I LOVE to read. Whenever I fill out a form that asks to list my hobbies reading is usually listed first. I can't remember not knowing how to read. When I was little we lived with my Granny Ott and she was a voracious reader. She read, first of all, the Bible, followed by the Reader's Digest, the Mountain Echo, and any other publication that came into our home. Well, let me clarify that, she wouldn't have read the Watch Tower, and if I've stepped on any toes, forgive me. I'm just being totally honest here. But, back to my storyline; I think I got my love of reading from her. I'm not sure who taught me how to read. It was probably a mix of my Granny, my Aunt Joyce, and my parents.
We had lots of books in our home. My Aunt Joyce gave us lots of books and our parents always let us order several books from the book sale at school. We had a lot of comic books too. We would typically go into town (Yellville) on Saturday's and all 3 of us would head for the dime store. The comic books were up front by the door (if memory serves me right). I loved the Archie comic books. I couldn't wait to see what Betty, Veronica, Archie, Jughead, Moose and Reggie were up to. Bruce and I read more than Judith and we shared books. I don't think I was really interested in Louis La'mour but I read them anyway. Bruce and I even read the encyclopedias when we were desperate for new reading material. I can still quote a lot of useless information about plants, animals and other countries from all that encyclopedia reading. We would read the Reader's Digest after Granny and Daddy finished with them and I loved the Laughter: The Best Medicine section.
I currently read a book a week during the school year and in the summer that rises to 3 or 4 books a week. I take a book or books with me when we travel. It drives JC nuts. He's not a reader. I hide them in the compartments on my luggage when we go on vacation and there's always one in my beach bag when we go to the shore. I read every night before I go to bed. I'm sure there's a 12 step program out there for reading addicts, but I'm not ready to admit that I have a problem.
Books can take me anywhere that I want to go. I can shut out the "mean old" world and travel to far away lands. I can learn about other cultures and religions, national parks, other countries - you name it, I want to read about it. I don't have a favorite genre. I like to "spice it up." I may be reading a murder mystery today and a Christian romance tomorrow.
My favorite haunts, naturally, are book stores. I get giddy with excitement just walking in a Barnes and Noble or Books A Million. I could spend hours browsing the book jackets and covers. I also love the used book stores. They smell musty and old but those old books hold new adventures. There are no baristas, no comfy chairs or magazine racks - just books - lots of books. My favorite is the Book Nook in West Plains, MO. It's in an old building off the square. There are two stories filled with books. You can bring your books in and get credit and get more books to read. What a deal! They know me well there and no one bothers me while I browse. I wander up and down the rows and up and down the stairs looking for some new adventure. They don't have a debit/credit card machine so you better bring cash if you don't have credit. I don't re-sell every book that I read. I have received many books as gifts. Those I keep. I inherited my Aunt Joyce's book cases and they are filled to capacity with books that I want to keep. Bruce gave me a set of vintage "Book of Popular Science." There are 10 in the set. They make me laugh when I look at how far science has come since the 20's. I have my original set of encyclopedias that I bought for my kids when they were little. The FG is missing - one of the kids took it to school and lost it. I have a set of children's books, fairy tales, bible stories, and words to know. They are covered with chocolate and koolaid smudges. I wouldn't part with those. The Children's Bible, Daughter's of Eve, and many gift books line those shelves. I typically buy a book when we travel to a new place as a keepsake. Someday I will have to add a new bookcase.
I know that the new e-readers are all the rage and I plan to buy one this spring. It makes more sense to pack a Kindle than a book when traveling, but I will never give up my hard copies. I love the covers, the jackets, the paper smell. I love all the bookmarks that students and family members have given me over the years.
But whatever media I choose for my adventures it will be a wonderful experience and I'm always ready to make the trip. Won't you pick up a book and join me?
Don't be afraid to climb on the skinny branches.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Where Have All the Good Daddies Gone?
I was watching Oprah the other day and the story was about twin girls from Wichita who had been repeatedly molested by their Dad and their older brothers. A day or so later Inside Edition ran a story about the 5 Browns, siblings that are extraordinary pianists. The siblings disclosed that their father had molested the girls over the years. The father has since pleaded guilty and will be going to prison. So, I wonder, where have all the good Daddies gone?
I know there are still good Dads out there but I think it's the exception rather than the rule these days. You hear the stories about the sexual and physical abuses, the deadbeat dads, and the dads who are just too overworked and tired to spend time with their kids.
