I Garden Every Memorial Day

   

Every Memorial Day I think of going to a Veteran's Day service, but for whatever reason, I stay home.  It is a tradition that I work in my garden on Memorial Day. I put my hands in the earth and plant beautiful young flowers that grow to bless me and others. I always think of the brave soldiers who gave up their lives for their belief in freedom and their love for America.  Some years it rains on Memorial Day, and I am unable to work in the garden, but my memories and thoughts of the heroes who died for our country is with me all day.

My brother C. F. Cline died from an Agent Orange-related disease. He served in the U.S. Air Force for ten years and was Honorably Discharged in 1967. He died in 2009 and I miss him. He made the ultimate sacrifice for this country. I am proud of him and his sacrifice. He suffered great physical pain from the results to his exposure to Agent Orange. 

 I grow red geraniums at the front of my house and have pots of them at the entry way. On Memorial Day, and on other solemn days, the red flower of the plant symbolizes, to me, the blood that our war heroes shed for our freedom.  I believe that the Lord greets those heroes and says "well-done soldier."  God bless the family of recently fallen soldiers, and God bless America.

Grandma Price-Austill was a loving Grandmother

Carrie Rettig-Price-Austill was my maternal grandmother. Grandma Rettig married Henry Price in 1914.  In April 1915, they had one daughter, my mother Marie, and were expecting a second child in the month of July 1916.  On June 5, 1916, a deadly tornado dipped down on the Price farm in New Madrid County, Missouri.  It killed Carrie Rettig Price's mother-in-law and sister-in-law instantly and severely injuring her husband, Henry Price.  My Aunt Beulah was born eighteen days later, and my grandfather died twenty days later on June 25, 1916.  My grandmother was a widow at age twenty-two with two young daughters to raise. She had a hard life with much work and little security.  Most impressive, she never complained and had a warm, caring, and positive attitude about life.

She briefly married Clyde Austill and, along with her daughters, raised his two sons.  She loved Mr. Austill but he drank too much, and she left him after a couple of years and was again without real means of support.  Upon her death, her two step-sons attended her funeral.  She took in cleanings and did what she could but was often forced to live with one relative or another during her daughters' formative years. About the time they were teenagers, she was employed by the International Shoe Company in Sikeston.  That allowed her to rent her a place, and she was much happier.

 She was a quiet lady who wore a hearing aid most of the time.  When she had her hearing aid in she was soft spoken.  Once Sunday after church, I went home with her for a few hours.  I played near her with childhood toys she kept in her closet for me.  All of a sudden, she said something to me so loudly it frightens me.  My parents said I got up and ran the three blocks home.  She did not have a telephone at the time, so she walked to my house behind me to learn what caused me to run off.  I told her she had never yelled at me before, and it scared me.  My mother laughed because she knew how Grandma talked without the hearing aid.   I think Grandma was embarrassed.  From that point on she never took her hearing aid out around me and I always looked to see if it was in her ear.  Back in the 1940 and 1950s they were worn outside the ear and were about the size of a nickel.

Grandma Price-Austill lived in small dwellings in the time I can remember visiting her.  One place was a small duplex with persimmon trees in her back yard.  She told me not to eat them unless they were dark orange.  One day I was in the back yard, and I just had to try one.  I had waited a long time for those persimmons to ripen.  I got a bucket to stand on, and I picked one that was mostly orange, but it had a bit of green on it too.  Oh my goodness!  That was the worst thing I ever tasted.  It puckered my mouth for hours.  Grandma did not scold me; she just told me I should listen to her the next time she gave me instructions about something. From that day forward I listened to her every word.

In the late-1950s, she moved to an apartment in downtown Sikeston, above the Collins Music Store.  I remember taking a set of very steep stairs to reach her apartment.  Once she opened the door to her two-room, one-bath apartment one was always impressed at how fastidious the two rooms were.  She was a second-generation German-American, and they believed that cleanness was next to Godliness.  You could not find a speck of dust on her floors.  The apartment had a tiny kitchen, with a divider between the small stove, refrigerator, and dining area.  The divider was where she kept her dishes.  The dining area was small, a standard table and chairs would not fit into the designated eating area provided, because space was only about four feet by five feet in size.  Instead of a standard table, she had a fold-down table, and two thin benches, one on each side of the table, where she ate her meals.  The table and benches worked like a Murphy bed.  Not once did I ever hear her complain about a lack of space.  She loved the little place she made her home.

On another of my visits, I remember Grandma taught me to like spinach.  When I was about five or six years old, I was spending another Sunday afternoon with her.  Grandma started cooking supper for us.  The vegetable was spinach.  After she had cooked it, she ate some of it and went on about how good it tasted.  She said there might not be enough for me.   After it had finished cooking, she put a big helping on her plate and a small serving on my plate.  That was not her normal way of feeding us.  I watched her eat it and heard her make noises of delight.  She had me wait until after everything else on my plate was eaten before eating my spinach.  When I finally tasted it, I thought it was the best vegetable in the world.  I still like it today.

