 

Occasionally either you or one of the cousins would let out a yell of pain because one of the crabs had found one of your toes instead of the chicken legs.  That was quite painful and not one of my favorite parts of crabbing.  This actually happened rather often but they didn’t have the surf shoes they have now and we probably wouldn’t have worn them anyway we wouldn’t have had the money to have bought them to be truthful. 

After we filled the buckets to brimming we loaded the cars with crabs and people and headed back to the house.  Then began the crab boil.  In the back yard the crabs were cleaned and cooked by my dad in a huge pot outside.  We children hung around smelling and waiting for those crabs to be done, it seemed like it took an eternity to get those crabs done!  Finally the picnic table would be covered with newspapers and the crabs would be heaped up in the center on the table so hot steam would  be coming off of them.  Oh my goodness!  It was all I could do to use the manners my parents had so carefully instilled in me. 

The family would sit and crack and eat those crabs until every one of us were so filled, the funny stories of the day were told and we would sit back and relax.  Mom would bring the trash can over and rake all those newspapers off into the can and the long fun day just turned into a peaceful usually warm evening.   



Warren, my little miracle

My youngest son Warren is my “little miracle.”  He is the one I never thought I would have.  After having Stephanie my OB/GYN and a couple of other doctors after him told me that I would never be able to have another child.  So for five years we did not get pregnant.  We had even stopped trying. 

I was struggling terribly with my Crohns and was on steroids and other medications and having a hard time.  I was spending time off and on in the hospital with dehydration and malnutrition issues.  I got super sick one morning, was in terrible pain so I immediately went to the hospital thinking l was in trouble again.  They asked if I could possibly be pregnant and of course I said no because my doctors had said I could never ever be.  They asked if I had a uterus and I said yes so of course they ran a pregnancy test before they would do anything else.  The test came back positive.  I was so surprised and afraid at the same time.  I dropped all medications immediately (that moment) and added extra doctors and doctor visits and struggled through the pregnancy.  It was not the easiest pregnancy in the world but we fought our way through.  We had a rough time of it, he and I, but we were tough.  I even managed to have gestational diabetes.  Warren was a tough little guy.

Warren was originally due about a month later than he was born.  I started having trouble around seven months into the pregnancy but I didn’t say anything.  I struggled with my Crohns the entire pregnancy but somewhere in in that seventh month it started to get out of control so bad that by the end of that month I was in such pain and I was having major issues.  I was about to head to the hospital when my sister-in-law called saying she was in Labor with my niece and could I watch after her older children so she could go to the hospital to have her baby.  I went to her house to babysit until I just couldn’t take the pain any longer and so I found someone to watch her children and went to the hospital myself thinking I was in premature labor.  Oddly enough when they hooked me up to the fetal monitor it actually showed labor but there were indications that it wasn’t actual labor. 

Through different things what they determined that it was my intestines that were “laboring” hard enough to register on the fetal monitor and not my uterus.  They put an NG tube up my nose (with me awake) and an IV in and left me alone to see if things would settle down.  They did not.

I spent the next few days in the hospital being evaluated.  None of the information coming back was good.  Finally, they told me they were going to do an emergency c-section; that the baby was no longer safe inside me.  They said I was slowly dying and that in order for the baby and I to have a chance they had to take him that day.  The doctor was not sure if I would make it through the surgery.   So I went into surgery not knowing if I would be waking up, they really didn’t seem to think I would.  I was frightened half to death. 

During the surgery they found that Warren had kicked a section of my intestines through a loop of intestines that had formed from scar tissue from my bowel resection of three years earlier.  It had created a major issue.  They had a surgeon on hand after they delivered Warren, the other surgeon took over and saved me so we both made it safely through.

Imagine my surprise when I did wake up and find that I had a beautiful 7 pound 10 ounce baby boy that was 21 inches long even though he was over 4 weeks premature.  At first the doctor thought Warren was not premature until he realized Warrens’ lungs and liver were as underdeveloped as they would be for a baby of 4 weeks early.  He struggled a bit at first with Jaundice and Anemia and was a little behind in a few things due to being premature but he turned out healthy and caught up quickly.

Warren was the most beautiful baby.  He has been a joy and a blessing and I still believe he is my personal “little miracle.” 

 

When my father was about 43 and we were living in Arizona he made one of his “less mature” decisions.  We always teased my father for doing some crazy things sometimes; he kind of never grew up.  Every now and then his little boy self would just show up and it usually led him into some sort of trouble.  It would seem that this might have been one of those times.