Where are the Dads who loved their kids enough to teach them right from wrong? Where are the Dads who showed their kids how to bait a hook and cast a rod and reel? Where have all the Dads gone that loved their kids enough to make them pick up rocks when they had misbehaved and explain to them why they were being punished? Where are the Dads who came home from work smelling like grease, or barn yard, or sweat? Not liquor on their breath because they stopped off for a cold one before they got home. Where have all the Dads gone that hugged their little girls and let them climb into their laps because they loved their little girls, not because they saw them as a sex object? Where are all the Dads who taught you to stand and place your hand over your heart to say the pledge, salute the flag, to respect your elders and your teachers, to give the ladies a chair or a seat on the bus? Where are the Dads who would teach you the difference between a red oak and a white oak? Where are the Dads that would stand out in the yard, even though they were tired, and watch you twirl you baton until you got all the twirls and tosses just right. Where did the Dads go that made you get up on Sunday morning and go to Sunday School? Where are the Dads that helped you do your math and give you out your spelling words? Where did all the Dads go that brought home 7 Up for you when you were sick? Where did all the Dads go that would put someone in their place if they said a vulgar word in front of your Mom or Granny? When did they go away and why?
My Daddy didn't have much training in how to be a Dad. His own Dad committed suicide when he was 9. He was with my Granny when they found his Dad. It was something we didn't talk about in our home. I don't know if Daddy tried to be a good Dad because he had lost his own or if it was just the way he was. My Daddy is gone now and I am pretty certain that he's in Heaven, so I don't have to wonder where one good Daddy has gone. I had uncles that were good Daddies too but they are all gone now. I wish we could bring all the good Daddies back. Maybe they could be role models for all the young men today so we wouldn't have to wonder where all the good Daddies have gone.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Be My Valentine
Valentines Day is supposed to be a day which celebrates love and affection between intimate companions. Candy, flowers, and cards have been the traditional way of expressing our love.
When I was a kid my Dad would buy my Mom a big heart box of candy and a mushy card. That was typical 50s and 60s. The women didn't buy a gift for the men. It was a day for the ladies. As times changed it became an exchange of gifts between men and women - maybe a tie or a bottle of cologne for the guy, but it was still a thoughtful, intimate gift between a couple.
When I was in school, elementary kids liked Valentines Day because it was fun to exchange the little dime store cards with their classmates. We would bring a brown (or sometimes if we were lucky) a white paper sack to school. We would cut, color and glue hearts on them, neatly print our names, and tape them to the chalk rail in anticipation of the class Valentines party. On the night before the party we would open our valentines and read the verses, trying to decide which ones to give our classmates. We didn't have the Disney Themed cards, just animals and cupids. Our moms made us give everyone in our "room" a valentine, whether we wanted to or not. We weren't allowed to hurt anyone's feelings, but I was a cautious valentine giver. I would read the sayings and make sure that no boy thought I had a crush on him. We would write our names on the backs of the cards and the recipients' name on the envelope then we would place them in those decorated paper sacks. It was so exciting to see those sacks start to bulge with cards. When the designated hour arrived our moms (called room mothers back then) would show up with the cookies, cupcakes, and brownies. We would eat and open our cards. My how times have changed!
Today I watched as junior high students received balloon bouquets (some got more than one), with 6 packs of sodas and bags of chips attached, some had stuffed animals, some flowers; I even saw a huge heart shaped pillow tied to a bunch of balloons. I've seen 7th and 8th graders with bouquets of roses (I've had very few in my life). I kept thinking to myself that these are kids too young to work so parents must be paying for all this stuff. Why? What happened to plain old card exchanges? I had one 8th grade student who said to me "Nobody loves me." I told her that wasn't true. I had seen her with a balloon bouquet earlier. She said, "But those were just from my Dad." How sad is that? She wanted some balloons and flowers from a boy I guess. Her dad had taken the time and spent the money for her Valentines gift and that wasn't enough. And it's not just her, there are so many more with similar experiences. I left school feeling kind of aggravated and sad that this is what Valentines Day has become. It just put me in a bad frame of mind.
