Billy, gone 3 years now, is still so part of our lives we look around for him. Baby turns to look when we say his name and some days I swear she is searching for him. Or maybe just something to fill that blank space in the heart where he used to be.
On the other hand she now has toys of her own...Billy insisted they were ALL HIS!
One day after he died I picked up all the toys he had left around the house and placed them all in a basket in the bedroom. Baby watched the last toy go in, looked up at me, stalked over to a basket which is taller than she is...stood up, and tossed Billy's fave back onto the floor. She backed off, looked to see what I would do. (Nothing)
Over the next few days all the toys came back out and were placed on the bed...where they reside to this day. Twice a day at 3:30 p.m. for the kid who used to come home and play at that time, and at bedtime, she tosses and squeeks, then replaces them at the foot of the bed until tomorrow.
Down on the farm
Out of the woods.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Red Riding Hood woods
My mother was born in 1914, the 5th of 7 siblings. The Campbell family lived with Rebecca's parents on the farm near Stanton, MO.
The older children attended a one room school house up by the road about 3 miles along the driveway and south a bit. It is long gone, but if you know where to look you can find the ruins. It wasn't too far from where the boys killed a wolf one winter.
The fields all lay beyond the woods...Little Red Riding Hood woods. Big, dark and scary to 6 and 4 year old girls commissioned to take the stone jug of lemonade and the basket of food to the men in the field. The older girls and the women were cooking up supper for the field hands. Biscuits and pies in the oven, pots at the boil, babies can't be left alone, feet and hands must be useful. Even tiny fearful hands and feet.
My mother never forgot those trips. Her voice trembled when she talked about it at the ages of 40, 57, 78, and 84. The dire fear of not only knowing that her brothers had killed a wolf nearby, but the responsibility of her little sister never left her.
She did it. She survived. But the adventure was pretty much knocked out of her.
She didn't like storms, but I never knew it. She didn't like the dark, but I didn't know it. She hated surprises and anything new or different, but I never knew. I thought she was strong and unconquerable, but really, she was just stubborn...and the bravest person I ever knew. Because I never knew...not until she told me.
The older children attended a one room school house up by the road about 3 miles along the driveway and south a bit. It is long gone, but if you know where to look you can find the ruins. It wasn't too far from where the boys killed a wolf one winter.
The fields all lay beyond the woods...Little Red Riding Hood woods. Big, dark and scary to 6 and 4 year old girls commissioned to take the stone jug of lemonade and the basket of food to the men in the field. The older girls and the women were cooking up supper for the field hands. Biscuits and pies in the oven, pots at the boil, babies can't be left alone, feet and hands must be useful. Even tiny fearful hands and feet.
My mother never forgot those trips. Her voice trembled when she talked about it at the ages of 40, 57, 78, and 84. The dire fear of not only knowing that her brothers had killed a wolf nearby, but the responsibility of her little sister never left her.
She did it. She survived. But the adventure was pretty much knocked out of her.
She didn't like storms, but I never knew it. She didn't like the dark, but I didn't know it. She hated surprises and anything new or different, but I never knew. I thought she was strong and unconquerable, but really, she was just stubborn...and the bravest person I ever knew. Because I never knew...not until she told me.
Friday, February 19, 2010
My great grandfather Matthew Nettle, owned the farm Uncle Orville purchased just before he retired from the St. Louis Post Office. He was an Anderson and Aunt Hazel (Campbell) was my mother's oldest sibling. Both families had and still do live in Franklin County, Missouri.
The farm is 500 acres that would probably double in size is you could iron it out. With hills, gullies, creeks, dry creek beds, forests, bluffs, caves and a few tiny fields and ponds, it is beautiful and more than a little dangerous. My uncles killed wolves in the woods above the house. Coyote dogs killed and ate a flock of ducks. Lambs and calves disappear entirely on occasion. The family pony, April wandered down the hill, never came home and was never found. The sheep kill rattlesnakes in the old barn every day.
But there has never been a smell like that of the cedar woods at any time, but especially after a rain. There's fresh washed odor with an ancient tang at the back of your head that says heaven is very near here and has been, forever.
The stone in the shelter of the towering cedars is carmel colored, and so smooth and beautiful you want to taste it like candy. A shelf of this stone forms part of the old road down to the cabin. Chips from horse shoes and cuts from iron wrapped wagon wheels can be seen when you know what you are looking for. Cool and smooth on the hottest, dustiest day, I think it must be God's footstool.