Dad and his partner Billy had been out in the desert on patrol for several days and had gotten bored, after all there is only so much one can do out in the desert.  They found various ways to pass the time and had exhausted their normal list so they tried to find some new ways to pass the time.  They apparently had driven to the top of a hill with a cliff overlooking the area they were watching for the drug runners to come through.  As they sat watching they got into a “boyish” discussion of “how close to the edge of the cliff do you think I can get without going over?”  Of course since my father was driving you can guess whose brilliant idea this was.  The idea was set into motion, literally (I am shaking my head as I am typing this).

Dad would inch the jeep forward and his partner Billy would get out and check to see how close he was to the edge of the cliff and then remark how much farther he had to go.  Then, showing his faith in my fathers’ ability would get back into the jeep and dad would then move forward again.  This continued multiple times until even my father would get out and check to see how much farther he thought he could go.  The visual in my head as I type this still makes me shake it.  I still cannot understand two grown men going through this process. 

Well… eventually, as you can imagine, he went just that one little hair too far.  He and his partner Billy went over the cliff.  Did I mention that it was a fairly high cliff and that the jeep went end over end?  Thankfully the jeep had a roll bar and they HAD buckled in for those last few forward movements (does that give you a clue?).  Dad or Billy, I really don’t know who, radioed in and had to be picked up and taken to the hospital.  Billy had a gash across his forehead that required stitches and dad had some pretty good cuts and bruises.  My only comment was, “I guess you lost”.  My thought was, why didn’t he stop before he got that far?  I never did understand, to be truthful sometimes my father told ridiculous stories to cover up scary things that happened so we wouldn’t be afraid.  For all I know he may have been pushed off the cliff by the very people he was patrolling.

 

This will certainly be a brief update.  I had another MRI on my head Tuesday, both with and without contrast.  I was reminded by the technician that I do not have good veins in my arms as he had to start a second IV when the first one collapsed halfway through his inserting the dye into my arm.  Oh well.  We are looking more closely at my brain (or lack thereof) but I will not hear back from that for a good while.  It could be as long as March 3^rd.  The MRI machine was interesting; it was called a “stand up MRI” it is for us poor Closter phobic people, it was better, I have to admit, although I did have to be driven all the way into Birmingham (1 ½ hours)in early morning traffic to the location.  I have an EEG appointment on February 3^rd, hopefully that one comes out well so I can drive again in July. My medicines continue to be adjusted and I am just as unhappy about having to take them.  It’s always smart to do that.

I am still feeling like a prisoner but have decided I can get quite a bit done in my house.  I know Robin is going to have a fit but I think I am going to paint the living room, dining room and hall.  I had promised myself I would never paint another wall or for that matter anything again and I am not allowed on a ladder (ever again, per the doctor) but I will have to figure out how to work around that little problem.  Hmmmm.  Where there’s a will there’s a way.  Plus there is about a million things I can get done.  There are endless possibilities really.  Remember I am making dolls and things for my granddaughters for Christmas 2015.  Happy healthing!

Publishers Clearing House

This story isn’t exactly about me but it is about my husband and me so it counts.  Robin and I were living in Troy, Alabama and our children were fairly young little kittles.  We were finally doing ok. Rob had gotten his degree and finally gotten a “real” job.  You know the kind of job that paid the bills and started getting us on the road to where we wanted to go.  The key words here was started us.  We still dreamed of big money just falling out of the sky into our laps.  Surely we are not the only ones who have done this.  It was the time of year where Publishers Clearing house was awarding their annual big prize, of course we had sent all our entries in, we were not going to be left out of the drawing.

Just the week before I had been home and received the oddest phone call asking me if I would be home on a particular day for a delivery, normally I did not receive calls checking on deliveries so I told Rob about it.  It happened that I would be home, I was home every day, I was a home maker.  The day also happened to be the day that Publishers Clearing House was scheduled to make their surprise delivery.  Robin and I were in the front yard with the children playing and talking about the odd call and how I hadn’t had a delivery at all that day after all.  Robin starts laughing and said, “what if it was Publishers Clearing House”.  I laugh and laugh at him.  We start making plans on what we would do with our ficticous money and even began to argue about it.  So funny!  As we continue to discuss it ,a shiny new black van with no windows comes around the corner and starts up the street slowly like it’s looking for an address.  As it comes down the street Robin starts laughing wildly and saying, “it really is Publishers Clearing House, they were on the phone, they are coming”, he started jumping up and down like crazy.  I started laughing because I started to believe him.  He got louder and laughed louder and jumped higher.  Then the van drove past.  I thought Robin was going to stroke out.  He looked at me like it was all my fault.  Then all I could do was laugh so hard I cried and cried.  It was so funny I nearly died.  He was so mad at me I think he didn’t talk to me for three days.  It makes me laugh like a lunatic sitting here now although it happened 25 years ago.    