When I got home I went on facebook and saw the many Happy Valentines Day posts and pictures of roses, and candy received by my friends. I was still in my bad frame of mind when I scrolled down and saw a picture that shook me to my core. One of my friends, and I pray that she doesn't mind me writing this, had posted a picture of a necklace. A necklace that her late husband and bought her shortly before he passed away. It had an inscription but I couldn't read all of it. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he had loved her enough to buy the necklace and have it inscribed because he knew he wouldn't be here this Valentines Day. Folks, that's what Valentines Day is. There are very few people that can truly know the depth of our spouses love. I hurt for her loss but I know that when she looks at that necklace she feels his love for her.
Happy Valentines Day.
When I was a kid my Dad would buy my Mom a big heart box of candy and a mushy card. That was typical 50s and 60s. The women didn't buy a gift for the men. It was a day for the ladies. As times changed it became an exchange of gifts between men and women - maybe a tie or a bottle of cologne for the guy, but it was still a thoughtful, intimate gift between a couple.
When I was in school, elementary kids liked Valentines Day because it was fun to exchange the little dime store cards with their classmates. We would bring a brown (or sometimes if we were lucky) a white paper sack to school. We would cut, color and glue hearts on them, neatly print our names, and tape them to the chalk rail in anticipation of the class Valentines party. On the night before the party we would open our valentines and read the verses, trying to decide which ones to give our classmates. We didn't have the Disney Themed cards, just animals and cupids. Our moms made us give everyone in our "room" a valentine, whether we wanted to or not. We weren't allowed to hurt anyone's feelings, but I was a cautious valentine giver. I would read the sayings and make sure that no boy thought I had a crush on him. We would write our names on the backs of the cards and the recipients' name on the envelope then we would place them in those decorated paper sacks. It was so exciting to see those sacks start to bulge with cards. When the designated hour arrived our moms (called room mothers back then) would show up with the cookies, cupcakes, and brownies. We would eat and open our cards. My how times have changed!
Today I watched as junior high students received balloon bouquets (some got more than one), with 6 packs of sodas and bags of chips attached, some had stuffed animals, some flowers; I even saw a huge heart shaped pillow tied to a bunch of balloons. I've seen 7th and 8th graders with bouquets of roses (I've had very few in my life). I kept thinking to myself that these are kids too young to work so parents must be paying for all this stuff. Why? What happened to plain old card exchanges? I had one 8th grade student who said to me "Nobody loves me." I told her that wasn't true. I had seen her with a balloon bouquet earlier. She said, "But those were just from my Dad." How sad is that? She wanted some balloons and flowers from a boy I guess. Her dad had taken the time and spent the money for her Valentines gift and that wasn't enough. And it's not just her, there are so many more with similar experiences. I left school feeling kind of aggravated and sad that this is what Valentines Day has become. It just put me in a bad frame of mind.
When I got home I went on facebook and saw the many Happy Valentines Day posts and pictures of roses, and candy received by my friends. I was still in my bad frame of mind when I scrolled down and saw a picture that shook me to my core. One of my friends, and I pray that she doesn't mind me writing this, had posted a picture of a necklace. A necklace that her late husband and bought her shortly before he passed away. It had an inscription but I couldn't read all of it. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he had loved her enough to buy the necklace and have it inscribed because he knew he wouldn't be here this Valentines Day. Folks, that's what Valentines Day is. There are very few people that can truly know the depth of our spouses love. I hurt for her loss but I know that when she looks at that necklace she feels his love for her.
Happy Valentines Day.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
"Lay Off the Locks"
Green Bay Packers linebacker, Clay Matthews, was a guest on the Ellen Show today. Part of he and Ellen's discussion was Clay's long hair. As a joke Ellen presented him with a football helmet that had a hairnet attached. If someone pulls on the hairnet a little sign pops up that reads "Lay Off the Locks." I thought to myself; "I know that feeling so well."
Those of you who know my husband, JC, are thinking; "She's going to blog about JC's long hair." No, he fights his own hair battles. This blog is for all the curly tops around the world who want well meaning people "to lay off the locks."
I believe that people assume that all curly haired people wish they had straight hair. Not so. There are many of us who are quite comfortable with our curls and have no desire to flat iron, pomade, or chemically straighten our locks. We're cool with it, but - it's almost as if it bothers those around us. I am constantly asked why I don't flat iron my hair or use a relaxer. Answer - because my hair is part of me. They will tell me "how much better" I will look with straight hair. Would those people like it if someone told them they needed to alter a part of their body? If you have curly hair and you want to straighten, go for it, but if the person is happy with their curls they shouldn't be made to feel as if it's a disfigurement.
