Revealing the other half Sepia Saturday week 37 (click here to go to the Sepia website)

Grandmother Esther Behrndt, Jerry 1 year old,
and Mother, Florence. 

I spent some time on the genealogy of Jerry's (the other half) side this week, so thought I would share a photo or two introducing him and his peculiar side.  I have often said that if I had known  his family, in particular his mother when we first met that I would not have ever gotten involved with him and he says that is why he lived far away from his family.  Further he blames me because he said until we were married they did not bother  with him, after we married it seemed  they had a place to spend summer vacations and they did.  His mother, Florence,  is 93 today is still going kind of strong (but not in the mental area)  and lives here in La Crescent in a senior apartment, though she really belongs in an assisted living place.  But that's another story and she refuses so we get the duty of overseeing  and providing for her.  It's most unfair as Jerry says he has now provided  and cared for her longer than she ever cared  for him.  As the first  born and  oldest son, I think he is a saint, because  this woman , Florence whose life story rivals "Prince of Tides"   has become the bane of our existence. 

She was the baby of the family, the  youngest of  five sisters and nothing like any of them;  then her second husband kept her in a delayed state of adolescence and when he knew he would be  leaving this planet apologized to Jerry that he would have his hands full taking care of his mother who was then about 77 years old....Shudder and so true.  She had four children but the two youngest are really into the ME ME generation and have little to do with her, her daughter lives in CO and about every  two years makes a dutiful trip here for a couple days to visit her mother for a few  hours.

1950 California  bound

As I said, Jerry is a saint, because as this  photo taken in 1950  shows, Florence who never had a  full load of bricks as they say,  determined she would drive herself and her two children, Jerry age 13 and Diane age 12, cross country to California, leaving Minnesota two months after her mother, Esther  who had cared for the children died.  Florence had met  the man who would become her second husband and my father in law, when he rented a room from the family, but he left for work in California.  By this time she had really worn out her welcome in the tiny town of La Crescent with her antics and had built her reputation as a "loose woman."  Not a good thing in a small town, especially the day she took her Sunday School class to the local tavern to find out if her current hot date was there!  You get the picture, people were not willing to put up with that behavior, not in La Crescent.  She was divorced from the first husband, Morrison, who enlisted in the Navy in WWII to get away from her but who also had issues, another story.  Florence had spent time confined to a mental institution for a year, committed by her sister, Jerry's aunt Myrtle, who begged to adopt Jerry so that she and her husband Joe  could keep him in MN. There was no way that he wanted to leave Minnesota and especially the family and friends he knew.    No Florence would not have it, revealing a lifelong pattern where she thought of herself first.

Jerry in Korea, Air Force  1956

 So there they are, Florence with Dianne, Jerry's full sister and himself in front of the home, ready to head to California.  Jerry is 13 and would live in Californian with his mother and step father only  less than a year before he would hitchhike  cross country back to Minnesota and live with his grandfather..and the aunts until he could enlist in the Air Force, photos to the left....  Raised mainly by his grandparents and then off on his own, I told you she was not a mother to him. This trip to  California would culminate in Las Vegas  where Jerry ended up driving them after Florence nearly killed the three of them in a head on crash as she passed a car  going up a hill into oncoming traffic.  Jerry took over driving, to Las Vegas.  Florence called Lyman from there and he  came to Las Vegas where they married and took them to California.  Florence never drove again, never got a dirver's license, sinking into being "cared for" and taken wherever she went...Her oldest daughter, Dianne, (Jerry's full sister) died in 2005 in California but she had lived a hard tragic life of multiple marriages, many children most of whom did time in jails and prisons, on drugs, alcoholism, etc. and on and on.... Well you get the picture,   I told you it's like Prince of Tides......really lots of dysfunction and more....

Home in La Crescent

This was the old family homestead in town in La Crescent where she and the kids lived with her parents and Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Joe.  Today it is an empty lot and Jerry says buried under ground somewhere when they tore down the house and pitched everything into the cistern is his original pair of skis.   Uncle Joe was always Jerry's hero, taught  him to ski and would have been an excellent surrogate father.  This is the last photo of today,  Jerry's Aunt Myrtle, (a sister of Florence) and Uncle Joe a World War II hero and all around interesting person....this is their  wedding photo where the handsome soldier from North Carolina found, courted and married a beautiful girl from Minnesota.   With the purple hearts and Bronze stars Uncle Joe had earned he was entitled to send a son to West Point.  They had no children and he wanted to adopt Jerry and send him there, it was not to be.  Makes you wonder how  very different  life would have been. 

Wedding photo Myrtle and
Joe Whitfield

I did not realize I would  write so much about  mother in law when I started this, but more to come in weeks ahead.  I think my husband  did a dandy job of  becoming a good adult.... showing that people can overcome their circumstances with will....As always, click on the title to  go to the Sepia Saturday website where you can read and see others' photos and posts.

Betty our Police Lady Story tellers Week 5 and Sepia Saturday Week 36 (click here to get to others' photos)

Miss Betty Hoover our Police Lady

I am rerunning Betty here for the Story tellers; If you have been to Southern Belle, you know there is a tale to tell and many of my previous posts onto Sepia Saturday are tales to share.  So out of time to create something new today I offer you Betty and my frustrated attempts to be a resident Nancy Drew!