Back to Mexico

     Continuing on into the interior of Mexico my family and the Grimes family took our travel trailers and moved further into Mexico though we only traveled in the daylight hours.  Our cars were not happy with the gasoline that we gave them as all cars used leaded gas at the time and ethanol was NOT part of the gasoline product in the United States, however, in Mexico ethanol was used instead of gasoline in Mexico at the time and our cars spitted and sputtered.  Our fears were that we would be stalled somewhere along the roads at night and the "banditos" would come along and we would be in trouble.  It seems that the warnings that the border guards gave us were not unwarranted.  We stopped in as many cities as we could to visit shopping areas and historical sites.  We stopped in areas that were not visited much by "gringos" as they called us so English was not often found in the areas we visited but we enjoyed our sight seeing none the less, we had a wonderful trip. 

     In our driving we would see the most beautiful Missions.  They were AMAZING buildings.  They would be sitting quietly in the middle of nowhere with nothing around them but desert and cacti.  After seeing a number of them we decided that we would drive up to one and see if we could persuade the monks or priests or sisters or whomever was in charge to let us have a tour of the Mission.  We drove into the yard of on of the missions and didn't even get out of the car, heck dad didn't even get the car engine turned off and from out of nowhere hundreds, literally HUNDREDS of children came out of the building and surrounded the car speaking Spanish pressing up against the vehicle.  They were pressing the Grimes' car just as hard.  This we knew because we had walkie taklies and were communicating and Uncle Bobby was panicking just as we were.  Not speaking Spanish no one could figure out what was happening and no adult seemed to come out to explain or to shoo the children away.  Since children were not moving away from the cars and they were pressing in so hard it would have been dangerous for my father to have made any effort to move the car in any direction.  Both fathers finally came up with the idea of using the change our mothers had put into bags for the laundry mat.  They came up with the idea that we would partially roll down the windows and throw money out the windows as far away from the car as we could so our dads could drive away as quickly as possible.  That's what we all did in both cars and believe it or not it worked. 

We thought the whole experience was a was a fluke but low and behold we were crazy enough to stop at one more Mission to try to get a tour, they are just such beautiful buildings.  The same thing happened.  We used the same technique with the same success and decided that we would have to admire them from a decidedly long distance. 

Carrying huge (hidden) amounts of change in the "off the beaten pathways" in the late 1960's early 1970's was a wise choice in Mexico.  It got us out of many a problem, many, many, many times.  For real. 

Joseph, Sarah Kathryn, Allie, Haley and Emily (Rachel is not pictured)

This past Summer in August I had the fun chance to spend the week with Bent and his family in Fort Walton beach at a beautiful Condo enjoying the ocean.  We woke every morning and had a wonderful breakfast to fuel our morning at the beach.  Every morning Laura and I would pack up the six (grand) children and hike it down to the water front with what seemed to be half a household.  It was really only two umbrellas, a couple of small coolers, a couple of diaper bags, a couple of babies on our hips and a few stray towels.  I think that was all.  It really seemed like much more.  The children drug most of the sand buckets and beach toys.  We stayed on the beach all morning and it in the water until the children grew too hungry to stay any longer.  Rachel did not like the feeling of the sand on her body so she insisted on staying in the water so the sand would not touch her.  Even sitting on a towel did not keep her from stressing out.  We brought snacks and drinks for us and the children and Laura and I but at some point one just has to have real food to endure the heat and hunger of the day.  We would then pack up all the stuff and make our way back up to the hotel where Brent was attending his Judges conference and then would rinse all the children, all our flip flops and things off, change diapers on the two little ones, put t-shirts on everyone and eat our lunch at the conference center area.  After lunch we would slather up the children with sun screen and spend the rest of the day in the hotel pool and hot tub.  It was a trick to keep up with six children in a pool filled with several people for several hours but we managed.  There were others there that we knew with their children and/or grandchildren and we all helped to keep up with each others family so it was a joint effort and that was a great help.
We went putt putt, we had dippin' dots, Haley and Allie were buried in the sand, Haley fished we hunted shells and sand dollars, we made sand castles, we took walks down the beach, we dolphin watched, we did all sort's of things everyday until we were purely exhausted.  Inside the condo we watched movies, cooked delicious meals, had wonderful snacks, played games, drew beautiful pictures, took fun and beautiful photographs and videos, and slept like rocks because we were just plain tired!  It was a wonderfully fun filled week.  Thank heavens for families. 