The farm is 500 acres that would probably double in size is you could iron it out. With hills, gullies, creeks, dry creek beds, forests, bluffs, caves and a few tiny fields and ponds, it is beautiful and more than a little dangerous. My uncles killed wolves in the woods above the house. Coyote dogs killed and ate a flock of ducks. Lambs and calves disappear entirely on occasion. The family pony, April wandered down the hill, never came home and was never found. The sheep kill rattlesnakes in the old barn every day.
But there has never been a smell like that of the cedar woods at any time, but especially after a rain. There's fresh washed odor with an ancient tang at the back of your head that says heaven is very near here and has been, forever.
The stone in the shelter of the towering cedars is carmel colored, and so smooth and beautiful you want to taste it like candy. A shelf of this stone forms part of the old road down to the cabin. Chips from horse shoes and cuts from iron wrapped wagon wheels can be seen when you know what you are looking for. Cool and smooth on the hottest, dustiest day, I think it must be God's footstool.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Fine lines the timeline
Tuesday, January 13, 2009 at 12:33pm | Edit Note | Delete
I have always known that there was a fine line in a timeline, but only recently was told that it is two separate entities. No more gazing into the future, no more glances at the past. There is simply time and also line.
I want to go back to when I was quicker, stronger, slimmer, and time stretched out in front of me in an endless line. My past was short and my future long. I had an unbroken timeline.
But now, in the interest of saving time, I e mail instead of dropping a line. I use the saved time to line up appointments, then lose it in the grocery store line. I snap time saving digital photos and store them until I have time to line them up and weed them out. I get to the movie on time and wait in line. I fix time saving meals, then hurry back to work on line.
Some day there will be time to make scrapbooks and study geneology to find where we hang in the family line. Was ours a clothes line or a party line or a boundary line? The family lived just north of the Mason Dixon Line. The family farm has passed to another line, but theirs goes back to meet ours, not too long ago in the way of timelines.
My husband's line was measured in picas and they used california job cases. There was a typo here and a line dropped off the page there. They lived near the Illinois/Indiana line. Most of the lines are recorded in sepia tones and charcoal and local news clippings. Most have no date. No time. Just a line.
Travis drew a line in the dust at the Alamo and 179 men stepped into history's line. Caesar's most famous line "Et tu, Brute?" still rings, and Brutus steps out of time to "bury Caesar, not praise him".
I want to get a line on some more time. I need to stretch out that line of hours and make them last longer, work harder, do more.
Without the line, time gets away from me. Without the time I fell, hook, line and sinker. Do you remember the line "I had the time of my life.."? How many lines have you memorized? How much time did it take?
Broken, cut in half in the time of its life, a life line broken.
He's nice enough, but he's got quite a line. I haven't got time for that.
I have a line on something good, but haven't had the time to check it out.
These are laugh lines, not laughed at lines. Attitude lines and latitude lines, I'll wear them all on my face in time.
How much time do we have? Keep it in line.
How come the mouse has all the good lines?
I have always known that there was a fine line in a timeline, but only recently was told that it is two separate entities. No more gazing into the future, no more glances at the past. There is simply time and also line.
I want to go back to when I was quicker, stronger, slimmer, and time stretched out in front of me in an endless line. My past was short and my future long. I had an unbroken timeline.
But now, in the interest of saving time, I e mail instead of dropping a line. I use the saved time to line up appointments, then lose it in the grocery store line. I snap time saving digital photos and store them until I have time to line them up and weed them out. I get to the movie on time and wait in line. I fix time saving meals, then hurry back to work on line.
Some day there will be time to make scrapbooks and study geneology to find where we hang in the family line. Was ours a clothes line or a party line or a boundary line? The family lived just north of the Mason Dixon Line. The family farm has passed to another line, but theirs goes back to meet ours, not too long ago in the way of timelines.
My husband's line was measured in picas and they used california job cases. There was a typo here and a line dropped off the page there. They lived near the Illinois/Indiana line. Most of the lines are recorded in sepia tones and charcoal and local news clippings. Most have no date. No time. Just a line.
Travis drew a line in the dust at the Alamo and 179 men stepped into history's line. Caesar's most famous line "Et tu, Brute?" still rings, and Brutus steps out of time to "bury Caesar, not praise him".
I want to get a line on some more time. I need to stretch out that line of hours and make them last longer, work harder, do more.
Without the line, time gets away from me. Without the time I fell, hook, line and sinker. Do you remember the line "I had the time of my life.."? How many lines have you memorized? How much time did it take?
Broken, cut in half in the time of its life, a life line broken.
He's nice enough, but he's got quite a line. I haven't got time for that.
I have a line on something good, but haven't had the time to check it out.