Sorting and sifting photos continues here where this week I found this old snapshot of Betty Hoover who was perhaps one of the first if not the first police woman in our town.  We called her, " Miss Betty Our Police Lady" and she was employed as a crossing guard, today's term,  at our elementary school, Third Ward.  This photo is from  about  1954, notice her spiffy uniform, high heels and white gloves.  She would step out into the street to direct traffic and allow us to cross.  Now that I think about it, I suppose this must have been invented employment, because we did not have that much traffic and when Miss Betty was not on her job, we walked and crossed streets quite nicely without any assistance.

My friends and I were fascinated with Miss Betty who lived with her friend, Wanda, in an apartment on the 3rd floor,  the remodeled attic of our neighbor's the Ropers.  They were the only single career women in our neighborhood.  Since the yard of the Ropers' backed up to  our back yard, I thought I could make myself quite available to her, by just  yelling, "Miss Betty" from our back yard.  My mother thought differently and the first time she heard me standing outside yelling, she scooted me onto the porch for a lecture.  I was not to bother Miss Betty and just because she rented from our neighbors did not mean that I could  bother her to satisfy my curiosity.  She was employed as  a Police woman and when she was not at work, she did not need the likes of me pestering her.

Not one to easily give up, I tried to engage Dayna, my  neighbor friend who lived on the other side of the Ropers to help in my efforts at learning more about Miss Betty but she was not as curious as me and besides, her mother felt the same, "You girls do not need to bother her."  I had a plan, Dayna's upstairs bedroom was closer to the Roper house, so if we could lean out Dayna's window and call, surely Miss Betty would hear us and if Dayna was calling and not me, my mother couldn't say anything.  But Dayna was no where near as interested and so much more the good girl than myself that it didn't happen.

I spent some time mulling about this and trying to overcome my Mother's admonishments without being absolutely disobedient. I suddenly became very interested in Harry Roper, their son, who was several years older than me (I was 9 and he was likely 13) and tried all sorts of ways to entice him into inviting me into their home; once inside I figured it would be easy enough to scoot up the staircase and knock on Miss Betty's door. That did not work, because Harry as I said was older than me and besides that totally uninterested in my antics. I think he secretly knew I was the one who would pelt him with crab apples, but he never could  prove that.  I could get onto our porch roof  near the crab apple tree outside my bedroom window, toss crab apples and whack him on the head, then duck back into my bedroom window, innocent as you please. 

My curiosity was not waning, so one day after school, I hung around the corner and confessed to Miss Betty that I would like to see their apartment but my mother said I was not to bother her, but I had this big tale about needing to interview her for a Girl Scout project. She and I walked the  few blocks back to  our homes together and Miss Betty said that she would speak to my Mom and if it was alright with her she would invite me in  for a soda.  It never happened and I suspect that my mother nixed it or maybe Miss Betty was not that interested.  I don't know  what ever happened but Miss Betty and Wanda moved away after several months and I was out of luck.  Maybe they really didn't want to live in a neighborhood of families either.

I had not thought of her for  many years, but  talking to  some of my friends  from those days, we all remember Miss Betty.  I however have the only photo. I don't know why we had a police woman because it was a lovely 'hood and you can see from her uniform she was nicely dressed and not set  to pursue or do much but direct traffic. 

As always, click on the title to get to the Sepia home page and find others who share their photos and or collections in this international community.  This now becomes a Story Tellers Tale for Week 5 as well.  Click here to get to the Story tellers site.

So I have won a chicken!

Today's the day of reckoning, this afternoon when  I go to our farmer's market to get my winning prize.  Evidently last week, when it was steamy hot and I was enjoying a cold bottle of water with a piece of delicious carrot cake in celebration of the first anniversary of our market, I filled out a ticket for the drawing for prizes donated by  the vendors.  Martha called me late Saturday to tell me that I was the lucky winner of a chicken, donated by a vendor who sells meat and poultry, and that I could pick it up today.  I really hope it is frozen or packaged in some way, not alive in its cage with feathers and all.

That call left me thinking it might just be my lucky day or month,and maybe the corner of life was turning.  I seldom have had anything good happen in August; my first marriage, the biggest mistake of my life when I was too young and thought I knew something was in August; my Mom died in August; the inlaws always invaded, and over stayed their welcome spending  their summer vacation at our home in August;  Jerry's mother always creates havoc in August like  two years ago during a family visit when she turned loudly ranting at me witnessed by my  DIL and grand daughter, resulting in my avoiding her for the remainder of the year.  I could list other August negative experiences, but you get the idea, I want to see the month pass quickly even though it means the end of summer.  Following my momentary musement that maybe August won't be all that bad, Jerry's mother was on the  phone with another nasty blast which brought me to the reality that, "it's August!"

Chickens and me have a less than cordial relationship; maybe I was a fox in a previous life, but as long as I can remember anytime I have been near a live  chicken it has not been a good experience. The first negative encounter I recall was at my  Grandma Anna Ball's chicken coop in Harwick, PA when I was maybe five or six years old.  I went to the coop to get eggs or maybe just to satisfy my non-stop curiosity and the next thing I remember there was Anna shooing the chickens away from me as they clucked and carried on and she responded loudly gathering eggs from their nests into her skirt/apron and telling me to leave the coop!   I never went near it again during any of my infrequent visits to her, I considered the coop off limits.

