We Will Never Forget

Hubby's immediate return from Kuwait in March, 2004.

Childhood

Before I was born my mom had moved back in with my grandparents and aunt since my dad was overseas in the war. Even though they lived within the city limits, my grandparents' next door neighbors had goats and chickens (not too many chickens to make it that smelly). Their names were the Christensen's, and he was German and didn't talk too much. She was the one that enjoyed having all the neighborhood kids come over when we were older and let us feed the baby goats. She fed us cookies and would give us goat's milk. Unfortunately I didn't care for the goat's milk since it was unpasteurized and the cookies usually had raisins in them.

This little blue bear is what they gave me when I was born.

I can always remember having this puzzle (glued on a piece of cardboard) in my room from when I was about seven or so. I think it's sweet and very true.

When I was probably about five or six, it was all the rage to make artwork on burlap wrapped backing (this is cardboard) and use plain yarn glued on in long lengths for the picture. I can remember a huge one my mom did that I think was hanging in my sister's room (she would have been a baby since she was born right before I turned five). It could have been hanging in my room. Mom, I'm starting to forget things. Eek! I suppose I wanted to make one too. This one went to my grandma's sister, my aunt Annabelle, and then at some point came back to us.

I like being able to record this on my blog so my kids will know where these treasures came from too.

Visit Cindy at My Romantic Home for Show and Tell Friday.

Ivory

My grandparents went on a visit to the Holy Land in 1975.

My mom recently looked in their three pictures albums they had from the trip and read me their itinerary. They hopped all over the place and back again. Today I'm sharing one of the things they brought back for me.

It's a red letter New Testament with ivory overlaying not only the front, but the back. What you see is individually pieced.



You can tell here in my hand that it's fairly small.

The inscription is the most precious part.

It has my name (maiden, of course) and then my grandparents' names below that.

For more Show and Tell Friday treasures, visit Cindy at My Romantic Home.

Please Keep Off The Grass

April 15, 2001.

Caboose was two days past 15 months old.

He was a late walker. Being the youngest child, you are either an early walker to keep up with all the other older kids, or a late walker because you like to be waited on by others.

Caboose chose the late walker option, so he wasn't one to go outside and run around with the other kids.

That meant he didn't really know what grass was when he did his first egg hunt at our friends' house after church on Easter Sunday.

He freaked out a little. Like he just kind of stood there. There may or may not have been some crying and finger sucking and bed bear involvement.

We moved all the eggs (that were only for him anyway since all the other kids were older and had theirs hidden in the back) to the edge of the sidewalk and flower bed.

He kept hold of bed bear at first.

Eventually he was willing to sit him down and put the eggs in the bag.

He even decided to check out the grass.

He had to be careful not to step in that grass!

Until he got confident and decided he could do both hands at the same time.




I miss this age!

"Socks"

Here is my "Sock" my grandma made for me that I grew up with.

Here is the one she made for Hubby when we got married. I love the Razorback.

I asked my mom to send them to me this year. My aunt knew just where they were in Grandma's house.

I have fond memories of the stockings at Grandpa and Grandma Wheeler's house. Grandma always called them "Socks" and Hubby and I do out of habit now. It's become a term of endearment.

As soon as we finished eating and cleaning up the kitchen, we read the Christmas story from Luke, then all the grandkids (there were four of us) got to open our socks prior to the presents. I always loved the socks the best.

My kids love the socks too. We love to stuff them, they love to open them. So much so, that when I saw this idea in Country Living, or Country Something-or-Another, about 10 years ago, I jumped all over it.

Bags.

Our socks have become bags.

But we still call them socks.

Makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? Rhetorical, I might add.

I made these with some flannel fabric without a pattern. When I was done I just folded the top over and sewed a seam to tack it down for the cuff. They are about 18 inches tall, which is totally an eyeball measurement. They would have been so much better if I'd known how to make that box bottom I just learned on those bags.

You know I'm going to be looking for some flannel fabric for some new sock/bag/stockings now.

And this year, we're opening the socks last.