These are laugh lines, not laughed at lines. Attitude lines and latitude lines, I'll wear them all on my face in time.
How much time do we have? Keep it in line.
How come the mouse has all the good lines?
Sam was walking Baby, a 10# Westie who is generally afraid of her shadow and/or yours.
Baby was getting into her excited mode, little woofs that indicate friends are coming to play. She did a little dance as 4 raccoons came out of the woods.
Bob, the12# white male cat who owns the Westie (according to him, anyway) had been hanging back, guarding the rear as he usually does. Like a streak he was beside Sam, back arched, hissing at the invading patrol. The coons hesitated, but another raccoon appeared on the far side of the road.
Four,The Bob could handle, but five was too many. Bob looked up at Sam, says "MEOUT!" and stretched out, racing toward home. A few yards down the way, The Bob stops, looks over his shoulder, and rowrs at Sam and Baby, and takes off again, stopping every few yards to hurry up the stragglers.
When his little troup was safely home, he stalked to the door and demanded to go back out.
Maybe he was going to have a talk with a group of raccoons. He is, after all, THE Bob.
Baby was getting into her excited mode, little woofs that indicate friends are coming to play. She did a little dance as 4 raccoons came out of the woods.
Bob, the12# white male cat who owns the Westie (according to him, anyway) had been hanging back, guarding the rear as he usually does. Like a streak he was beside Sam, back arched, hissing at the invading patrol. The coons hesitated, but another raccoon appeared on the far side of the road.
Four,The Bob could handle, but five was too many. Bob looked up at Sam, says "MEOUT!" and stretched out, racing toward home. A few yards down the way, The Bob stops, looks over his shoulder, and rowrs at Sam and Baby, and takes off again, stopping every few yards to hurry up the stragglers.
When his little troup was safely home, he stalked to the door and demanded to go back out.
Maybe he was going to have a talk with a group of raccoons. He is, after all, THE Bob.
We have a guest pooch this week while sister Kate is up north. Shaggy is a male yorkie who weighs about 6 pounds wringing wet. The rest of the cast you know.
This morning Dick was walking Baby and Shaggy. Sherry came around with Scooter (regulation size Airdale), who doesn't like male dogs.
Scooter went into attack mode and ol' Shaggy squared off with a dog about 50 times his size. He wasn't backing down either. He was going to have a tiny little piece of that monster!
Sherry was trying to control a crazy dog who probably matches her body weight and has a lot more muscle power.
Then Bob came flying out of the shrubbery, hackles raised, hissing like a live wire in water. Bob the Lion Heart, Protector of the tiny. Scooter didn't know which paw to use to bat the mosquitoes off! Bob probably aimed for the throat but I think he bounced off a knee.
Dick wrestled Baby and Shaggy back into the house with much cursing, barking and hissing. Scooter went on his way. A not so sure winner in the battle of the Bob.
Baby trying to bully Bobcat into playing.
Written about 7 months ago · Comment · LikeUnlike
Nancy Guenther Chapman, Laura Larimer King and Sandy Maszkiewicz Johnston like this.
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The Bear under the chair game. Add to the story.
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Tuesday, July 7, 2009 at 12:49pm | Edit Note | Delete
"Grammers," said Sammers, "there's a bear in there."
"A Bear?" said Grammers, "in there where?"
and Sammers replied "He's under a chair!"
"Oh, Sammers could it be the chair by the stair?
Where its so cold, dark and drafty," Grammers declared
"Yes," Sammers said, "it has two eyes that glare!
And two ears, a nose, and claws that can tear
If anyone comes too close to his lair."
"Well, Sammers," said Grammers, "the harder I stare,
I see a nose, paws and tail, but absolutely no hair!"
"Grammers," said Sammers, "that bear there is bare!
He is red with embarrassment and blue with despair."
Grammers replied "A bald bear is rare!"
Updated about 7 months ago · Comment · LikeUnlike
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New Bob the Cat story
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Friday, July 3, 2009 at 8:45am | Edit Note | Delete
Dick was walking Baby (Westie) while Bob the cat alternately lounged road center or lurked in the swales. They met one of the early dog walkers, Jan with Peanut (medium adorable mutt). While the humans talked, the dogs nosed, nudged, circled and Bob lay watching just out of reach. Then Sherry turned the corner with Scooter (a tall sweet tempered, bouncy wire haired terrier...Airdale I think, runs about 100 pounds at a guess).
As they approached, Baby started out to meet her buddy Scooter. Bob circled the group and got between Peanut, Baby and the approaching Scooter.