Steve with his first chicken 1976

Flash forward to 1976 when we were living in Newcastle, CA on acreage where Steve and Jerry decided we would have chickens and enjoy fresh eggs.  Actually someone had given Steve a chick for Easter when we were still moving from Fair Oaks and we brought it up to Newcastle from Fair Oaks, before our move, Steve wanted to keep it for a pet and then decided raising chickens would be better. This photo shows him at 12 years old with that dumb chicken on his shoulder, he thought his was funny and I fretted.   To say I had reservations about this effort is an understatement below ground, but Steve assured me it would be his project, "Mom we will eat the eggs" and Jerry thought it an ok idea too, taking him back to his childhood days on the farm.  We started out with several dozen chicks many of which didn't survive, as daily the count went down; something was invading the chicken coop at night and making off with the chicks; Jerry and Steve decided it was a weasel and so they carefully fixed the wire around the coop and solved the problem of diminishing chickens.  I admit the eggs were good, but they harvested the eggs and as the coop was down the hill from our house, I had no need to go there.

We always had dogs and one morning we were awakened to the squawking clucking protests of chickens flying outside  our bedroom window as Hermit, our first Great Dane went to round up some that had flown from the coop up through the tree that grew in the midst of the chicken yard.  Hermit was just being dutiful the way he saw it, protecting his chickens and bringing them up to the house to let us know they were safe.  What a sound, followed by Jerry getting up and yelling at the dog through the  window, "dammit (*&^) Hermit, let that chicken go!"  Hermit would catch them in his mouth, drool all over them, and toss them up into the air in the front yard,  where our bedroom window faced.  The chickens flew and squawked and when they hit the ground, Hermit was right after them.     I don't recall the details but Jerry and Steve went out and herded the escapees back into the coop.

The chicken population dwindled till we had only a few including one proud rooster who immediately disliked me and flapped his wings in protest whenever I ventured past the coop.  No kidding that rooster would almost hiss and lose it when he saw me.  Steve really thought that was funny and would ask me to walk down by the rooster to show his friends how the rooster wanted to get Mom, a request to which I was not very obliging!

My ultimate chicken encounter happened one summer Saturday afternoon in Newcastle  and still makes Jerry laugh when the event is discussed.  I was home alone, Jerry was off with friends helping the local veterinarian move & I don't know where Steve was.  I was in the front yard puttering when alongside a rosebush, came that big rooster that had escaped the  coop. One look at me and it began to almost crow.  I ignored it and went about my business, thinking where is the local hawk when I need it.  But here came another chicken.  So I decided that I had better herd the flock back to their coop and I had no idea how to do this when I got the idea of getting the hoe, ala old MacDonald on his farm. In the garage where the hoe was hanging I eyed one of my laundry baskets and decided that I could use it to capture the escapees, throwing it over them and keeping them moving though staying a hoe handle length away and that way they would be herded back to the coop.  Quit laughing, you know I was/am a city girl! 

Needless to say this was an idea that did not work; I would toss the basket and the birds would scatter.  Once the rooster even jumped  atop the  basket which I'd tossed as though I had offered him a perch.  He eyed me and I cautiously approached with the hoe.  I don't know where the dogs were during this escapade, but I suppose that was a benefit as at least I did not have to defend the birds from the canines.  This exercise lasted about 20 minutes when I gave up because I never  captured even one of the escapees; I sat down, red faced and sweaty in the shade of the  bank on the lawn telling the rooster who did stay away from this wild woman and her basket that I didn't care where he went.  About this time Jerry returned home with one of the neighbors, both of whom thought it an odd sight to see me with a hoe and the clothes basket, sitting in the grass.  When Jerry heard my strategy, he bust out laughing, to which the rooster appeared and put in his two cents worth!  Jerry absolutely doubled over holding his sides, laughing so hard that he could not stand it and asking, Patricia, what in the world did you think!" Our neighbor, Bob was not much better,  laughing so hard that he had to take off his glasses!  I found this not at all comical, announced to both what they could do with these chickens  and retreated to the house and a cold drink.  Jerry was  still laughing when I shortly saw him walking along, toward the coop  with rooster and chicken following.  He'd gotten chicken feed and sprinkled it along, which attracted them and then he opened the gate and in they went.  Pat's encounter provided a humorous tale for a long time around the hillside.  I can still feel the frustration although this happened in about 1979!  Eventually we went out of the chicken business and bought our fresh eggs from Doc Santini locally.

As I have said, I am/was a city girl and though I enjoy gardening, I miss not a thing about  poultry agriculture.  I do enjoy eating chicken though!  So hopefully my winnings are ready to be cooked.

Moustache Mugs

Over the past weeks on Sepia posts,  there's been comment on moustaches in men's photos and the current interest in sporting  a moustache.  I mentioned that in our hutch are two fine china mugs, inherited from the Irwin family that are Moustache mugs.  These were used to serve men only, I presume, and had  a protective lip to protect  keep the moustache, preventing it from getting  wet with tea or coffee.  

 I have been interested in these but have done no research until now.  I have never spotted any at estate sales or auctions, making them all the more curious to me.  We don't  know anyone who has been to  our home for dinner with moustache, so have never used these.  Actually when friend Tom visited last year, I did not think about them or would have gotten them out for his use as he does have a moustache.  Sorry Tom, next time.   

 I believe they are mugs, different for their era because no saucers came with them and they are much larger than the  normal china cups with saucers. I remember my Uncle John Irwin would use them from time to time and said they came from his grandfather, the wealthy J.R. Irwin. 

Moustache mug

Moustache mug

Lip of the moustache mug

There is little information on the 'net about these, instead many that are shown and sold as collectibles  are shaving mugs, a heavier porcelain type.  But I did find the following,

"The moustache cup is a drinking cup with a semi-circular ledge inside. The ledge has a semi-circular opening to allow the passage of liquids and serves as a guard to keep moustaches dry. It is generally acknowledged to have been invented by British potter Harvey Adams (born 1835), but the invention did not occur till the 1860s.



