PHOTOGRAPHIC MEMORIES - EVENTUALLY - I HOPE - BUT NOT TODAY

2012 MAY SORTING OLD PHOTOGRAPHS

I could spend far more time than I have available doing this, let me tell you!

There are several good-sized boxes of photos waiting for my attention, and part of me is eager to get into them!  I want to see what’s there, to have a chance to ‘visit’ once again people who are now gone but whom I still love as dearly as always.

And I have to laugh at myself.  Because I know that I had better NOT give in to that temptation any time soon – there are projects I have to get done before I can reward myself. 

I must be STERN with myself!  I must be STRONGER than the temptation.  I must RESIST. 

Mm-hmmm. 

I’ll do the best I can. 

No guarantees.

One of these days I’ll set aside an entire day for scanning pictures, just to see how big a dent I can make in one day.  I already know it’s going to take a lot more than just that one day, so don’t get excited about immediate results! 

Today I found a SMALL box of old pictures, from my own archives.  That alone took me several hours to go through. 

Maybe it took so long because I was popping into and out of various abodes lining my Memory Lane, spending a little time in each. 

Fear

In 1673 did Maggie say to Bill, "Oh honey, I'm sooo afraid of water you know, and I'm not feeling too well right now, with the baby coming and all, and what if there are no good midwives in New Jersey?  And, you know, Nate and Tommy are only two and three years old, they'll miss me something fierce if I go with you on this trip!  And if they come with us, who will watch them?  I won't be able to run after them, you know, and they really are so VERY active!  I'm afraid for them, and for me, and for the baby, and what if something happens to you?  I really think that it's impossible for me to face all this!  How about I just stay here in Sunninghill where it's safe and I'm not so afraid?" 

No.  Well maybe, but she delivered her third son on March 12, 1673 in New Jersey.  If she was  afraid, she didn't let it stop her.

In, say about 1715 or so, did Beth say to Tom, "I'm scared to leave New Jersey, and really I think six sons are enough children for us, so why don't we just call it good enough, stay where we're at, and be done with it?"

I have my doubts on that one.  Somehow, I don't see Elizabeth Day Branson fearing much of anything, although the time and place  would no doubt have given ANY woman cause for concern.  The fact remains that she did NOT stop at six sons but had six more children, three of which were actually girls - Sarah, Mary, and Elizabeth.  There MUST have been times when she was afraid, but she managed anyway.

In 1735 or thereabout, did Becky Borden Branson say to Junior, or to herself, "WHAT was I THINKING?  I'm NOT cut out for this!  I want to go back to my father's home and let someone ELSE do everything for me!  I just can't DO this any more!" 

If she did, we'll never know.  She did what she had to do and that was that.

The time of Keziah Hough and Eli was just before, during, and after the American Revolution.  Do NOT try to tell me that she never felt fear.  One of the few ways we have of figuring out where Eli was at any given time is by looking at the birth dates of their children.  Those were troubling times in more ways than one.

Still, she made it through and lived to a ripe old age.

In the last part of the 1700's and first part of the 1800's, did Sarah Jones Branson fret John about relocating?  Was she afraid of the pioneering, the traveling from the Carolinas to Ohio to Illinois?  Did the prospect of the frontier frighten her?  Probably. 

She went.  She raised her eleven children during their westward trek; it could NOT have been EASY, and HAD to have been downright SCARY at times.  But she did it. 

The first half of the 1800's belong to AJ and Susannah Wilkinson Branson.  They were in Illinois and things were changing right and left around them.  They both died about ten years after the Civil War wrapped up; relatives must have been fighting on both sides but I doubt neutrality was an option.  The whole thing must have been intense and difficult, to put it mildly.  A nation torn apart; families shredded; loyalties divided. 

Susannah lived through it, frightened though she must have been. 

Emily Francis Cole Branson and Levi get the second half of the 1800's; they were in Illinois still although Emily had been born in Kentucky.  They had eight children born in the 1850's/60's, right during that Civil War Era when everything was so chaotic. 

Emily made it through in one piece. 

Mary Jane McCord Branson and Samuel Levi were my great-grandparents, and the last half of the 1800's was their time.  States were settling, people were moving west, and they were in western Kansas when they were raising their family and they had a potload of kids, including my grandfather.  I can be reasonably certain that there were times that Mary Jane was scared half to death, what with one thing and another. 

Mary Jane did not give up; she did not give in. 

My grandparents were born early in the 1900's and had a very young family during the years of the Great Depression.  Do you reckon maybe Helen Gibson Branson might maybe have been terrified a time or two? 

Helen Gibson Branson did not let fear paralyze her.  Her words to me:  Keep Your Chin UP.

My mother, Wauna Lee Blanton Branson (married Robert Samuel) not only kept her chin up, she took on her world and beat the ever livin' crap out of it.  Not literally, but there's no way this woman will be able to EVER come close to her accomplishments, which she achieved despite some quite very bad times. 