Hackles raised, white fur upstanding and hissing madly Bob the 10 pound white American shorthair prepared to defend his Baby from the giant. We should rename him "David".
This morning Dick was walking Baby and Shaggy. Sherry came around with Scooter (regulation size Airdale), who doesn't like male dogs.
Scooter went into attack mode and ol' Shaggy squared off with a dog about 50 times his size. He wasn't backing down either. He was going to have a tiny little piece of that monster!
Sherry was trying to control a crazy dog who probably matches her body weight and has a lot more muscle power.
Then Bob came flying out of the shrubbery, hackles raised, hissing like a live wire in water. Bob the Lion Heart, Protector of the tiny. Scooter didn't know which paw to use to bat the mosquitoes off! Bob probably aimed for the throat but I think he bounced off a knee.
Dick wrestled Baby and Shaggy back into the house with much cursing, barking and hissing. Scooter went on his way. A not so sure winner in the battle of the Bob.
Baby trying to bully Bobcat into playing.
Written about 7 months ago · Comment · LikeUnlike
Nancy Guenther Chapman, Laura Larimer King and Sandy Maszkiewicz Johnston like this.
Write a comment...
The Bear under the chair game. Add to the story.
Share
Tuesday, July 7, 2009 at 12:49pm | Edit Note | Delete
"Grammers," said Sammers, "there's a bear in there."
"A Bear?" said Grammers, "in there where?"
and Sammers replied "He's under a chair!"
"Oh, Sammers could it be the chair by the stair?
Where its so cold, dark and drafty," Grammers declared
"Yes," Sammers said, "it has two eyes that glare!
And two ears, a nose, and claws that can tear
If anyone comes too close to his lair."
"Well, Sammers," said Grammers, "the harder I stare,
I see a nose, paws and tail, but absolutely no hair!"
"Grammers," said Sammers, "that bear there is bare!
He is red with embarrassment and blue with despair."
Grammers replied "A bald bear is rare!"
Updated about 7 months ago · Comment · LikeUnlike
Write a comment...
New Bob the Cat story
Share
Friday, July 3, 2009 at 8:45am | Edit Note | Delete
Dick was walking Baby (Westie) while Bob the cat alternately lounged road center or lurked in the swales. They met one of the early dog walkers, Jan with Peanut (medium adorable mutt). While the humans talked, the dogs nosed, nudged, circled and Bob lay watching just out of reach. Then Sherry turned the corner with Scooter (a tall sweet tempered, bouncy wire haired terrier...Airdale I think, runs about 100 pounds at a guess).
As they approached, Baby started out to meet her buddy Scooter. Bob circled the group and got between Peanut, Baby and the approaching Scooter.
Hackles raised, white fur upstanding and hissing madly Bob the 10 pound white American shorthair prepared to defend his Baby from the giant. We should rename him "David".
A Bob Cat Tale
We have a guest pooch this week while sister Kate is up north. Shaggy is a male yorkie who weighs about 6 pounds wringing wet. The rest of the cast you know.
This morning Dick was walking Baby and Shaggy. Sherry came around with Scooter (regulation size Airdale), who doesn't like male dogs.
Scooter went into attack mode and ol' Shaggy squared off with a dog about 50 times his size. He wasn't backing down either. He was going to have a tiny little piece of that monster!
Sherry was trying to control a crazy dog who probably matches her body weight and has a lot more muscle power.
Then Bob came flying out of the shrubbery, hackles raised, hissing like a live wire in water. Bob the Lion Heart, Protector of the tiny. Scooter didn't know which paw to use to bat the mosquitoes off! Bob probably aimed for the throat but I think he bounced off a knee.
Dick wrestled Baby and Shaggy back into the house with much cursing, barking and hissing. Scooter went on his way. A not so sure winner in the battle of the Bob.
This morning Dick was walking Baby and Shaggy. Sherry came around with Scooter (regulation size Airdale), who doesn't like male dogs.
Scooter went into attack mode and ol' Shaggy squared off with a dog about 50 times his size. He wasn't backing down either. He was going to have a tiny little piece of that monster!
Sherry was trying to control a crazy dog who probably matches her body weight and has a lot more muscle power.
Then Bob came flying out of the shrubbery, hackles raised, hissing like a live wire in water. Bob the Lion Heart, Protector of the tiny. Scooter didn't know which paw to use to bat the mosquitoes off! Bob probably aimed for the throat but I think he bounced off a knee.
Dick wrestled Baby and Shaggy back into the house with much cursing, barking and hissing. Scooter went on his way. A not so sure winner in the battle of the Bob.
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