During the recording of The Beatles' album, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, John Lennon drank his tea from a moustache cup."

At least that tells these could not be earlier than 1860's.  JR was the millionaire of the Irwin family, when a million was unimaginable to most people, including my direct ancestors of miners.  He made his fortune hauling iron ore on the Great Lakes  and working at construction and design of the Railroads.  He was a contemporary of Carnegie and acquainted with President McKinley who visited the Irwins;  after McKinley was assassinated, Mr. Irwin purchased one of his carriages.  My uncle told  of being a small boy at his grandfather's home and seeing the magnificent  carriage drawn by  shiny black horses  decked out in silver.  But I am drifting away from these mugs.  

If anyone knows more about these, please let me know.  Perhaps there will be a resurrection of interest with men sporting moustache's.  Now I doubt that, now a days, there is not the interest in fine china, more apt to grab those stainless steel or plastic long tall mugs, covered from the local coffee shop on the way to be consumed in the traffic in the car!  A far cry from sitting with fine china mugs!

My Unknown Bathing Beauties for Sepia Saturday Week 35 (Click Here)

Our heat wave has ended and I have spent many days at the pool, water aerobics and  swimming laps, always  having been  attracted to the water to cool off.  Others have shared great marvelous photos of the bathing beauties from times past.  I did not think I had any, so proceeded on my way with my other anecdotes.  This week while making some progress through sorting photos, I got to another box from my Grandma Rose and  found two tattered photos marked only by year, without any names to identify the people.    I do not  think they are my grandmother nor her sisters but likely cousins within that extended  Ostrowski clan.  My grandmother  was never a swimmer nor a water person and could not understand my absolute fascination with water, swimming and all such things. 

I recalled my grandmother talking about a ferry boat that used to transport them across the river  between our town of New Kensington and Tarentum on the other side before bridges.  This beach was on the New Kensington side. 

1920 Renouf Beach Allegheny River  New Kensington

The two children in the 1920 photo might be girls too with the get ups on their heads, I suppose it was to protect the hair. To their left there is  someone in the water and there is quite a crowd in the 1920 photo, maybe it was during a big holiday event or weekend. It looks like they are leaning on some type of floating raft.

To me  it appears that there are different folks in each photo.  In the  1917 photo, below  the people are close to the shore, it appears, but look at those dresses; I doubt they would have ventured very far into the water, surely that would hav weighted them down.. . The woman to the right appears to even be wearing some type of stockingn if that is a woman, I think they both are with children.

1917 Allegheny River Renoul Beach

When I was growing up in the 50's and  60's we would not have dreamed of entering the Allegheny river as the industries and mills had polluted the waters and the towns dumped sewage in there as well.  Today there is a total change with the lack of industry and there is even a marina in New Kensington.  Boats abound on the river, quite a different sight.  Someone even told me that they get mussels to eat form the Allegheny, so there has been  an entire about face of cleaning up. 

The only other river picture I have handy is this one of my mother, Helen,  taken in 1942, posed in the wind.  She never was a swimmer so I don't expect this was a bathing photo, more  like just walking along the river .  This is one of my favorites of her.

As always to view others posts in Sepia Saturdays, click on the title to this post, above...

Bambi's relatives = Devastation

I am still pouting and plotting revenge on the 4 legged  marauders who ravaged my rose garden last night.  Bambi's relatives have struck again. I know Bambi didn't do it because the tracks are too big, so I think this is the work of Bambi's relatives, the dad or brother as men have such little respect for finery and  there have  been multiple sightings  in our 'hood of a large buck!  One afternoon I was backing out of our driveway and noticed a big buck across the street standing in the neighbor's pines.  I stopped and waited not wanting to encounter it in my car just in case he decided to come across the street.  He did not.  Likely he was eyeing the rose garden guaging just when he might come for a treat. 

Bush trimmed

 I have been anticipating the blooms of 3 buds about 3 inches each on the Melody Parfumee rosebush. This is quite a big deal for this time of the year and for this area when we have had a hotter summer than normal.  Besides the MN  rose blooms just don't match CA size but I thought that this triplet just might.  I will never know now.   Such a devastating sight, 3 buds gone, trimmed before they ever had a chance to bloom, cut down before their prime. Maybe there is a poem somewhere in these words but the words I had this morning were not poetic.

Overnight, the marauders came and nipped all  the buds, chomping them like candy and further adding insult to injury by leaving their calling card, piles of skat in the lawn where I have  walked barefooted!  Fortunately this morning I had on flip flops and was not indulging my tootsies in the  morning lawn dew.  If you haven't seen it, here is just one deposit, I mean how rude,  they could at least have left this as fertilizer in the rose garden, don't you think?  Dine and dump has to be their motto.  When Jerry and his friends  deer hunted in the mountains on horseback in CA, I would stay at home and hope they didn't bag any.  When I was a little girl, and my uncle and others shot deer I would think it so mean and had to be reassured that it was not Bambi nor Rudolph.   So I have been a deer advocate but with the experiences here in MN, I have changed my attitude. 

In all our years in Newcastle, CA where we grew over 400 roses on 7+ acres, in the country we had no deer problem. But here in MN we live in the city limits no less and have wildlife issues! Deer are the bane of the existence of my rose gardens.

Chomped to the middle

 

I  did buy some a spray, Tree Guard developed at the University of Iowa  that local farmers use and that does seem to  turn them away, but I used the last of it around the bottoms of the bushes because we have been over run by  bunnies this year and the bunnies  chomped on all the bottom leaves.     This is our  2nd year  without the foxes in the hillside, they went to Florida during a harsh winter and never returned.  We enjoyed the fox and we had no problem with rabbit population but they have left us to battle the bunnies alone.    

