Omega

When we take our first breath we are unaware it is the beginning of our journey toward death. Hopefully we learn our choices have consequences and for every door that closes another opens. With guidance we should gain a sense of responsibility and morality.  Our contentment or direction may change but we still travel our road to death. The In Between Times are full of changes, love, sadness and goodbyes.

In 2008 I began to blog about my journey.  I've shared my dreams and my life.  You've become familiar with my love of the land, animals, and the people around me.  You've laughed, cried and prayed with and for me.

I'll never write a best seller nor paint a masterpiece nor make a great discovery that will change the world but YOU, my great blogger friends, have given me a delightfully varied view of this large world. It is time for me to laugh more, love more, spend less time on the computer and more time with my family, my life and my choices. As I continue on my path from birth to death I bid you adieu with sadness and with joy for having met you.

Molly's Buckle

We lived in the valley where I live now.  Dad and Mom decided we needed to be closer to the highway to catch the school bus otherwise we would be walking over a mile in all kinds of weather one way to catch the bus. They purchased a small house from a couple that had belonged to their daughter who had moved away.

In those ancient days it was proper respect to call elders you didn't know by Mister, Missus or Miss and elder friends were addressed by Aunt and Uncle.

That placed us close to neighbors, Joe and Emma Rose, in their grandparent years with their children grown and gone. I adopted them, or they me, I'm not really sure which was true. They quickly became Aunt Emma and Uncle Joe.  I was there when ever I could obtain permission.

They had a Catalpa tree that reached the sky.  I could climb to the top and sway in the breeze with no admonition. It was heavenly!

Aunt Emma's kitchen always had great smells and Uncle Joe's barn always had surprises to discover.

AND they had a horse. She was almost a true black with the longest mane I'd ever seen.  Her tail touched the ground.  In the middle of her forehead was one bright white star.  Molly would present her head to be scratched and hugged no matter how small you were.

Molly could pull a plow and turned our garden many times.  I was able to ride her, too.  In fact Molly would willingly walk with five children on board at a time.  I learned Molly had been a show horse with many ribbons and trophies ridden by Aunt Emma and Uncle's Joe's daughter. Molly was twenty-three when I met her.

In the barn Uncle Joe and I found part of Molly's old show halter with the buckle still attached.  He removed the buckle and handed it  to me.  He said I could think of Molly every time I held it.

Life changes.  Aunt Emma and Uncle Joe moved closer to their son.  Molly went with them.

I still have Molly's buckle. 

Oh, the memories I have when I hold the buckle in my hand.

Thank you, Aunt Emma and Uncle Joe.

Thank you, Molly.

Frying Goldfish

Yep, that's me!  The girl in a dress (oh, the horror! Where are my overalls?) with Mr. and Mrs. German.  I'm guessing we've been fishing.

Dad worked road construction. Sometimes we traveled with him.  We would rent a house or a cabin and stay until Dad's job was done. We always came home to the farm but summers were extra special.

I was very lucky.  Our neighbors raised goldfish in long metal aerated tanks. Part of my "job" when I came to visit was picking out the floating goldfish. I was allowed to feed them to Mrs.German's cat.  During all this fun I decided it just wasn't right to feed the cat RAW goldfish. I presented my idea to Mrs. German. She was happy to comply.  She gave me a big jar lid and a fork and allowed me to stir and cook to my heart's content on their heating stove in their living room!  Of course the fish never got hot.  I tip toed to reach the top of the stove then I would politely and properly serve the cat his "cooked" meal.  The cat seems to enjoy the special service.

Mrs. German just smiled. Mr. German seemed to enjoy pulling my braid.    I was in trouble many times for slipping away to visit the neighbors without asking permission first. Mother taught me that lesson well.

The Velveteen Bulldog

Not sure if it's an old age thing or if it's time simply for me to remember. Memories surface and I share.  That is the only thing I know with any certainty.

Aunt Grace was Dad's mother's sister and very special to Dad.  I loved (Great) Aunt Grace. There was such an innate kindness in her that was only exceeded by her unconditional love.