Me, if all I have to worry about is a fear of heights and getting my roof fixed and finished all by my lonesome in spite of being scared, I think maybe I can manage it.  If they could do it, so can I. 

One thing about having a family history, even only one branch of it, is that it helps put things into perspective.  I have bits and pieces of all those women in me, in my DNA, and knowing what I do of the times they lived through, all the things they would have had to cope with - and the fact that they DID cope - well, I'm sure as hell not going to be the first of my line to give up or give in to FEAR. 

So there.

MY MOTHER

She nourished me with her own blood from conception through birth.  She has nourished me with her spirit ever since.
She loved that scrawny squalling little 'blue baby' and kept me alive.  She prayed and an angel touched the hole in my heart that wasn't supposed to be there and it closed up.
She held me and rocked me and walked the floor with me.  She wept and prayed, wept again and prayed some more.
She shared her other daughters with me. 
She read to me the classic books of childhood, and taught me to read.  She understood my anguish over Polly Pepper's stove and rejoiced with me over happy endings. 
She gave me art, precious gift, so very very precious a gift. 
She loved me at my most un-lovable.  She loves me still. 
She made sure I was able to go to college.  She taught me to use my wings and prayed when I used them to fly away. 
She showed me how a woman can ride like a Comanche, tangle with barbed wire, and never even wince at the resulting wounds.  She allowed, encouraged, horseback riding and never EVER told me I couldn't. 
Her voice soared in song.  She gave me music, sweet beautiful gift. 
She drove, and drove, and drove - countless miles to ensure bonding with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. 
She stayed up more countless hours stitching special clothes. 
Her authority was superceded only by God, although I don't remember any disagreements between the two. 
She cried the day Jack Kennedy died. 
She knows and loves my soul, approves of my spirit, applauds my successes, hugs me through my failures, grieves for my losses, loves me through it all. 
She told me, tells me, that I'm too intelligent to ever be bored. 
She turned me loose outside and wondered audibly at bathtime how much was dirt and how much was tan. 
When I was old enough she gave me summer space, which perhaps saved her sanity as well as mine.
She rejoices in my family.
She taught me to make an awesome pecan pie and to not neglect the blackeyed peas and greens on New Year's Day.  She shares family traditions with me so I will be prepared to share them with the young'ns.
She showed me that no matter what the world throws at you, it's your own kindness that matters. 
She taught me to protect my own self.  Not that I learned it all that well, sigh.  I do, however, know how to take care of  myself, which is not exactly the same thing.
If I asked her a question she told me to go look it up.  THEN maybe we could talk about whatever it was. 
She wanted me to go to Law School, long before all the aptitude tests and interest inventories said so too.  Maybe one day I will. 
She has high standards which I don't always live up to but I do always give it my best shot and that's what counts most. 
She knows what tears my soul to shreds, what pierces the thick steel walls I surround myself with, and is gentle with me.
My mother has other daughters, this is true.  I have only one mother.  I am one of hers; she is my only.
I love you Mom, quite very much.  Thank you.

I Tell Ya ...

Communication is a fascinating phenomenon. 

I once tried three different times to tell someone something that was important to me.

Having had experience with this particular person, I ought to have known better. 

But this was IMPORTANT TO ME. 

It's the ME part of the equation that should have clued me in, but she had just gotten through telling me that if I ever needed anyone she was there for me. 

Indeed. 

So I called her on the phone.  I had something I wanted to talk to someone about and needed her to be there for me, as she had adamantly vowed she would be. 

Unfortunately, my call went out with bad timing.  She TOO had something on her mind that she wanted to talk about.  As the call progressed I realized that the only words I could get in (even edgewise) were brief words of sympathy and support for her. 

I gave up and tried again down the road a piece. 

Second verse same as the first. 

Third verse likewise. 

Eventually I wrote her a letter to which she not only did not respond at the time but in the lo! these many months has yet to refer to (even to acknowledge that she got it, and yes I know she did receive it) in any way, shape or form. 

For a moment I was wondering why this 'incident' came to my mind. 

Then I realized that once again I have something on my mind and was considering giving her a call. 

NOT GONNA HAPPEN.

Plan A: The Roof Over the Bay Window

It seems I got that area sealed off in the nick of time.  It's raining.

The last time it rained I was appalled to notice that a significant leak had developed and some of my art supplies stored on bakers racks in the bay window (where they fit PERFECTLY side by side!) were getting somewhat damp.  Sigh.

Shifting my focus from the back porch removal, I knew I HAD to get that leak stopped so shifted gears in my mind and got to it. 

I had a couple of days off from my job and spent the first one getting the scaffolding moved from the back porch to the bay window, then clambering up to see what the deal was. 