 Meantime, I  did find a way to extend my  decor with wine bottles into the rose garden, shielding the bottoms from the bunnies.  It seemed to work, but nothing stops the deer who seem not to look down but prefer the eye  level tall buds and blooms.  

Wine bottle Bunny repellent

Melody is not the only rose bush they have enjoyed, Kiss Me along the drive was devastated a week ago, nipped in the bud too.  I will now wait for several more weeks for this bloom. 

Kiss Me in recovery

So with this start to my day followed by a good work out at Curves, I went  on about my errands in the heat and decided to seek solace in the Aldi's European dark chocolate bar.  While there I discovered a new cookie line they have added, Benton's which includes various flavors but one of which is  chocolate mint, which reminded me of my all time favorite Girl Scout cookie, thin mints.  I have never yet found an Aldi's product that I did not like, so I added both these to my cart and brought them home.  One more errand involved a trip to Woodman's to replenish my wine racks and browse their massive alcohol offerings.  A new mojito mix looked inviting so it  made it's way home  with me.  Colonel Wally, my laptop and kitchen TV bear welcomed the set up for my own little afternoon party. 

Wally welcomes the party

A trip to the local farmers' market, would take up the rest of my afternoon but  I did have  time for some refreshment, a  tall mojito and a few mint cookies.  Ummmm, delicious, my mood is now better.   

Afternoon break time

Tomorrow I will post my trip to the farmer's market, because my blog writer is acting up and I am beginning to get annoyed with the spastics of trying to post and add the photos.  Besides, it is evening and time for a nibble of the Aldi's chocolate bar!  G'night.

My Aunt Fran continued Week 34 Sepia Saturday (Click here to see other posts)

I continue with my Aunt Fran Amerine, her married name from last week.  Most of the older photos I found of her  I sent on to my cousin, Paula, her daughter in CA; we are in touch and often comment on how we are the last of the old family.  Here is the last one I have  of Francie from earlier days,  1947 and I do not know where this was taken but this is prior to her marriage and she is still Frances Konesky (Americanized version of Kochanowski.)  I have sent all the other photos off to Paula, her daughter so that the grandson and  grand daughter can enjoy them.  I hope they do.  Wherever this photo was taken,  there was snow and by this time she was wearing eyeglasses.  Last week I mentioned how she changed her age to suit whatever was facing her. 

She married a younger man, Paul Amerine who was a career Air Force chief master sergeant, the highest rank without becoming an officer, Strategic Air Command and that accounted for their living in different parts of the country and world.  He was very handsome and very likeable. I may have mentioned that Francie could be haughty and a bit snobbish.  That did not go over at all with her  father, Teofil, who once told Paul, her husband to come visit as much as he wanted but  to leave his wife at home!  Now that is a walk on the wild side for a Polish father to say about his daughter, but it gives you a taste of how beloved Uncle Paul was and how Aunt Fran could be different.   Uncle Paul was really a prince of a man and I never heard anyone in the family ever say a negative word about him, except for his wife, my Aunt Fran.  Seems she could pick at anything. He died young in about 1968, tragically suddenly of a massive heart attack.

Easter  Paulie Fran and Paula Jean

 I suppose negativity  was a family trait among her and her sisters but  for a long time I  thought it was just my mother.  However, her daughter, my cousin,  Paula, and I have talked a lot about our family experiences because I know more about  our grandparents than she does.  I learned that Paula had some similar experiences with Fran, her mother, as I did with mine, Helen so, who  knows??  I don't know how genetic that would have been because my grandma Rose was the sweetest woman who ever lived, so her daughters did not get that from her!

 Paul and my Aunt Fran married, I am guessing appx. 1949-50 and they had  two children, a daughter and a son.   The photo to the right shows Fran  with her son, Paulie and daughter, Paula Jean in 1956 for an Easter pose.  I am not sure if this was in Atwater, CA or Nebraska. She always called her son, Paulie Wallie Doodle.  I don't  think he enjoyed that as he got older!    