Her "get" left something wanting.  Her son, Glen, was referred to in hushed tones around me.  He may have liked the bottle and other illegal actions a little too much. He always made me feel uncomfortable. I would never sit in his lap which seemed to be his life's mission and personal challenge.  I had nothing to do with him!

Glen's son was just the worst of Glen with some other s**t mixed in. His name was Louie and was married to "poor" Betty.  Betty was a quiet mouse of a woman that served Louie in whatever way needed serving.They had a string of children I did not count and it seemed Betty was always in the "family way".

I was required only to address Aunt Grace as aunt and the others I avoided.

We were invited or compelled to visit Aunt Grace one evening. The whole gang was there.  I think it may have been the Fourth of July because there were fireworks later but beyond that, as a two-year-old plus I guess I just didn't remember what I deemed unimportant.

Mom, Dad and I arrived (I don't remember if my sisters came, again, not in my memory). Mom, Dad and Aunt Grace huddled in conversation as adults do. I was left on my own in the same (only) room of the house. The children, Stevie and Gracie, gathered around me. They were the only ones not in diapers and the only ones brave enough to try and talk to me.

In my hands, clutched tightly, was my most favorite possession, a velveteen bulldog.  He was brown with a white chest, bright button eyes and wore a red collar.  He was filled with sawdust, had no moving parts and remained in a sitting position.  He had no name that I recall. The only thing I remember was I adored that dog and carried him everywhere.  He was small enough to carry in one hand.

Stevie and Gracie were fascinated with the bulldog.  I allowed them to hold it.  They had no toys that I could see and they brought none to show me.  They politely took turns holding my bulldog gently almost reverently. Their eyes were alight with some emotion I could not name.  I was keeping an eye on my bulldog.  He was precious and I was taking no chances with him becoming lost in the crowd.

Daylight waned and it was time for fireworks.  The children lined up in a row to watch. The fireworks were something of a treat for all of us but the night was soon over.

I whispered a question to Mom as we were getting ready to leave.  She asked, What? in disbelief.  I asked again.  She said, If you really want to...

I handed my much loved bulldog to Stevie and Gracie as I said, Take good care of him. He's yours.

Sherry, Stevie and Gracie

Floating My Doll

I don't remember when she came nor if she had a name.  She never wore clothes.  She was a handy size to haul around with me on my adventures. She was about eight inches tall, stuffed rubber with eyes that closed, and varying cut lengths of reddish brown matted hair.  The only seam was where her head attached to her body.

Naked Friend was a constant companion. She was my ultimate "Action Figure".  She climbed trees with me because I could tuck her in my waistband as I climbed.  She liked dogs.  They liked her and sometimes carried her for me.  I kept a hay string so if the going got rough I could tie her to me or even drag her along. Naked Friend did things I never could.  She jumped from trees bravely and landed uninjured. She rode cattle (more often than I) and even explored the underside of the outdoor toilet. Oh, the adventures we had!

The hay string could be her safety line so I tied it permanently around her neck. It gave Naked Friend such a sense of security she began to have more and more adventures.

Our friend and neighbor lived down the creek from us. Mom and Dad visited often.  Naked Friend and I always went too.

Uncle Ray's creek was the continuance of ours with springs joining it along the way.  By the time it flowed below Uncle Ray's front yard it was too big for me to enter without an adult. The creek was in view of Uncle Ray's porch so the adults could watch me while I played BESIDE the creek.

Naked Friend was far luckier.  She entered the stream with her hay string around her neck.  The current would grab her and rush her to the end of the string as I ran along side on dry ground.  Back and forth, back and forth, Naked Friend floated and I ran. It was the highest form of entertainment for a four year old tom boy (who didn't really like dolls).

I thought of Naked Friend (named for this story) and told the tale to my hubby.  He was shocked and appalled as if I were a serial killer or something.  I said, It was just a doll. He shook his head.

Oh, the imaginative adventures of a country child!  I think Hubby will be watching me next time I'm around him with any kind of rope.

May our imagination and sense of adventure never fade.