She taught me many things in her unique style.  It is odd what we remember about the ones we loved after they are gone.  My paternal grandfather died when I was five, and Grandma Price-Austill was the only grandparent I had the privilege of knowing.  She was not well educated, but had good common sense; she had little in material wealth, but she was happy and a good Christian lady who I loved very much. 

Remembering 1977 TV Commercials

Do you remember TV commercials by what was going on in your life at the time?  This is a second in a series of memories of an unnamed person in various homes.  I did not put this together but received it as a YouTube shared item.  One thing that has not changed is that FOOD is still important to us all and is highly advertised.  There are many of these on You"Tube.  1977 was the year Tom, Tina and I moved to Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Click on the following link to see how different the TV commercials were in 1977, compared to those of today.  You will need to copy the link and paste it in your browser.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zzRp-jxx0E

My Mother Had Many Strengths

My mother was born Marie Ruth Price on April 27, 1915, in New Madrid County, Missouri in the area they called Big Prairie.  She was the daughter of Henry Price and Caroline "Carrie" Rettig Price.  Her father was born in Saline County, Illinois to a farming family.  He lived there until his parents moved to New Madrid County, Missouri about 1908.  Henry's brother Hillery Price married Clara Parma in New Madrid County on 17 Feb 1909. Finding this marriage in southeast Missouri somewhat confirms family tradition that J.D. and Anyan Grandstaff Price moved to southeast Missouri around 1908. 

The Rettig family, on my mother's side, were second generation Germans from Evansville, Indiana, and her mother Carrie Rettig was born in Evansville, Indiana among mostly German-speaking family and friends.  Her father Fred Joseph Rettig, born 1868 in Jefferson County, Kentucky, moved to Evansville with this family as a child.   After marrying Anna Krieg, he moved his family to Henderson, Kentucky, and then in 1911; the family moved to Scott County, Missouri near McMullin.  Fred Joseph Rettig was a farmer and died at the age of 77 years old at his son, Otto Rettig's house. Otto’s farm was six miles north of Sikeston, Missouri, on the east side of Highway 61.

So, within three years, both the Price family from southern Illinois and the Rettig family from Evansville, Indiana moved to New Madrid County, Missouri.  One of Carrie's sisters, Katherine, met and married Isaac Brummett, who lived on the adjoining farm to the Price family in New Madrid County.  That is how Henry and Carrie met.  They married within a year and had two daughters; Marie and Beulah Price.  Sadly, Henry was killed from injuries received from a tornado two days after the birth of his second daughter Beulah.

My mother and her sister grew up with a widowed mother who was undereducated and forced to live with one relative, then another, for most of their formative years.  Marie learned many things from her mother, however, including shared values and beliefs like honesty, faith, and the Golden Rule.  Marie Price married Curtis H. Cline November 2, 1935, in Sikeston, Missouri.  They had two sons, Eugene and C. F. Cline, and a daughter Margaret Cline Harmon.  Marie's favorite roles in life was that of being a mother and grandmother.

My mother enjoyed flowers and always had flowers around the perimeter of the backyard.  In the south-western back corner were roses and a bird bath.  On the north-eastern corner, she had her prized hydrangeas. She often cut these flowers and brought some inside the house which made it smell wonderful.

She had a beautiful soprano voice, and I loved to hear her sing around the house and in church.  At one time she sang on the radio on behalf of the First Church of the Nazarene.  She passed her musical talent on to my brothers and me.

She enjoyed visual art and took my brothers and me to St. Louis at least once a year to tour the St. Louis Art Museum.  I used to go antique shopping with her, and she was always drawn to paintings and sculptures.  Today, my brother Gene and I are artists and enjoy sculptures too.

I have fond memories of watching her sew my outfits when I was young.  She sewed beautifully.  I was always well dressed, and my clothes were unique.  I remember one time she was trying on an outfit, and I can still feel the love in her hands as she tried on the dress or whatever the clothing.  That is a memory I will always treasure.

After her children were grown, she felt lost.  She gained weight over the years and was not happy for fifteen or twenty years.  Later in life, she joined the Eastern Star, and that made her happy again.  She enjoyed the fellowship and sisterhood.  It also gave both my parents a conventional outlet to enjoy.  I am grateful for God blessing me with a loving mother who did her best to expose me to many opportunities in life.  I believe she is in heaven with my father now, and they are happy.  Before I know it, I will join them.

Life often gives us a Decoy

Life often gives us a Decoy

Life is seldom what we expect or desire.  Often we get a "decoy" or representative of what we seek, rather than for what we set our hopes.  Most of us set goals and dream, but few put their goals in writing.  Without a dream, there is little hope for the positive future.  Without a written plan on how to reach your goals, you have a slim chance of reaching them.  After I completed this painting, it occurred to me that we often set our goals and desires up on a pedestal - just out of reach.  We need to be realistic when setting goals.  They must be attainable and measurable. 
   