1957

I said last week, Aunt Fran visited home in PA often and the following photo 1957 shows her in PA with her mom, (Grandma Rose), Paulie, Paula Jean, Aunt Fran and Aunt Marge (Uncle Carl's wife and yours truly squatted in front, as I was the big girl when the little cousins came to visit.
 Oh I remember this visit because Aunt Fran wanted to buy me a new pair of shoes to start the school year. Maybe it was because growing up  she never was sure to have new  anythings for school, but everyone, my Grandma, my aunt Jinx, my Mom told her that I would certainly have a new pair of shoes to start school, but for some reason she was set to do that. This was in August I believe and so one afternoon she and I went downtown to the shoe stores. My Grandma Rose had warned her, "Francie, Patty has her own ideas and when she makes up her mind that's it.  You told her when she was as a baby to have Big Ideas and she does." (Remember last weeks' picture of her holding me as a baby.)    Francie was soon to learn that I already was extremely opinionated about what I would and would not wear! We had 3 shoe stores in our town then and I had determined that the shoe I would have was a fancy flat while Aunt Fran had some oxford in mind. Grandma Rose tried to warn her," Francie, maybe you better not take her because Patty is used to getting what she wants now, so don't argue with her."  Francie  thought to herself, "sure, how much trouble can a  12 year old be? " Well she  soon learned.  When she tried to explain to me that the oxford would be good for school, I was not having it!  I turned up my nose and promptly  put my own shoes back on explaining that I already knew  the shoe I wanted and it was in the store across the street!  I don't know what else I might have said nor what faces I might have made, but we went across the street where I pointed out my desired shoe, which engaged her to explain to me that it was not the right school shoe.  I  said something like, I didn't care, it was my feet and it would be that shoe or none, that she did not have to buy these because I could wait, since school was not starting and my Grandma would see that I had what I wanted!   I think Aunt Fran was really astonished.  She did buy me the flat I wanted, but I remember Fran telling my Mom later, "She embarrasses you, the poor saleslady didn't know what to think.  Here's this girl with her big opinions."  My Mom only shrugged her shoulders and said, "Francie, we tried to tell you.  She is used to having things her way, Mom and Jinx always see to that."   After they returned to CA or Nebraska or wherever they were living, that  fall, Aunt Francie sent a package of slippers for me on my birthday.  I  thought they were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, flats with a gold crocheted  thread of sorts that stretched.  I suppose she meant it to tease me, but I loved them and wore them for as long as I could.  I learned to sing a Gospel Spiritual song "OH Dem Golden Slippers" from Daisy, a black lady who was a friend of my Grandma, and when I put on my slippers I danced around and sang that!  She always remembered sending me those slippers and we laughed for a long time about those!

Here she is with her family when they  lived in Spain about 1965; Uncle Paul, Paulie, Paula Jean and Fran.

I may have mentioned that she was my inspiration for wanting to go to CA which I did and where we lived for 40+ years.  When we lived in Fair Oaks, another of my dreams was to have  a swimming pool, which we had.  We had  many gatherings and  in 1973  when Aunt Fran came to our home to meet up with her Aunt Francie (my great Aunt Francie Mroz) for whom she was named. All the Mroz's came to stay  for a long weekend with us and it was a great reunion.

 Uncle  Paul was long gone, but Aunt Fran carried on quite well as a widow.  She always said that there was no substitute for having good friends.  She knew that because she never had family living close to her and neither did I.   Her independent streak rubbed off on me and has helped me  through many life events.  However in her later years she suffered many health problems, surprisingly.  She always took the best care of herself, as I  shared last week, but ended up with heart conditions and diabetes!

1980 Paula Jean with her mother Fran

When my Mom and aunt Virginia  (Jinx) visited me in CA in 1996 for their last trip, we went to see Francie who was living in Vacaville.  We knew then that things were not right; she gave us the wrong directions to the home where she had moved and the wrong address.  I had to go to a pay phone and call ,  to get the correct address (this was before cell phones).  But here is one of the last photos of the three sisters in CA 1996.  Right after this Fran would suffer another heart attack, be hospitalized and moved into assisted living.  The  good thing was it was close to where  we lived and I could go to visit her.  At the end with dementia she  thought I was her girlfriend Mary Jo from her WAC years,.  Right to left, my Mom, Helen, Fran, Aunt Jinx.

1996 last visit of the three sisters 

This may be one of the last photos taken of Fran with her grand daughter, Caitlin, Paula's daughter. Fran died at age 83 in 1999. As I visited with my cousins, Paula & her brother Paul who is the spitting image of his father, Paul,  I laughed that they were unsure of their mother's age; the adventuresome Kochanowski girl who changed her name to suit her circumstances, getting older to join the WACs in 1942, getting younger to marry a man younger than herself and all around keeping her age a mystery was one of a kind.

This has been a Sepia Saturday post, click on the title to link to others in our international community to see their photos and read their stories. 

Hoedown walk through the park

Copying is the most sincere form of flattery, so here I go; a  week or so ago, Beatrice, a bloggy friend at  http://thefrogandpenguinn.blogspot.com/        posted their adventures at an auction, browsing but buying not.   I commented that I used to enjoy those so much but have tended to avoid them and flea markets and estate sales these days lest I be tempted.  I have enough accumulation of stuff and so do not want to be tempted to add to things when in reality I should be downsizing, but here it is all coming to me later in life, collections and trinkets and treasures from my family members who pass on, adding to what I have already accumulated.  Funny but when we moved to MN from CA I shed many belongings, donating to the Goodwill, Salvation Army, the Cancer Society Thrift Store and the church for future rummage sales, a necessary step toward moving into retirement and to a different part of the country.   But today, I have just as much, maybe more.

The last source, as you know was my Aunt Jinx who passed on in PA last year; while clearing her home for sale we discovered box after  box packed neatly away in the basement filled with knick knacks, collectibles, some valuable which I'd have picked up at sales myself once upon a time, some just nice and some mysterious. I recalled her admonishments to me when she visited in CA and I dragged her and Mom along to sales, antique shops, etc, "don't buy that junk, someday you will have too much!"   Little did I know the truth and prediction in those words. She  gave me something every time I visited her, but I think she had long forgotten about these  boxes packed tidily away in her basement, many with items from the Irwins (her husband's family.)   I had already amassed enough to bring back home to MN, with crystal and cut glass items alone. I left behind a beautiful 12 piece place setting of china that would go with some of ours, not a replica  but same silver and grey tones.  But our hutch is full and I have boxes setting inside my closets already so what would I need with more.  Besides I  don't use it as much here because I seldom host big gatherings; this is how weird life is, once you get the stuff to do what you think you want to do, it's over, no more.  I thought surely I'd be the entertainment queen of La Crescent, but not so, not that many people to gather around together and mostly we gather out at the Legion or restaurants.      