This is a picture of my cousin Bill and his wife Meredith.  As you can see I found a way to make the photo bigger.  I will see if I can do that again in the future!  Cool!

When I grew up we spent a lot (A LOT) of time at our cousins, Fredda and "little Bill"s, house.  We always had such a great time together.  There was so much to do and play and we sure found everything there was to do and made up even more believe me.  This little story has to do with my cute little cousin (who is now in his forties) Bill.  That boy had the most annoying habit of making the highest pitched squeaky noise.  It hurt my ears to hear him do it.  I was sure he would have no voice when he grew up, that he would have ruined his vocal cords by making this noise and would not be able to udder a word when he grew up.

It was unusual to not hear his little squeaky self making excited noises running around bugging us girls when my three sisters and I came to visit for the day.  This particular day he had been quiet for an unusually long time.  We children kept asking, "Where's Bill?"  and finally Aunt Sandy took up our concern and went looking for Bill and eventually she found him in the garage.  There he sat in the garage floor with a screwdriver in hand, a smile on his face and parts of the homes heater all over the floor around him.  He was such a boy and was so curious and smart.  He was happy as a lark.  Aunt Sandy shrieked because the part stack was no small stack.  Bill was quite proud of himself.  My father was quite the handyman but looked at the pile of parts and immediately said, "you need to call a heater repair man."   Oops.  Joyfully, little Bill got up from his spot and joined the onlookers, I can't remember if or what kind of scolding he received.  We were all in such shock that he was even able to disassemble such a major thing without getting shocked that I think we were all shocked ourselves.   Uncle Buck did call the repairman, all the parts were here so it was able to be reassembled and all was well.

That little squeaky rascal boy grew up to be an actor with a wonderful voice.  Bill Powers.  He has been in film and commercials.  He's my cute little cousin (even in his 40's).  The only little boy that used to follow us around and play with the five big girls (poor guy).  Actually, he didn't seem to mind.   

My Stephanie

 

This is my Stephanie girlie, the picture was taken the day she came home from the hospital.  At birth she weighed 11 pounds 4 1/2 ounces and was 22 3/4 inches long. 

 

I don't think any of my children came into the world without a little drama to spice things up.  When it was early in my pregnancy, three or four months in I started to have problems so I went in to see my doctor. I was hospitalized off and on during the pregnancy to keep a check on her but with the blood loss I experienced they were not sure how it would affect the baby in the end.  They worried that the baby may be deformed or even have mental deficiencies.  Thank heaven neither happened.  It was long enough ago that there were no tests to check for those kinds of things and it would not have mattered anyway.  This was my baby and I intended to have it no matter the circumstances and raise it.  I did not even know the gender of the child, in fact I was sure I was carrying a boy, lol. 

I was so miserable at about eight months, I was so huge.  I couldn't breathe, sleep, move, it was horrible.  I went in to the doctor and was crying, which is something I just don't do.  I told him that I had baby from my knees to my boobs, that this baby was huge!  He had me lay on the exam table and measured my tummy like they always do/did and he squeezed my tummy a bit with his hands and said, "Mrs. Helms I don't think this baby is more than six pounds right now, I don't think it will be any more than seven or eight pounds when it's born.  I just burst out in tears and asked him, "what? You have weights and scales in your fingers?"  I told him he was wrong I was carrying a baby whale (sorry Steph but that IS what I said to him, you say crazy things when you are pregnant).  He helped me down from the table and wrote in my chart that I was an hysterical woman.  I know that because he later, after Stephanie was born, showed it to me then apologized and took it out of the chart.

So as the last month of my pregnancy progressed I felt like I was going to explode.  It was getting to the point that it was painful to breathe and I was begging the doctor to induce me or take the baby by c-section, but he would not even listen to me.  The last month passes with me walking (waddling) painful miles upon miles trying to bring labor on but it didn't work.  Robin and Brent enjoy the walks however so it was worth getting out of the house. 

The day she was born was the day I decide to make home made cinnamon rolls, the kind that take 8 hours, with yeast that has to rise twice.  I started into labor half way through the process of making the rolls I was determined I was NOT going to lose those cinnamon rolls so I refused to go to the hospital until those cinnamon rolls were completed and sitting beautifully on the counter. 

We had our babysitter, Michelle, so off we went to have our baby.  Only 16 hours of labor that time and it was a God send.  I thought I was in Heaven.  Here's  pretty much how it went.  I went in to the hospital and was in labor so they gave me a room and I labored quite well.  They broke my water so the baby could come and of course I labored harder.  It wasn't long before it was time to push so we were off to the delivery room. 