Biscuit Jar

Or do you say bisquit?

This little biscuit jar came from an antique shop in downtown St. James, Missouri. My grandparents used to come visit us when Hubby was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, which was about three hours from our home town in Arkansas. When Hubby was overseas in Saudi Arabia in the early '90s, they came to visit me at least once. We walked the shops downtown one Saturday.

I wouldn't have known this was a biscuit jar unless my grandma had told me. She had a long-time friend that had a large collection. I just thought it was cute when I saw it in the store so they bought it for me that day.

It's missing the handle that would have gone from the knobs across the top. They were usually in a woven style. It is from Japan, and from looking at others on ebay it is majolica and probably dates around the '20s. Once I found another one exactly like it, but the auction ended when I wasn't at home and I didn't win it.

It has some yellow staining that makes it look dirty in the picture, but it isn't, and even though there aren't any cracks there is crazing all over the jar and lid.

I still think it's just as cute as can be.

I'm not much of a knick-knack kind of girl, but this is one of those treasures that will be with me forever.

This post is linked to Show and Tell Friday hosted by Kelli at There is no place like home.

Happy Birthday, Grandma!

July 26th is my grandma's 94th birthday. Wow! I can't even imagine.

Grandma still lives at home, but she has someone with her at all times. I have no doubt that if she were in a nursing home she would no longer be living, not because of poor care, but because of the simple comfort of being in her own home. I am truly thankful that she is able to be there still, knowing that at some point it may no longer be possible.

My grandma is very frail, and honestly we're all surprised her heart has made it this long. She suffers from dementia, and most of the time she doesn't really know what's going on around her. She just sits and watches the world go by.

Grandma grew up during the depression, and the effects of those lean years could still be seen in her home when I was a child. One thing in particular that I remember is a jar of rubber bands that she kept in the kitchen. It was one of the large mason jars, and every day when the newspaper came with a rubber band around it, that rubber band went in the jar, because you'll never know when you might need a rubber band. She would also wash out her tin pie plates and plastic baggies to re-use them. I think all of this was the precursor to us becoming a greener society.

Grandma was an excellent cook. I've never had fried chicken like hers. She used to make me peanut butter cookies when I was in college, and boy, was it hard to ration those! When Hubby and I would go back and visit, Grandma was the one person who would cater to my quirks. She would always give me a couple of extra little bitty bowls for my runny stuff so nothing had to touch. Sometimes I'd even get an extra fork. Because I'm weird that way. She also taught me how to make the gravy for our traditional Christmas dinner, Chicken Pie. She and I used to spend all morning in the kitchen making it and the biscuits for the top. I have fond memories of those days.

I asked Hubby something he remembered about Grandma, and after he got over being silly for a minute, he said, "She always turned the light on when I didn't want it on." Because you know, you can't read without proper lighting. If we were sitting in a chair reading and didn't have the lamp on next to us, she'd come by and flip it on.

Grandma couldn't stand this picture, her engagement picture. She hated the dress. She told me it was blue. I'm sure I would have loved it! (And my scanner is not working, so I had to take pictures of pictures, so the flash did funny things to these.)

This is probably my favorite picture of my grandparents, which you may have seen when I've talked about my grandpa before. I just had to show it again since I love it so much! It was rare to catch her in a picture with an open smile.

Grandpa left for WWII when Grandma was expecting her first child, my mom. Here they are, with the back of the picture showing that my mom was ten and a half months old. I like this picture because it's rare to see older pictures where people aren't posed, and this seemed to be almost an 'oops' shot.

One of my grandpa's WWII army reunion group wives wrote a book about him. She had been gathering information from all of the veterans to compile a book about their time in Europe, and we had so much stuff on Grandpa that she wanted to put it into a book about him. This is Grandma with a copy of the completed book a couple of years ago.

My mom and my aunt make sacrifices to keep Grandma comfortable and in her home. I hope they know how much I appreciate what they do for her. It doesn't go unnoticed! Thank you, and I love you both.

And I love you, Grandma!

