Lucky my Mama wrote on this one–though I wish it had been on the back of the photo. Would be easy enough to clone out the “Sis” portion as it is on the sidewalk. Better to leave it in.
My Mama As a Young Woman
Family
Old Family Photo: Who Could It Be
Please help! This is an old slide, I suspect from the 1920’s or 1930’s. I’m just not sure who this is. I suspect, but don’t know, that the boy in the photo is Uncle Bud. I really don’t even know where this might have been taken. Perhaps at the log cabin behind the house in Octagon?
The photo was not really in the best of shape, but a little playing around and I was able to get this much at least.
Father’s Day Memories
So much of what I am comes from where I grew up and how I was raised. It becomes more and more evident every day, really. On today, Father’s Day, it seemed appropriate to talk briefly about Papa, who gave me so much of what makes me who I am.
I like to think the spark of laughter and good humor–and the desire to make others laugh is as present in me as it was in my father. I can only hope, as he was such a jokester.
The other day, though, I was with my friend Ben having a drink and enjoying stories together, both funny and serious. We were joking about photography and I was relaying my story of going down into a coal mine to take photos for American Mining Insurance Company. Going into an underground coal mine is pretty intimidating to begin with. Going in with a bulky camera on top of the hard hat, overalls, rubber boots and big, heavy belt complete with large battery pack that powers your head lamp along with something that provides air in case of a cave-in–now that’s tough. Did I mention cave-in?
Anyway, I was so off-put about going underground (I wasn’t expecting to be allowed to carry my camera into the mine anyway as this isn’t typically something that they allow), that I managed to get only about 3 photos. My camera flash wasn’t fully charged and I couldn’t figure out just what to do about it. (I’ll do better if I get to go again.) One photo I took managed to capture several people’s feet–there were vehicles moving by underground, the ceiling was less than 6 feet high, there was dust everywhere, the air was thick and it was very intimidating so I’m impressed I even got that shot.
Back to the story at hand….
I was telling my friend Ben about this exciting event. And nothing felt better than hearing him laugh and spew his drink across the room. I remembered the many times when Papa would have the whole room laughing.
No matter what, Papa worked to make people laugh and he kept that sense of humor for pretty much his whole life. I can’t imagine how he did it. Growing up in the Great Depression. Going through the Pacific theater in World War II. Having 6 children (oh my God!)–including one that came WELL AFTER he had turned 40.
Still, he managed to enjoy life in a way that few people could. His ability to handle pretty much any situation with a smile, with black medicine (a cream he brought home in bulk from the paper mill where he worked as a mechanic), a band-aid and a pocket knife is legendary. If those wouldn’t solve the situation, some sand paper, some WD40 or some duct tape–only in a real emergency as this couldn’t be reused with ease–surely would. He just never seemed to get terribly rattled about things.
I got, I hope, at least a touch of his laughter, his smile and his humor. I still need to work on not getting rattled by things. Sadly, I did not get his ability to fix things. If it is broken, my only remedy is to take it to the basement–where it can live forever in a broken state!
Here’s to you Papa.
My Very First Knives
My cousin Deborah mentioned in an earlier blog post just how much I loved hats, boots and guns as a child. What she failed to mention was my undeniable love of all things knife-oriented. My dad made hundreds of knives, some pretty rustic, but some with really pretty wood handles. I still have a nice selection–my sister Julia even has two matching ones in a shadow box frame.
I think I must have picked up Papa’s love of knives. Unfortunately, I did NOT pick up his skill with power tools. The knives in this photo aren’t ones that my dad made, but they are more or less the first knives I ever had. Both came from my Uncle Bill (my father’s brother who shared a love of knives). He sent them to me by my Aunt Gladys and Uncle Edward wrapped carefully in a box with a note that said “Be Careful. Sharp!”
I’ll never forget the joy I felt when I opened that box. Several years ago, I sent my nephew William a pocket knife with the note “Be Careful. Sharp!” inside.
I had no idea that a picture of this wonderful moment existed. How amazing it was the other day to find the moment captured in my Uncle Edward’s boxes of slides.
A Collage of Mama
Well, I did one of Papa, so thought I should do one of some of the photos of Mama.
In the first, Mama would probably kill me. I have fond memories of that robe, though. Purple was her favorite color. Wonder if it is still around? Notice in the foreground the blue box. I wish I still had that. It was a movie machine–it played Scooby Doo. It was AWESOME!
Papa and Children
My father loved the grandchildren (and me, of course). Below are just some of the many photos of him with grandchildren. Ok, I slipped one of me in as well (I’m the one on the go-cart).
