Gardening Again on Memorial Day

Memorial Day is for Reflection

Memorial Day is one for reflection and appreciation.

Memorial Day is a day on which those who died in active military service are remembered, traditionally observed on May 30 but now officially observed on the last Monday in May.  It is a day for reflection and appreciation.  Today, it is celebrated at the start of summer vacation season, and annual retail sales.  Twenty years ago, many communities celebrated with parades that honored its veterans.  May each of us, and our families establish a unique tradition of celebrating the true reasons related to Memorial Day.

For me, it is a tradition that I work in my garden every Memorial Day.  Each year, I think of the brave soldiers who sacrificed their lives for their belief in freedom, and for their love for America.  I pray as I garden, for God to comfort the families left behind without their beloved soldier.  Placing my hands in the rich earth and planting young flowers reminds me that I am alive and well because of sacrifices made by others on my behalf.  The young plants suggest that many of the soldiers that died for this country were young, and had yet to marry and produce a family.  The mature flowers bless my neighbors and me, as soldiers' deaths bless America and the free world with the rights and freedom we enjoy today.

Through the suffering of soldiers today and long ago, we have the opportunity to choose our actions every Memorial Day.  We must teach our children and grandchildren the true meaning of Memorial Day.  It is a somber holiday to be preserved for generations to come.  God bless our veterans, and thank you for your service! 

   

Mickey Was My Best Friend and Companion

Me with Mickey in 1959
Hat, Gloves & Mutton Coat

I was six years old when my parents bought me a golden tan and white Collie puppy.  I named her Mickey.  We grew up together.  I sometimes dressed her up when I was playing tea party and other games.  She never seemed to mind, as long as we were together.  My two brothers were older and did want to be bothered with me.  Mickey was my constant companion at home and my best friend.  When something good happened, I told her all about it.  If something unhappy happened, I told her about that too.  She sometimes put her long nose on my shoulder and whined when I was upset or unhappy.

The family all loved her.  We took her on trips to St. Louis to visit my mother's sister, Aunt Beulah and her family, and on other short trips.  Mickey curled up below my mom's feet in the floorboard and traveled well.  There was one problem we did have with Mickey on car rides, and that was that she would fart now and them.  The smell was bad!  If the windows were not down before she blessed us with her unique smell, they were open soon after.  We never figured out what made her fart, but it never kept us from bringing her with us on short trips.

As a female, she went into heat every ten to twelve months.  That was not a pleasant time for her, for me, or the rest of my family.  We had to keep her inside, and when we left for any reason, we had to put her in our shed and lock the door.  It must have been very hot in there. Today, we would have put a large fan in there for her.  Anyway, when my parents thought it was the right time, we drove to Poplar Bluff, Missouri to breed her with another Collie.  To the best of my recollection, she had three litters of puppies.  They were cute for the six or seven weeks of their lives that we possessed them.  We kept them on the back porch with their mother.  Because of Mickey's size, she was an outside dog.  I remember for one litter of pups she went under the house in the crawl space and gave birth to her puppies.  My father was not happy about having to get under the house and remove those puppies.  She usually had nine to twelve pups each time.  After the third litter of puppies, my folks took her to the Veterinarian and had her spayed.  She gave me much joy and comfort over the years.

One night I came home from a Sikeston High School football game, and all the lights were on, and the door was open.  No one was home, and the car was gone.  That was very odd, and I became frightened that something bad had happened.  About twenty minutes later, my parents came in, and it looked like they had been crying.  They looked at me compassionately.  Dad said, "We are sorry, Margaret.  Mickey is dead.  She had a heart attack.  We took her to the vet, and he gave her a shot.  He told us the shot would make her well or she would die.  In about five minutes, she awoke and looked at us, wagged her tail and we petted her.  We left her to pay the Vet for his services, and when we when back into the examining room to get her, she was gone.  We are sorry, Margaret."  I was sixteen at the time, and I had enjoyed Mickey's companionship for ten wonderful years.  I asked where she was and they said she was in the trunk of the car.  I went out to tell her goodbye, and I just petted her and talked to her for about twenty minutes.  I finally accepted the fact that she was gone and would never greet me again, never listen to my thoughts again, and a part of the childlike joy for life was vanquished that night.

The next day the whole neighborhood knew about Mickey's death.  My dad made a wooden crate, dug a hole in front of her dog house, put her in the crate, and we had a small memorial service.  Many neighbors attended, and several cried, along with me.  My heart ached when my Dad covered her with dirt, it acknowledged that my loss of a wonderful companion and friend was forever.

Dogs are excellent companion and friends to millions of Americans.  Today, even more than in earlier times, we treat them as a member of our family.  The small dogs are like our babies.  It is hard to say who received more gratification from the special bond we have with pets - them, or us.  I still miss you, Mickey!