Treasures

When my parents came to visit, they brought a few little goodies for everyone. Mine was my favorite. Here, I'll show you, then tell you the story.

My grandfather loved watching birds out his windows. He used to have this concrete birdbath in his back yard that he had made. I think my mom and my aunt helped, because there were marbles pushed in the concrete all around the edges. I spent many a day splashing in that bird bath.

One time when I was a career professional, you know, before kids, I was on a trip to Washington, D.C., for a conference. I had a little free time, went shopping, and found a quaint little hanging resin bird feeder that was just perfect for my grandpa. Only thing was I had to have the four or five foot pole shipped back because there was no way it was going to fit in any suitcase I had with me. But I bought it and had the whole thing shipped straight to my grandpa. Call me crazy. I know you want to.

One year for my grandpa's birthday, Hubby and I found a painting by a local Missouri artist in a shop attached to the one where we loved to look at the antiques (and actually bought a couple eventually). It was of a cardinal, signed and numbered, and we got it for him. The next year we got another one to go with it, but it isn't signed and numbered.

Fast forward about 20 years, and they have been hanging in the bedroom that served as my grandpa's home office, where he worked on his stamp collection and such. That room stays closed up most of the time now, so my mom talked to my aunt about bringing them to me when they came. She agreed.

As far as I know they have never been taken down from the wall, but when they took them down to dust them off and bring them to me, look what was on the backs.


At some point before he died, my grandpa had taken them down and written my name on the back to make sure I got them. It brought tears to my eyes when my mom flipped them over to show me.

They are now hanging above the chair that is in "Kayren's Hangout" in a prominent place. I didn't have anything else to hang there, so it's like it was just waiting for the right thing. Little did I know...


Hubby is supposed to come sit in this chair when I'm doing my scrapbooking and crafting. Only problem is, we can't agree on what to watch on the tv.

This post is linked to Show and Tell Friday hosted by Kelli at There is no place like home.

A Tribute to a Special Man

Today would be my maternal grandfather's 96th birthday if he was still living. He passed away one day after his 91st birthday in 2004. He had been in the hospital a week and passed peacefully.

My husband and my grandfather were very close. They had sports in common, and they had U.S. Army service in common. My grandfather was drafted and served in World War II. Hubby had him pin on his Captains bars when he was promoted, and Grandpa would come to any event that was pre-planned when we lived in Missouri (it was within driving distance).

Hubby went to Kuwait in August of 2003, and he had come home for his R&R at the end of March, 2004. My right arm paralyzed completely and suddenly around the end of February (yes, I know the exact date!), and he was going through the process of trying to stay stateside for my medical situation. My mom had already spent four complete weeks with me and the kids to help.

Hubby's command in Kuwait released him, and his branch reassigned him in St. Louis (just on the other side of the Mississippi river from where we lived in Illinois), and he did not have to return. I tell you all this because of the comment my uncle made at my grandfather's funeral. It was kind of a light bulb moment for all of us.

"If Kayren's arm hadn't been paralyzed, you wouldn't have been here for Grandpa's funeral."

Now I don't think God struck me or anything, but I think he waited to heal me.

I was close to my grandpa, too. My mother and I lived with my grandparent's until I was almost three (my father divorced my mother immediately upon returning from Viet Nam). I also inherited his knack for accounting and being really particular about it, his enjoyment of stamp collecting, and his love of ice cream. I would travel with my grandparent's in the summer to visit my great-grandparents about three hours away in Monett, Missouri, and one night while we were there my grandpa and I would walk up to the Dairy Queen a few streets over and up, get a treat, and eat it as we walked back to the house.

My grandpa lived in the middle of the dust bowl in Kansas, through the Depression, and signed up for the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps). He ended up over in the Northwest part of the United States. Here he is at Ruffneck Peak, El. 9419, Ft. Stanley, Idaho, Aug. 22, 1936.

The man labeled all his pictures, with details. If it weren't for him, our family would not have the photos it does. Here are some more pictures from when he was with the CCC.