So in PA, every item I picked up Jerry would look at and say, "now where are you going to put that?"  I would sadly leave it for Sandy, the woman we hired  to hold an estate sale to clear the home.  I now possess a full comprehension of  why families leave items like china, vases, trinkets and the like to be sold.  It just becomes overwhelming when you are faced with the task and you do not live near by, so have limited time to sort and discard.  I even left a shoe box of unlabeled black and white photos, recognizing that someone might see it and say as I have, "how sad no one wanted these pictures..."  But as you know I am engaged in sorting and discarding through an accumulation of ever so many photographs of our own, along with ones from family that I need not have added to the mess with ones of I know not whom nor what.  I will admit that periodically I get pangs of remorse remembering some trinket, object, utensil, that I wished I'd have kept, but water under the bridge.  We just do our best and try not to look back.

So I have turned the corner avoiding  what  was a fun past time, browsing flea markets, antique booths, estate sales, etc.  On Saturday though we headed up the road to Houston, MN and their annual Hoedown.  This is a weekend long celebration of all sorts of things,  games, carnival, parade, gatherings, foods and a big open flea market in the park.  "Well, I probably wouldn't look very long there anyway," so I said to myself and to Jerry, who nodded and replied, "well you never know."  I have this relatively new little camera which I just insisted I must have to carry around in my purse (which I seldom carry BTW) so off we went, with myself armed and dangerous thinking, "I can take some neat photos for the blog like Beatrice did.  Yes, that will give me a reason to look and perhaps keep my fingers from purchasing. "  Actually, most of the prices vendors put at these things now are beyond what I want to pay, when I was acquiring I was only looking for bottom bargain prices, it had to be inexpensive or I would not  purchase it. 

The photo above of the horse pull is from our La Crosse Tribune newspaper.  We learned a funny story about this event from our amusing friend Richard, former mayor of Houston, retired teacher, and all around jokester.  He said that Saturday's 32nd annual Minnesota State Horse Pull  was his inspiration; years back they were sitting around and thinking of what kind of attractions Houston would host.  They determined that there was no "State Championship horse pull" and so they named theirs that, which it still is today causing them all to laugh and raise their beer mugs in deference.  This photo of 72 year old  Lawrence Anderson with his draft horses says a lot; these horses pulled over 3,000 pounds, and he himself is not light weight.   Most of these horses and farmers are from working  farms and they do enjoy this sport.  Read the story of this  team and the WI event too at http://lacrossetribune.com/news/local/article_6cdece7a-97a2-11df-ba69-001cc4c002e0.html

                                                                                   The flea market in the park at Houston was a great way to pass a few hours looking at an endless variety of things, like these home made willow contraptions and talking to the man who made them who was sitting in the shade, not caring if he sold or not. These are a bit too rustic for my tastes, as I prefer the fancier, white wicker furniture in our sunporch room. Victory continues as I was not tempted. But as I said, he didn't care much one way or the other, this is a sideline hobby and as he shared, it wasn't important to sell in Houston because , sooner or later someone will buy them at a fair; and he expects the city people near Minneapolis would be happy to get such bargains, but not here in the southeast corner of rural MN, the market is not as good and buyers are more selective. I guess at one time I might have been one of those city folks willing to buy anything handmade too.

Unfortunately several vendors must have that attitude because sales were slim, lookers were many and there was no bargaining with these vendors.  I asked one woman at this booth, where Jerry's browsing (back to us in photo)  how long it took her to set up; in my opinion she had overpriced glassware and such.  She said about  4 hours with  3 or  4 of them working.  And I asked then didn't she want to sell and wasn't that a lot of work for nothing in sales?  But she too said, this is her hobby and she just enjoys meeting and talking with folks.  (I think I'd just take my lawn chair and not bother especially with wrapping and setting up and taking down.  But to each his or her own. )

These boxes of dishes, cups, vases, things were plentiful and sported right uptown prices.  I know that many of the vendors go to auctions and sales and pick these things up for nickels and dimes and then cart them around selling at a big mark up. Jerry is browsing selectively at the tables where I could honestly not find a thing that called my name.  No temptation here either, so far so good.  I have been noticing the past year on my infrequent trips that even the local Goodwill Thrift store in La Crosse/Onalaska has more uptown prices, which I find ridiculous as it is all freely donated to them. Of course, the items remain on the shelves lots longer too today than a couple years ago. 

I  was fascinated with this woman's  woven rag rugs.  She said  explaining  useable fabrics, "if I can rip it, I can weave it."  And she does into very hearty  rag rugs reminiscent of old time styles.  I asked her to pose for me so I could put it on my blog which intrigued her as well to more discussion, as though I am a famous writer and here she was to be discovered.  I am always astounded when folks are fascinated by my blog.   She said she wished she could write; funny as it comes so easily to me...

The blue rugs above are of old discarded denim.  She does teach her craft at different community education sites and here she was explaining to an interested customer.  I know my grandmother made her own rag rugs too, and when I was small I remember making potholders of rags.  She had one of her looms set up so customers could see the work in progress.   