1950s Dating in Sikeston, Missouri

Tom and me with Monoply Board

My freshman year at Sikeston High School I enjoyed playing trumpet in the band, marching in the band at football games and parades, being with my girlfriends in Red Peppers, participating in the National Forensic League (a speech and debating club), and a few more activities.  But most of all I enjoyed spending time with Tom Harmon.

I remember that each day after school he would be waiting for me by the Band Building.  He would carry part of my things and we would go to Wag's and get a Pepsi and Fifth Avenue candy bar.  On the way home, we would share the 12-ounce drink, in a bottle, and 3 ounce candy bar.   We stopped at Heath Street to go our separate ways.  We looked into each other’s eyes and hating parting.  We must have looked ridiculous to others.  We were very young, only 14 and 16 years old my Freshman year, and yet thinking we were grown-up.  Surprisingly, I am still with that skinny, pimple faced boy.  He is no longer skinny and has put on weight over the years.  His skin is now clear and he is a handsome man.

Tom had no car, so we walked places.  I know that seems odd today, but in the 1950s and early 1960s people in small towns often walked places.  Most families had only one car that they shared.  Dad always had the last word on who got to use the car at any given time.  Partly because we walked, everyone was thinner back then.  People never ate in their cars, they ate together at the kitchen or dining room table.  In general, everyone was more active, and kids played outside until their mothers called them in at evening time. 

There was not a lot to do in Sikeston without a car.  We went to the movies one a week and went out driving around with friends in their cars.   Tom came over to my house almost every night.  My parents were not fond of cards, so we played board games at my house, like Chinese Checkers or Monopoly.  Most evenings we walked out back and sit on the picnic table and talked.  When my Dad came out and coughed it was time to go back inside, and for Tom to go to his home.

My parents tried to interest me in other things so I didn't spend as much time with Tom but that rarely worked.  I do remember my going to Band Camp one summer at Southeast Missouri State in Cape Girardeau.  That was a lot of fun.  I made new friends and interacted with students who all enjoyed playing music.

Oh, if we only knew then, what we know now.  I realize now that our youth is a time to explore opportunities and broad friendships.  Had I not been wrapped up in Tom Harmon I might have had a much richer High School experience.  I have had a good life and would change only a few things.  I look forward to my class reunions and will be in Sikeston attending my 55^th SHS Class of 1962 reunion this September.  I realize how much I missed in school when I listen to friends fondly recall all they did in high school, without being focused on a single person.  Sadly, we can only give young people advice to enjoy their youth, each one has to experience it their way.  What is good for many, is not always good for others.  Those differences make life and people interesting.  I remember that walking home with Tom Harmon made me happy then, and I still enjoy walking beside him today.

Skipping School to a Grain Elevator

I often passed by a lone, tall, concrete structure off Highway 60 going into Morehouse.  One day, I asked my Dad how it got to be there, and what was it used for at one time.  He said the structure at was used to store and ship grain.  He called it a grain elevator.  I didn't understand why they named it an "elevator," but it satisfied my curiosity for the moment.

Several years later when I was a freshman at Sikeston High School, five or six kids wanted to go out to the old abandoned grain elevator a couple of mile out of town towards Morehouse.  I said that I knew just where that was, then realized they didn't care what the Freshman girl had to say.  They discussed a plan of action at lunch time, and they invited me to join them.  I said, "No, my parent would kill me if I skipped school."  Tom, my boyfriend at the time, was one in the group and he finally talked me into it.  I was so scared I was shaking.  The others laughed at me and could not believe I had never skipped school before.  Well, excuse me, but I did what my parents told me to do.  It seemed odd to me that the other kids were all so casual about doing something which they knew their parents would disapprove if they found out. 

Reluctantly, I met the group a few minutes after the sixth period and got into the car for what was expected to be an adventure.  I had seen that old abandoned elevator many times but had never seen it up close.  I remember when we got there, we parked the car on the back side so it would not be seen from the main highway going to Morehouse.  I cannot remember who the other students were on the trip; after all, it was some 50 years ago, but I do remember it was warm.  None of us wore coats, and it was a sunny day.

We just looked around at the structure first.  It was eight to ten stories tall.  After talking a few minutes, one of the boys wanted to climb one of the "shoots."  Now that was interesting!  I was wearing a large round skirt with a highly starched crinoline slip or petticoat underneath.  All the girls of the 1950s wore those multi-layered petticoats.  They made your skirts stand out a good 6 to 12 inches or more.  I talked Tom into waiting and letting us go up last.  One of the other girls that went ahead of us also had on her crinoline petticoat, and it was causing the guy on the ladder under her big-time problems.  It stuck him in the eye, scratched his face and was not much fun for him.  Just as I started up the tall ladder, the guy behind the other girl wearing a petticoat decided to climb back down.  After a few minutes, down at the floor level of the grain elevator, the boys decided to climb it alone.  In a short while, the boys yelled for us to look at them when they got to the top.  Then, as silly teenage girls, we made a big deal over their great accomplishment.  After they had climbed back down, it was time for school to be out, so we drove out to the Bulldog Inn and had cokes.  My parents never found out that I skipped school, but I did not want such a feeling of guilt again.  It was not worth an hour off of school.