I have had my share of hair cut disasters and I am talking butcher jobs. Once when I got to my appointment the stylist said "You didn't tell me over the phone that you have curly hair!" I asked if that was a problem. He replied that indeed it was and he refused to cut my hair. I'm thinking to myself that he must have been absent at stylist school on the days that covered curly hair cuts!!! I have since learned to always ask in advance if they have a stylist that is good with curly hair. I kept the same stylist for many years but two years ago she changed her work hours and it isn't possible for me to get my hair cut at her shop any more. I miss her. She never criticized my curls or my cowlicks. My current stylist is good at cutting my hair but she can't style it. If curly hair looks good wet, it's a good cut. If you have to mess with it, you might as well find someone else to cut it. My stylist "tried" to style it on my first visit to her salon. She started blowing it out with a round brush. I told her that was not a good idea. True to fashion, she ignored me and soon I had a beehive that put Dolly Parton's 60s hairdos to shame. I said "I told you that curly haired people don't use brushes." She called over another stylist and try as he might he couldn't shrink it down to a size small enough for me to fit in my car. We finally washed it out, put a little mousse on it, and called it done. Since then my stylist just cuts it and lets me use her blow dryer before I go out the door.
Naturally curly hair is caused by Trichohyalin, which is a gene on chromosome one. Until someone comes up with a gene altering procedure for curly hair, it can't be changed. I've read that only 15% of people that are of European descent have curly hair, while 40% have wavy hair. I inherited the curls from Dad's side of the family. He and his sisters, as well as, my brother, sister and me all have curly hair - and I mean really curly hair, not waves. My granddaughter, Lily, and grandson, Reid, also have inherited the curly hair gene and I love their hair. It's part of who they are.
When it's hot and humid my hair does get really big and out of control. That's when the headbands, hair clips and sometimes hats, come out. My hair looks its best in the cold, dry winter. But what ever the weather, it's still MY hair and to all who want to be critical, I say, "lay off the locks."
Those of you who know my husband, JC, are thinking; "She's going to blog about JC's long hair." No, he fights his own hair battles. This blog is for all the curly tops around the world who want well meaning people "to lay off the locks."
I believe that people assume that all curly haired people wish they had straight hair. Not so. There are many of us who are quite comfortable with our curls and have no desire to flat iron, pomade, or chemically straighten our locks. We're cool with it, but - it's almost as if it bothers those around us. I am constantly asked why I don't flat iron my hair or use a relaxer. Answer - because my hair is part of me. They will tell me "how much better" I will look with straight hair. Would those people like it if someone told them they needed to alter a part of their body? If you have curly hair and you want to straighten, go for it, but if the person is happy with their curls they shouldn't be made to feel as if it's a disfigurement.
I have had my share of hair cut disasters and I am talking butcher jobs. Once when I got to my appointment the stylist said "You didn't tell me over the phone that you have curly hair!" I asked if that was a problem. He replied that indeed it was and he refused to cut my hair. I'm thinking to myself that he must have been absent at stylist school on the days that covered curly hair cuts!!! I have since learned to always ask in advance if they have a stylist that is good with curly hair. I kept the same stylist for many years but two years ago she changed her work hours and it isn't possible for me to get my hair cut at her shop any more. I miss her. She never criticized my curls or my cowlicks. My current stylist is good at cutting my hair but she can't style it. If curly hair looks good wet, it's a good cut. If you have to mess with it, you might as well find someone else to cut it. My stylist "tried" to style it on my first visit to her salon. She started blowing it out with a round brush. I told her that was not a good idea. True to fashion, she ignored me and soon I had a beehive that put Dolly Parton's 60s hairdos to shame. I said "I told you that curly haired people don't use brushes." She called over another stylist and try as he might he couldn't shrink it down to a size small enough for me to fit in my car. We finally washed it out, put a little mousse on it, and called it done. Since then my stylist just cuts it and lets me use her blow dryer before I go out the door.
Naturally curly hair is caused by Trichohyalin, which is a gene on chromosome one. Until someone comes up with a gene altering procedure for curly hair, it can't be changed. I've read that only 15% of people that are of European descent have curly hair, while 40% have wavy hair. I inherited the curls from Dad's side of the family. He and his sisters, as well as, my brother, sister and me all have curly hair - and I mean really curly hair, not waves. My granddaughter, Lily, and grandson, Reid, also have inherited the curly hair gene and I love their hair. It's part of who they are.