There were many  young families looking about as the Hoedown has ample entertainment for kids, including a  fair sized playground right there in the park with swings, teeter totters, and the like, ponies, baseball games and more.  One young boy's loudly insistent impatient whine, "MOM ! C'mon Mom! Why do you have to look at old stuff!" gave me a good laugh, remembering so many years back when it was me dragging a young son along through such things where he'd rather not be. Mom just kept rummaging and her face straight ahead as the other son reluctantly followed more quietly and the husband hung back, covered his mouth to keep from laughing out loud! Here they are, youngest son trying to get Mom away from the old stuff and the older standing quietly. I laughed at him and said, "I know it doesn't make any sense, does it how we like to look! "

Maybe if  she could have dragged him down a ways, he might have been interested in these old toy trucks....didn't Tom T Hall write a song about little boy toys, little toy trucks zooming round the bend, doesn't it make you wish you were a little boy again?  Nope, Google tells me it was Roger Miller and went like this,   
Old toy trains, little toy tracks
 Little toy drums coming from a sack
Carried by a man dressed in white and red
Little boy, don't you think it's time you were in bed?

 
 Another interesting vendor  made  flower bud vases  from butter knives and  spoons, an industrious venture which attracted many looks.  In a way it made me sad to see quality sterling silver so altered from its original state, but if he is recycling that which is just cast aside, why not?    One of our friends bought several of these for Christmas gifts. 

I had made a trip to the mall days before and commented that the clothes are getting uglier and uglier just when I thought it couldn't get any worse.  And so following what seems to be a fashion trend there were booths offering ugly clothing too, all made in India, Honduras, and of course China. This was the only such booth  as most had unique handmade or real flea market attractions.   I was surprised at the women and  girls attracted to  this booth  with assorted tie die rags, gauzy flimsy things that surely will not last through several washings, but then maybe this is some of the disposable clothing,   to be the thing of the furture for travelers; just buy and toss,  and eliminate need for suitcases!

No end of tools, gadgets, and collectibles of bygone, even tobacco tins, some of which I think may still be on the market. Several months back, my friend Samdy, in CA inquired about wood planing tools and told me to look carefully through my uncle's things in PA as we are cleaning out his home. I noticed several booths had such things for sale here too.

A local hunter/trapper offered an array of knives with bone handles in sheaths with  remnants of fur of beaver, muskrat, otter, rabbit and the like. 

I am not a salt and pepper shaker collector though some of these older ones made in Japan and of lustreware caught my eye.I had almost talked myself into a purchase of a pair of birds to go with my bird collection, but  I restrained my fingers from reaching into my wallet.  These were all under $5, a bargain.The previously unforeseen benefit of taking the camera, became apparent,  while taking pictures I would not be buying! Recently while visiting with a friend who is a professional seamstress and part time flea market vendor shared  her secret of big sales is to advertise, "Buy old, buy now, not made in China anyhow!" I thought Pat's slogan would go well at these booths. Really wouldn't someone rather have a bit of history, something unique not made today and certainly instead of today's cheaper looking trinkets?

There is something beyond nostalgic to these items, something connective to other times, places and people? 

Which brings me to the hay lecture. Every time Jerry goes to these sales he gravitates to the tools and old farm implements. No exception at Hoedown when I caught up with him, he began to explain the purpose of this array of things that I thought rusted beyond recognition. But he knew just what these were, citing his MN farm boy growing up years. It was quite a complicated explanation which I did not retain, likely because I have little interest in tools and implements, though I recognize a painted up tractor seat when I see one.  But I was corrected and advised that was a mower seat not tractor, the one to the left with openings. 

The item below and to the right looks like a torture mechanism, but Jerry explained how it was used to pull hay along and then attached somehow with ropes/pulleys to the contraption in the first photo and so swept up hay to get it to the bale stage.  Something like that anyway! 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
And if one gets thirsty, the hospitality of hoedown includes unlimited free glasses of water.  Sure there are booths selling lemonade, snow cones, etc but the nice cold fresh water was great and avoided having to buy a plastic bottle of water which is commonly sold at events.  This makes lots more sense! 
 
 
 
 
 

Real home made canned goods and produce were among other booths.

 

Now for our purchases, you knew there would be something didn't you?  Well one lady who is also from La Crescent we learned, visiting with her, had  baskets of the old glass knobs which we have on the antique bedroom set.  Trouble is that over the years from the early 1800's the knobs were damaged and are not all the same on the vanity dresser or one of the bureaus.   I spotted the basket of knobs and Jerry found what could be the right size.     But we took the woman's card who said we could get them in town from her or that she would be set up Sunday.  So we did return on Sunday and purchased 4 of the smaller knobs.  The bigger size she had were too big, unfortunately.  This is the first time we have found the knobs as they are getting harder and harder to spot.  But this is  one purpose to going to these kinds of events, now I have a reason to browse!  

However, we did buy this sign from the Rag Weaver's booth who sold other things as well as her rugs.  This made me laugh and I think we can enjoy it downstairs  in the  TV room.  Jerry has now  decided it can also go along in the motor home with us on journeys, as it seems to speak to & fit with  parts of our lives---

  

And on our way back to the car, I could not resist this  lovely home with a grand old porch!  Noticing it was for sale, we  discussed how it might serve as a Bed and Breakfast, not something I want to do, but someone might!  It comes with nice screened  side porch and gas light out front! 

At one time in my life I would have loved to acquire a nice old place like this, but projects enough entertain us with our current modern home and these old ones take money to  update unless one is willing to rough it without  many  amenities, and I am not.  Now, if there were someone who wanted to invest in such a venture I could be interested in participating, with plenty of advice and ideas!

I can just imagine sitting on the porch sipping a nice cup of tea or an icy frothy margarita! No one was out on this porch though, maybe they were all at Hoedown activities. Actually with the comfort of  air  conditioning,  it is less common to see folks out on porches, another relic pastime of times ago. The house I grew up in in PA had a big front porch and in her later years, my mother spent much time sitting out there, not inside watching TV.