In the early 1970s, I drove out to the grain elevator and took the above picture.  I was pleased that I still have the picture.  Even if the picture is not clear, the memory is crystal clear.  That was the first and last time I ever skipped school.  It was not, however, the last time I ever did something dumb.   You will hear more about some of those times in the future.

My First Encounter with Tom Harmon

Margaret Cline 1958

Tom Harmon 1958

The summer between my 8th and 9th grades, I met my husband, Tom Harmon.  I knew he was the one for me the minute I laid eyes on him.  To me, he was the most handsome boy I had ever seen and the best skater on the floor of the Sikeston Roller Rink.  Skating was big in small towns back in the 1950s. The year we met was 1958, and I was two weeks shy of my fourteenth birthday.  He was wearing Levis, a black T-shirt, with the sleeves folded up, and he had a cool flattop haircut.  I had on jeans, a white shirt, scarf around my neck and wore my hair in a ponytail.  In the 1950s, they also made “pin curls” next to the face.  We took a wisp of hair, curled it, and stuck a bobby pin in it to make it stay, the pins were removed after a few hours.  You can see the result in the above photo, the curls remained all day.   Hair styles change every generation, often several times, and it is an important part of a girls day to get her hair just right before leaving home.

The music at the skating rink was mostly Elvis Presley, and they stopped about every twenty minutes to let skaters pick a partner.  I saw this one cute guy stealing a glance at me and prayed he would ask me to skate with him.  The music stopped.  He skated over and asked me to be his skate partner.  We said nothing while we skated to the song.  He was on the quiet side and only said, "Thank You" at the end of the couples skating piece.  He didn't even tell me his name or ask me for my name.

Oh, to be young again!  The feelings are so much more intense as a teenager.  The second "Partners Session" came and again he came over to me, smiled and took my arm and led me to the floor.  He didn't even ask! I thought that was odd.  He appeared to be much more self-confident and sophisticated than the boys he was with that night.  At the end of the session I asked him his name and he looked at the ground and said it softly, but I could not hear what it was.  He asked me for my name, and I proudly told him, "My name is Margaret Cline.  I live just three blocks from here up on Lake Street."  He just smiled and said "thank you" again, and skated off.  I was on cloud nine.  I skated over where his friends were huddled together, and they all looked and smiled.  To my surprise, I did not know one of them.  Sikeston was a town of about 14,000 residences then, so we tended to know everybody.  Later I understood that they were in high school and I was going to high school that Fall.  That is why I didn't know them at the time.

The lights flashed and the evening was over.  I had a friend of mine with me, and I ask her to come to my house afterward.  I didn't expect to see my new found skate partner.  To my surprise and delight, he was waiting for me outside next to the door.  He smiled and asked if he could walk me home.  His friend Henry Davis was with him, so the four of us walked home.  We went around to the back yard and sat on the picnic table.  There were awkward silences, but I was on cloud nine.  Tom and I were on one side of the table with our back to our two friends.  All of a sudden he leaned over and kissed me.  On the mouth!  I did not know what to do so I just said, "I think it is time for me to get into the house now."  The shy quiet boy found his voice then and kept talking so I would not go inside. 

A few minutes later, at about 9:45 p.m., my Dad came outside and just looked at all four of us.  He said, "It is getting late Margaret."  That ended a wonderful evening.  I went inside and danced around and felt as light as a feather. It is hard for me to believe now, but I was two weeks shy of my fourteenth birthday the night we met.

My parents were upset that I wanted to date at such a young age.  We "debated" the issue for weeks. Now, of course, I realize they were right and I was much too young to begin dating, but nothing would stop me from seeing Tom Harmon.  

We dated "steady" for almost two years and I married Tom Harmon in 1959.   He is still quiet, but he is not shy.  People on his father's side were all quiet.  If you could say something that interested them, then you had a conversation.  Amazingly, Tom has kept my interest for what will be sixty years in 2018, and the flame still burns inside me when I see him. 

I am Blogging my memories and posting them on this Blogger to preserve my life's memories for future generations.  It is my goal to turn my many memories and inspirational artwork into a book for my family and friends, and to anyone else that might benefit from my experiences.  Having written three books, I understand the long process of writing a book.  It is important to plan three to six weeks in advance when writing this style of a blog.  Enjoy, I hope you enjoyed this and will come back again next week!