When it's hot and humid my hair does get really big and out of control. That's when the headbands, hair clips and sometimes hats, come out. My hair looks its best in the cold, dry winter. But what ever the weather, it's still MY hair and to all who want to be critical, I say, "lay off the locks."
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Friendship Quilt
These bitterly cold temperatures have brought on the need for more "covers" on the bed. I went looking through my closet for a quilt to put on my guest bed. I have several quilts, all made by my Granny Ott and my Daddy's sisters. I pulled one out and as I was spreading it on the bed I began to think about friendship quilts. Does anyone make them anymore?
This particular quilt must have been my Aunt Ethel's wedding quilt. Aunt Ethel (Pace) is now in the nursing home at Yellville. Uncle Jack passed away a few years ago and she got to the point that she couldn't care for herself any more. My sister, Judith; my brother, Bruce; and I have her household items. That's how I came to have this quilt.
Each block is a star pattern with a circle in the center where all her friends and family embroidered their names. I realized that each block had a story to tell. It's kind of like a book of history with each block being a chapter. I wish I knew the story for everyone on the quilt but I don't. First off, most everyone on the quilt is a descendant of John Ott who came to Arkansas in 1856 or they married into the family. As I go across the rows of blocks I will tell you what I know.
Oma Ott was married to my great uncle, Charlie (grandson of John, son of Albert) and they had Fred and Retha. You may know Retha's girls, Mary Jane and Carolyn. Retha has a block on the quilt too.
Hettie Ott Linck was Fred and Retha's half sister. Charlie had first married Ethel Bundy, but she had passed away when Hettie was young. (My Granny Ott was a Bundy, but that's a blog for another day.) Just suffice it to say; my Daddy had a lot of double cousins.
Alsey Lee Ott married Howard Ott (grandson of Albert). Alsey was a Wagoner. She is my friend, Renelle's aunt; and my friend Sharmin's great aunt. Alsey loved to grow flowers. Her yard was a showplace. She never missed church. I attended the same church as she did for more than 25 years and I can't ever remember her not being there.
Dorothy Hall was my friends', Doyle, Loyle and Dewayne's aunt.
Juanita Ott (grandaughter of Albert, daughter of Marvin). Here comes those double cousins again. Marv married Linnie Bundy, my Granny Ott's sister. Also on the quilt is Juanita's sister, Nellie and a block for Aunt Linnie. Aunt Linnie is Terry Ott and JW Ott's grandma (and many, many more cousins.)
Lois and Etta Snipes are on the quilt. Lois was Etta's daughter. Lois's handmade cradle was used by my Dad and then my son, Ryan.
My Aunt Joyce's block is embroidered Joyce Briggs. She was first married to Cecil Briggs. Cecil was a teacher and the principal at Yellville School. Cecil died in his thirties. He was stricken with "apoplexy" while at school and later died at home. I had to look up apoplexy and I imagine it was a cerebral hemorrhage based on what my Granny told me about his death. Later, Aunt Joyce married Carl Keeter. Many of you knew her as Mrs. Joyce, your first grade teacher. Aunt Joyce was the second oldest in my Aunt Ethel's family.
Fred Bearden is the next block. He was our sheriff for a time. You may know his son, Larry and wife, Judith. Fred's sister, Lou Bearden also made a block. Lou later married Clyde Pickle, my Granny Ott's nephew.
Opal Marchant; Aunt Opal was just older than Aunt Ethel. She married Earl Marchant. They had one daughter, Earlene. They ran the Rea Valley store for many years and operated two big farms. Uncle Earl has a block too. He was a jolly man with a big laugh. Aunt Opal was a good cook. I loved her potato salad and red velvet cake. I spent a lot of days at her house. She later babysat my son, Ryan, until he got too big for a sitter.
The next block is my Dad's, Sherman B. Ott. I think he must have done the embroidery himself. It looks like his writing. I asked my Mom and she said that he knew how to embroider. I like to look at his block. It makes me happy.
Alice Wagoner is next. She is Renelle and Sharmin's grandma/great-grandma; Mother to Alsey and Althea. The Wagoner family lived just over the hill from the Ott family.
Belle Ott was married to Noah Ott and they had Howard, Charles, and Inis. Howard was married to Alsey, who I've already talked about. Inis also has a block on the quilt.