A "decoy" may be easily purchased but to obtain a real bird takes planning, patience, and a time frame for obtaining it.  You must also have the skills and knowledge required to accomplish the goal of catching or shooting a bird.  I continue to build and develop my skills and knowledge in the area of painting.  I am very pleased with the growth this painting exhibits.  I may not be an award-winning artist today, but I have identified areas I need to grow in, made a list of art teachers whose instructions I would benefit from, and developed a written ten-year plan to achieve my goal of being an award winning and prodigious artists.  I began painting three years ago.  I look forward to 2020 and achieving my goals as an artist.    

    

Set goals and then write a plan to achieve them.  Don’t accept a decoy if you want a duck or other bird.  Then choose to maintain a positive attitude and keep a sense of humor just in case life gives you a decoy instead of a bird.

April Showers bring Flowers

Growing up in southeast Missouri we were blessed with a growing season from April through October.  The snow belt ran about twenty-five miles north of Sikeston, Missouri.  I always looked forward to April, when the rains came, and the daffodils popped their heads through the earth.  The arrival of daffodils was uplifting, like seeing a happy smile.  

Around the perimeter of our back yard were various flowers to enjoy.  My mother had a prized red rose bush in the southwest corner.  Near the rose bush was a large bird bath that was often used by the birds in the summer.  I don't remember the name of the variety of rose, but the variety was one that was pleasantly fragrant.  Many days, I went to that corner of the yard to enjoy the smell, look at the roses, and watch the birds bathe and play.

We had several hydrangeas planted on the eastern border of the property.  One was pink, and the others were blue.  Many years had passed before I learned that the type of fertilizer made the difference in the color.  Occasionally, we brought in hydrangea cuttings and made a bouquet for the living room.

In the far southeastern corner of the backyard, tall bamboo cane grew many feet tall.  The best I remember, they grew eighteen or twenty feet tall.  On occasion, my parents cut some canes and made fishing poles out of them.  The problem with the cane plant is that it is invasive and grows where it is not wanted.  It was removed in the late 1950s, and removed again, to get rid of the predatory plant.  My Dad finally had to dig the roots up to remove the cane and to rid the property of the plant.

When I left Missouri the last time, in 2008, my intention was to take a cutting of one of the hydrangeas from my parents home and to plant it in Louisiana.  I failed to do that, but I dug up a bucket full of Liriope (ground cover or border grass) and moved it to Louisiana.  It flourished and over the years I have enjoyed sharing cuttings from the original Missouri Liriope with friends and family. 

Flowers and gardens are to be enjoyed by many and appreciated for their beauty.  The flowers start with the April showers and remain beautiful with daily and weekly watering by people throughout the summer.  Gardening is one of the few rituals still enjoyed reaching back to the medeival times.  For the next few weeks I will Blog about family memories and the joys of memory.

Memories of Sikeston, Missouri

                                         

Most of us who grew up in a small town have fond memories of our hometown.  For me, it was Sikeston, Missouri. We could walk anywhere, anytime and by yourself, if we wanted.  We knew the neighbors on both sides of our house and usually many more neighbors.  If my parents were not home for some reason and I needed an adult, I just went to a friendly neighbor.  We knew all the neighbor kids that went to school with us too.

I have posted pictures to bring back memories of the place.  From the library to the Bank of Sikeston with its painted mural (I believe it is a Thomas Hart Benton mural) on the back wall, to Kirby's Sandwich Shop.  Everyone knew you, and we were kind to one another.

  

Those of us born in the mid-1940s experienced a freedom of movement that children today could hardly imagine.  We could get on our bikes and ride all over town as long as we were home by the time our Mom told us to be home.  I was blessed with good loving parents, but I am sure there was some child abuse back then too.  We just never heard of it.  Not one of my friends talked badly about their parents.  Their siblings were another story.  That has not changed over the years.  It was not perfect, of course.  The relations between Blacks and Whites were not acceptable. Many Whites had a feeling of superiority over Blacks, and I was uncomfortable with that back then, and still am today.  As a child and teenager, you just seem to go with the flow.  Today, I defend my opinion, when different than the majority, in as non-offensive manner as possible. 

   

Who could forget the Jaycee Bootheel Rodeo?  I looked forward to purchasing my western clothes for the rodeo, the Rodeo Parade, and learning who the movie or TV star would be that year.  I wish I had saved some of the programs to remind me of all the stars that appeared at the Rodeo while I lived at home.

    

     

Another great memory is of the Gay 90's Village and all those moving and loud musical instruments.  I begged my Dad to take me there all the time.  We would go out to the Village about once a week.  Sadly, it is gone now, but I am grateful to Mr. Eakins for restoring all those beautiful instruments so they can continue to bring joy to old and young alike.  My husband Tom and I visited Eureka Springs, Arkansas in 2006.  In the lobby of one of their historical hotels stands one of the larger models roped off to the public.  In the front left corner is a sign stating, "purchased from Paul Eakins of Sikeston, Missouri."  Just think, I played the instrument in the Gay 90's Village weekly.  Today, it is by special invitation only.  I think a bit of each of us remains the child from our hometown.  Our hearts skip a bit when we connect to those formative years.