Now, you know how when you have a new baby they caution you to be so careful to hold the head and to be careful to support the neck because it is so fragile.  I support that 100%, I would NEVER argue with that at all but this was my experience:  While trying to deliver Stephanie her shoulder got caught on my cervical bone and could not get around it so the doctor grabbed her head with both of his hands and pulled it so hard his whole upper body including his arms and hands were trembling with the strength of his pulling.  I know this because I saw him doing it.  In the midst of his powerful pull everyone in the room, including me, heard a loud "pop" and then my daughter slipped right out.  I let out a kind of cry because quite frankly I though he had broken her neck.  The nurses whisked her over to the isolet to check her out while the doctor finished with me.  I continued to ask if she was alright and FINALLY a nurse brought her over to me and explained the "pop" was not her neck but the doctor had actually broken her collar bone with his pulling but it had freed her and allowed her to be delivered.  It had caused a HUGE hematoma that was like a miniature hunch back on her.  They handed her to me on a pillow.  We had to carry her on a pillow for six weeks.  They told me to sew up the sleeve of her little t-shirts and not put her arm through so the t-shirt would hug that arm to her body for the healing process, so I did for six weeks.  Bless her little innocent heart.  It could have just as easily been her neck, thank heaven it wasn't.  Her collar bone healed perfectly. 

After the doctor delivered Stephanie and they weighed her in at 11pounds 4 1/2 ounces he did apologize for not believing me about how large she was becoming and said if he had realized he would have put me into labor earlier.  Really? Ya think?  Perhaps he listened to the next woman that said that she was carrying a baby whale. 

In the end I got my perfect little girlie, who, by the way, slept through the night from the first day she came home from the hospital and until this day. 

He taught me my building skills

As I have mentioned I had no brothers for my father to teach his many skills to.  One of the things my father did very well was build things.  He often taught me different things.  I helped him with many things from a very young age.  I can remember helping him build our "chuck wagon" which I may discuss at another time but not now.  He and I made a "white picket fence" for my mother when we lived on Norview Avenue in Norfolk.  My mother had wanted a fence and my father was the type of husband that went out of his way to do for his wife all that he could to make her happy.  If he could give her what she wished he would do it. He sat at the kitchen table with me, a notepad and pencil and told me how to figure the necessary lumber needs as well as the hardware.  Then I did just as he told me to do, he checked my figures and approved them.  We got in the car and headed to the lumber yard for the purchase.  It was so exciting for a me.  I loved his trusting me to help him, I felt important and grown up.  We purchased the lumber and headed home then spent the day in the garage with the measuring instruments, saws and sanders preparing the slats for the fence.  He trusted me to make the measurements, angles, and markings.  After cutting all the slats, it then, of course, took a few days to sink the posts, nail the cross bars then nail the slats in.  We painted it white just as my mother had requested.  It looked just as my mother has desired I was never so proud of anything in my life.  That fence stood for a long time.  It was still in place when we moved away to Texas. 

My father and I continued with many projects over the years.  Varying in size and skill level, I think the most notable project or the project I am most proud of is this:

 

 



This house is a house in Arizona that we lived in in 1975.  Originally the room to the left was a car port.  My father and I enclosed the carport together.  Again we worked out the lumber and materials list while sitting at the kitchen table.  The ride to the lumber yard was quite a bit longer as we lived 35 five miles from the nearest town and that was a little wide spot in the road, it was 70 miles to the nearest real town.  So after VERY careful planning my father purchased the materials while I was in school.  We built the walls flat on the drive way then stood them up to the sides of the car port and nailed them in.  We measured and leveled them so meticulously so that when we stood them up they fit perfectly.  My father was a perfect teacher.  He always did his best.  He always appeared to be happy with the job he did.  He was always a happy man that gave 100% to everything he did. 

You will notice there are two doors next to one another, the one to the right goes into the main house and the one to the left goes into the "game room" that once was the carport my father and I made into the game room.  We did NOT do the electric work, we did hire that done because that is not something he could do and we were not stupid!.  The room came out wonderfully.  There was storage, windows and obviously a door.  We put a pool table in there, little tables around the sides for games, snacking and sewing. 

This photo was actually from google earth taken about 2012 and the room was build by us in 1975 so we couldn't have done too bad of a job now could we.  The window to the right of the doors was my bedroom.  The fence was not there when we lived in the home nor was the grass.  We had sand instead.  Lol.  We raked the desert sand instead of mowing the lawn.  Yes, that's a swamp cooler on the top of the house, too hot for air conditioning.  No, those big trees did not exist in 1974.  We did have a few Cacti though.