Lessie Bryant was my aunt Ethel's oldest sister. She married Guy Bryant (also a block for him). They had twin sons, Billy and Bobby. Aunt Lessie was a happy person. I loved to hear her laugh. Uncle Guy taught school all over Marion County for many years. He was the first teacher at the Rea Valley School. They later moved to Black Oak, AR where they raised cotton. Uncle Guy's sister, Vivian is also on the quilt.
The next block says Mother. That's my Granny Ott, Ella Bundy Ott. She married my grandpa, Blufford and they had four daughters and a son, Lessie, Joyce, Opal, Ethel and Sherman B. They bought the "old home place." That is where my brother, Bruce, lives and that is where the Ott Cemetery is located. I grew up there. My Granny was a seamstress. She sewed for the family and other people. She was missing the end of her middle finger. Her brother hit her with an axe while chopping wood when they were little. She had to learn to use a thimble on her forefinger. I like to look at her block too. I think of all the clothes she sewed for me, even our pajamas. Her hands were scratchy because she worked hard and she make you hold "real still" while she pinned up your clothes that she was sewing.
Ann Morrow was my Granny's friend. She lived on the next farm over. I can barely remember her. She had white hair and a kind voice. She was Grady Morrow's mother. Grady's wife Verna made a block.
Althea Wagoner is the next block. She is my friend, Sharmin's grandma. She was a joker and loved to pull pranks on people. I've heard some funny stories about her.
Ivon Goatley is on the quilt too. Sadly, I don't know anything about her.
Luna Johnson is next. There's a funny story that our family used to laugh about that involves Luna's cooking. When she was a teenager she would come home with Aunt Ethel and one night she made a peach cobbler. Now, my Dad's sisters were quite a bit older than him so me must have been just a little boy when this happened. Apparently the crust on the cobbler didn't get done and when my Dad took a bite of it he said, "Who made this pie dough anyway?" It embarrassed the girls and my Granny and I think he got told not to criticize any food ever again.
That's every block on the quilt. I don't know if my Aunt Ethel used the quilt or not. It's in good condition. If her mind was still clear, I would ask her about the quilt. Sadly, she doesn't know who I am when I go visit her. She gets confused and wants to know when Mama is going to send someone one to get her and take her to the farm. Once she called me Joyce. I will take good care of her quilt and always think about her and my other family members when I look at it. Someday my daughter, Misty, will probably get the quilt. I hope she tells her kids the stories of the people who made the blocks.
This particular quilt must have been my Aunt Ethel's wedding quilt. Aunt Ethel (Pace) is now in the nursing home at Yellville. Uncle Jack passed away a few years ago and she got to the point that she couldn't care for herself any more. My sister, Judith; my brother, Bruce; and I have her household items. That's how I came to have this quilt.
Each block is a star pattern with a circle in the center where all her friends and family embroidered their names. I realized that each block had a story to tell. It's kind of like a book of history with each block being a chapter. I wish I knew the story for everyone on the quilt but I don't. First off, most everyone on the quilt is a descendant of John Ott who came to Arkansas in 1856 or they married into the family. As I go across the rows of blocks I will tell you what I know.
Oma Ott was married to my great uncle, Charlie (grandson of John, son of Albert) and they had Fred and Retha. You may know Retha's girls, Mary Jane and Carolyn. Retha has a block on the quilt too.
Hettie Ott Linck was Fred and Retha's half sister. Charlie had first married Ethel Bundy, but she had passed away when Hettie was young. (My Granny Ott was a Bundy, but that's a blog for another day.) Just suffice it to say; my Daddy had a lot of double cousins.
Alsey Lee Ott married Howard Ott (grandson of Albert). Alsey was a Wagoner. She is my friend, Renelle's aunt; and my friend Sharmin's great aunt. Alsey loved to grow flowers. Her yard was a showplace. She never missed church. I attended the same church as she did for more than 25 years and I can't ever remember her not being there.
Dorothy Hall was my friends', Doyle, Loyle and Dewayne's aunt.
Juanita Ott (grandaughter of Albert, daughter of Marvin). Here comes those double cousins again. Marv married Linnie Bundy, my Granny Ott's sister. Also on the quilt is Juanita's sister, Nellie and a block for Aunt Linnie. Aunt Linnie is Terry Ott and JW Ott's grandma (and many, many more cousins.)
Lois and Etta Snipes are on the quilt. Lois was Etta's daughter. Lois's handmade cradle was used by my Dad and then my son, Ryan.