There are a few pictures of his friends with a fish along with this one, and it looks an awful lot like the same fish. I don't really know, but I'm suspicious. It's something like a 13 lb. salmon. I've already put the picture away so I can't read those details on the back again and didn't write them down the first time.

When his time was up he was to be sent back to Kansas where they originally picked him up on the train, but he had someone give him a fake letter that he had a job in San Francisco, because he wanted to go to California. He got there, but he wasn't able to get a job, and his youngest brother Claude worked it out so that he could come back to Kansas, work at the diner where he did, and go to school at Parsons Business College. Grandpa had just enough money for a share-the-ride program to get back, and Parsons Business College is where he met my Grandma.

My grandma always told me two things that other people told her: that she shouldn't marry Grandpa because he was too short, and that she shouldn't marry Grandpa because it would make him more likely to be drafted.

Well, he was drafted, but I don't know that it had anything to do with being married.

Grandma was expecting my mom when Grandpa left for Europe. Once she had my mom, he got a telegram, but all it said was that mom and baby were fine. It didn't tell him if he had a son or a daughter. It was a week or two before he was able to find out. When you watch 'Saving Private Ryan' you see how it was probably difficult for notice to get around.

When I was growing up Grandma always ironed Grandpa's underwear and white undershirts. I asked her once why she did it. She told me that she always said that if Grandpa came home from the war, that she would always iron his underwear and undershirts. Good thing she didn't use starch, I guess.

While Grandpa was over in Europe, he 'ran into' his brother-in-law, my Grandma's brother Bill. Here they are in Obermoos, Austria.

When Grandpa came back from the war, he went to work for the Corps of Engineers in Mountain Home, Arkansas, that was responsible for building both of the dams. He worked for them until he retired, and then he stayed busy being the Financial Secretary at church. He'd been doing it anyway in his non-work hours, but he couldn't just sit at home once he retired.

When my grandparents were getting ready to go on a European tour tracing the route Grandpa's unit took in WWII (along with the rest of his group), the church took up donations for a money tree. I still remember to this day the story he told in church that night when they presented the tree. He had recently been counting money and envelopes, and he was a meticulous man, but he was $50 short. He couldn't find it anywhere, and this was well before the days of the counting committees you see now. Well, he put in his own money to make up the difference, but he didn't tell anyone, not even Grandma. The money tree had well more than $50 on it.

Grandpa loved the Razorbacks. He got us season tickets to the football games in Fayetteville one year for Christmas when we lived close enough to go with him. Here are Hubby and Grandpa back in the late 80's/early 90's.

I remember whenever I traveled with my Grandpa anywhere that we always had to stop at the post office. If it was a new place we were traveling, we would 'look for the flag.' Obviously that works in small towns the best, but all post offices fly the U.S. flag, and everyone doesn't, so it's an easy marker.

Because if you're not a stamp collector you probably don't know that if you live somewhere different you might have different plate numbers that print on your stamps, or on your coils, or on your booklets. All kinds of stuff that can be different just because it's in a different place, and sometimes Grandpa would drive a few towns over just to check for different numbers. Sometimes they'd let him look without buying if they were the same.

So when they built a new post office in my home town, guess who got to be the very first person to make a purchase? Yep, Grandpa. 85 years old and wearing a Looney Tunes tie.

On the off chance this caption can't be read once I post, it says, "Everett Wheeler, an 85-year-old Mountain Home stamp collector who's been collecting for 53 years, was the first person to buy stamps at the new Mountain Home Post Office Monday morning."

Pretty cool, huh?

Well, because you are probably tired of me going on and on about my Grandpa, I guess I can wrap this up. I'm obviously a little partial to my Grandpa, but I truly think this generation was the greatest, just like Tom Brokaw's book says.

Oh, Caboose's middle name is Everett after my grandfather. This is a picture of my grandpa in December, 2001,

and here is Caboose at that same time climbing up in Grandpa's chair.

Apparently he was unknowingly preparing for the day when Chatty's children will be taking care of him so he doesn't have to go to the nursing home, not planning to marry and have his own children and all.