My Aunt Joyce's block is embroidered Joyce Briggs. She was first married to Cecil Briggs. Cecil was a teacher and the principal at Yellville School. Cecil died in his thirties. He was stricken with "apoplexy" while at school and later died at home. I had to look up apoplexy and I imagine it was a cerebral hemorrhage based on what my Granny told me about his death. Later, Aunt Joyce married Carl Keeter. Many of you knew her as Mrs. Joyce, your first grade teacher. Aunt Joyce was the second oldest in my Aunt Ethel's family.
Fred Bearden is the next block. He was our sheriff for a time. You may know his son, Larry and wife, Judith. Fred's sister, Lou Bearden also made a block. Lou later married Clyde Pickle, my Granny Ott's nephew.
Opal Marchant; Aunt Opal was just older than Aunt Ethel. She married Earl Marchant. They had one daughter, Earlene. They ran the Rea Valley store for many years and operated two big farms. Uncle Earl has a block too. He was a jolly man with a big laugh. Aunt Opal was a good cook. I loved her potato salad and red velvet cake. I spent a lot of days at her house. She later babysat my son, Ryan, until he got too big for a sitter.
The next block is my Dad's, Sherman B. Ott. I think he must have done the embroidery himself. It looks like his writing. I asked my Mom and she said that he knew how to embroider. I like to look at his block. It makes me happy.
Alice Wagoner is next. She is Renelle and Sharmin's grandma/great-grandma; Mother to Alsey and Althea. The Wagoner family lived just over the hill from the Ott family.
Belle Ott was married to Noah Ott and they had Howard, Charles, and Inis. Howard was married to Alsey, who I've already talked about. Inis also has a block on the quilt.
Lessie Bryant was my aunt Ethel's oldest sister. She married Guy Bryant (also a block for him). They had twin sons, Billy and Bobby. Aunt Lessie was a happy person. I loved to hear her laugh. Uncle Guy taught school all over Marion County for many years. He was the first teacher at the Rea Valley School. They later moved to Black Oak, AR where they raised cotton. Uncle Guy's sister, Vivian is also on the quilt.
The next block says Mother. That's my Granny Ott, Ella Bundy Ott. She married my grandpa, Blufford and they had four daughters and a son, Lessie, Joyce, Opal, Ethel and Sherman B. They bought the "old home place." That is where my brother, Bruce, lives and that is where the Ott Cemetery is located. I grew up there. My Granny was a seamstress. She sewed for the family and other people. She was missing the end of her middle finger. Her brother hit her with an axe while chopping wood when they were little. She had to learn to use a thimble on her forefinger. I like to look at her block too. I think of all the clothes she sewed for me, even our pajamas. Her hands were scratchy because she worked hard and she make you hold "real still" while she pinned up your clothes that she was sewing.
Ann Morrow was my Granny's friend. She lived on the next farm over. I can barely remember her. She had white hair and a kind voice. She was Grady Morrow's mother. Grady's wife Verna made a block.
Althea Wagoner is the next block. She is my friend, Sharmin's grandma. She was a joker and loved to pull pranks on people. I've heard some funny stories about her.
Ivon Goatley is on the quilt too. Sadly, I don't know anything about her.
Luna Johnson is next. There's a funny story that our family used to laugh about that involves Luna's cooking. When she was a teenager she would come home with Aunt Ethel and one night she made a peach cobbler. Now, my Dad's sisters were quite a bit older than him so me must have been just a little boy when this happened. Apparently the crust on the cobbler didn't get done and when my Dad took a bite of it he said, "Who made this pie dough anyway?" It embarrassed the girls and my Granny and I think he got told not to criticize any food ever again.
That's every block on the quilt. I don't know if my Aunt Ethel used the quilt or not. It's in good condition. If her mind was still clear, I would ask her about the quilt. Sadly, she doesn't know who I am when I go visit her. She gets confused and wants to know when Mama is going to send someone one to get her and take her to the farm. Once she called me Joyce. I will take good care of her quilt and always think about her and my other family members when I look at it. Someday my daughter, Misty, will probably get the quilt. I hope she tells her kids the stories of the people who made the blocks.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
A Legacy of Love and Laughter
My mother-in-law, Hazel, passed away Jan. 28th, 2011. She had Alzheimer's. That's a blog in itself and I don't want to "go there" with this post, I want to talk about Hazel, the mom. I usually refer to Hazel as JC's little mama. I don't why I call her that, it just seems to fit. Hazel was anything but little and fragile. She had a strong body and a strong will. Floyd and Hazel were married in 1947 and raised 8 kids on a farm in rural Howell County Missouri. They had moved around a little bit early on because JC was born in Wichita, Kansas. Later, they returned to Floyd's family's farm and there they settled to raise their kids.
The first time I met Hazel, she hugged me. I was a bit surprised because I'm not from a family of "huggers." I thought maybe she knew that "I was the one" for JC. I realized later that Hazel just hugged everybody. Even if you didn't want a hug, you got one anyway. If you tried to get away she would still give you a sideways hug. That was Hazel's way.
It was hard raising 8 kids. Hazel couldn't give the kids a lot of material things but she gave the kids something far greater; she gave them all the love that she had. The Ledbetter kids know without a doubt that their mother loved them. She never criticized, never offered unsolicited advice and never judged. She let the kids stumble and make mistakes so they would learn from those mistakes. Then she waited with open arms when they needed her to comfort them.
Hazel loved to laugh. She was always smiling and laughing. I can't remember ever a time until she got so sick that she wasn't smiling and laughing. She would cut up with the kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. It made her happy to make others happy.
I've often thought about how hard her life must have been. Just cooking meals for a family of 10 was a big chore. JC told me that she would line them all up for hand-washing and tooth-brushing. He said that it was like a little assembly line, everybody getting a squirt of toothpaste. She insisted on clean hands - you couldn't come to the table without first "washing up." She told me once that you couldn't afford for germs to spread through 8 kids! Hazel cooked, cleaned, did the laundry for 10 and on top of that she raised a garden, took care of her chickens and helped Floyd with the farm. She never complained, always smiling and laughing, always hugging.
At her service, the pastor, a long time family friend and husband of Hazel's niece, said that Hazel left a legacy of love and laughter. I like that. What a great legacy to leave for your family. Hazel's grand-daughter, Robyn, spoke of her love and respect for her granny. She talked of the love shared by all of Hazel and Floyd's descendents. She reminded us how lucky they are to have a family that cares so much for each other. Robyn said that each time that we see a chicken in a pen or a weed that needs pulled in the garden, we will be reminded of Hazel.
I hope that the Ledbetter kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids will carry on this legacy of love and laughter. It's worth more than anything that money could ever buy.
The first time I met Hazel, she hugged me. I was a bit surprised because I'm not from a family of "huggers." I thought maybe she knew that "I was the one" for JC. I realized later that Hazel just hugged everybody. Even if you didn't want a hug, you got one anyway. If you tried to get away she would still give you a sideways hug. That was Hazel's way.
It was hard raising 8 kids. Hazel couldn't give the kids a lot of material things but she gave the kids something far greater; she gave them all the love that she had. The Ledbetter kids know without a doubt that their mother loved them. She never criticized, never offered unsolicited advice and never judged. She let the kids stumble and make mistakes so they would learn from those mistakes. Then she waited with open arms when they needed her to comfort them.
Hazel loved to laugh. She was always smiling and laughing. I can't remember ever a time until she got so sick that she wasn't smiling and laughing. She would cut up with the kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. It made her happy to make others happy.
I've often thought about how hard her life must have been. Just cooking meals for a family of 10 was a big chore. JC told me that she would line them all up for hand-washing and tooth-brushing. He said that it was like a little assembly line, everybody getting a squirt of toothpaste. She insisted on clean hands - you couldn't come to the table without first "washing up." She told me once that you couldn't afford for germs to spread through 8 kids! Hazel cooked, cleaned, did the laundry for 10 and on top of that she raised a garden, took care of her chickens and helped Floyd with the farm. She never complained, always smiling and laughing, always hugging.
At her service, the pastor, a long time family friend and husband of Hazel's niece, said that Hazel left a legacy of love and laughter. I like that. What a great legacy to leave for your family. Hazel's grand-daughter, Robyn, spoke of her love and respect for her granny. She talked of the love shared by all of Hazel and Floyd's descendents. She reminded us how lucky they are to have a family that cares so much for each other. Robyn said that each time that we see a chicken in a pen or a weed that needs pulled in the garden, we will be reminded of Hazel.
I hope that the Ledbetter kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids will carry on this legacy of love and laughter. It's worth more than anything that money could ever buy.
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