Right here is where I have to tell you that I had already known this particular part of the roof was going to be problematic.  Years ago I put a 'bandaid' patch up there (back when I had some actual very sturdy and big scaffolding and we were painting the house and working on the other half of the roof).  I'm just happy the bandaid held as long as it did, because until just recently when I bought myself some scaffolding of my own I wouldn't have been able to get up there to do anything about fixing anything.  So there's that. 

Right here I also have to tell you that roof work is not my most favorite of all projects.  Every single time I have to go up there it's daunting.  After the FIRST time climbing the scaffolding, I can remind myself that the fact that my legs are shaking and my arms trembling is moot; the shakes WILL subside within a minute or so once I'm up there, but that very first time going up is a challenge to my courage because if it's been a while I've forgotten that the terror will fade in the face of necessity.  At least I'm able to somehow force it into submission; otherwise I'd never get anything done on my roof at all.  Anyway, that first trip up to the roof is inevitably the worst and I have to make myelf take each rung in turn regardless of how badly I'm shaking.  I tell myself that all I have to do is hang on and move my arms and legs - and try really hard not to think about the fact that I'll also have to go back DOWN, because ... well ... because that would be just TOO much, you know? 

Once I've made it up and down a few times it's not quite so awful, but I'm not one to monkey around with it, either.  I go up carefully and I work carefully and I come back down carefully.

Because, of necessity, I'm alone.  When you're alone, there's nobody to catch you if you slip, so you'd better not be slipping. 

Back to the bay window roof.

The area I wanted to clear and seal is roughly two and a half feet by six feet.  The top surface of my scaffolding puts me at about waist high to the roof line, a fairly comfortable height, and I could reach the area I wanted to clear and seal. 

Pulling off two layers of soggy old rotten cedar shakes isn't really all that hard.  It's the nails that will do you in and drive you crazy.  Many of the oldest ones just lose their heads, or lost them long ago, so can't be pulled.  Those get driven back with a hammer.  The rest get pulled, and when I say there are an abundance of nails used to apply cedar shakes I'm not joking. 

As the shakes came off I realized that someone long before me had also had trouble with this area of the roof.  There were sideways shingles and some old asphalt sheeting, and a foot-wide strip of tin in between layers of shakes. 

Once I had the whole works peeled off, I realized that I'd have to replace a couple of the roof boards so I removed them and put into place one board I had on had that would fit.  I also put in a couple of rafter ends cut to fit properly onto rafters that needed reinforcement while I was at it.  Thankfully my step-dad had provided a bunch of them for the other part of the roof which had already been done and there were left-overs.  As it was too late by then to go to the lumber yard for more boards, I covered the open area for the night even though it wasn't supposed to rain.

Come morning I went and got more boards than I needed (because I know I'll need them soon anyway) and headed back to finish the project. 

Measuring the length of the space I needed a board for, I climbed down the scaffolding, collected a board, cut it to length, and then climbed back up and nailed it into place.  No I didn't just climb up the scaffolding carrying a six foot board, no way could I do that!  I hiked it up onto the lower platform which is six feet up, then climbed part way up, pulled it free, and levered it up onto the higher platform with one hand while hanging on with the other.  NOT enjoyable.  But I got it done. 

With the boards in place I still had to seal off that area of the roof.

Back down I went, armed with the measurements and a utility knife.  I had rolls of water/ice seal in the back yard where I'd dropped them when I got them home.  The boxes have cut out 'handles' but they broke when I tried to use them (and I had gotten the big rolls instead of the smaller ones because it's cheaper that way) so I finangled the roll I wanted until it was out of its box, realized it was much too heavy for me to try to pull with my hands, and finally just stretched out my arms, grabbed it on the ends and carried the blasted thing into my courtyard where I could unroll it to the length I wanted.  I cut a six foot length, then cut it down the center (or close enough!), rolled the pieces back up, hoisted them onto the lower deck, climbed part way up, and hoisted them up top, again hanging on with one hand while getting them moved with the other. 

Once up there, it was relatively easy to get them into place.  First the one along the bottom roof line, then the other one over-lapping it.  That stuff has an adhesive backing so I started peeling the protective paper before putting the stuff into place.  Then it was just a matter of pulling the paper the rest of the way off and sticking the stuff onto the roof boards that I had thoroughly wiped down in the process of confirming that all the nails were either pulled or embedded into the roof.  One nice thing about the new roof boards I had put on:  no nails! 

Anyway, I got the sealing stuff stuck down and tucked in around the edges, tacked some of it over the edges to seal them, and climbed on down.  

By that time I knew it was difinitely past the time when I ought to have been back on terra firma.  

You see, it's easy enough to tell when it's time to NOT be on a roof. 

When the wind threatens to blow you off.
When you feel dizzy.
When lifting the pry bar gets hard to do.
When lifting the hammer seems more than you can handle.
When your muscles start trembling with fatigue. 
When you get clumsy.
When it's too dark to see what you're doing anyway.
When it's raining.

In this case it was the trembling muscles and inability to effectively use the pry bar or hammer that told me I was already past my limit. 

When it's just a matter of the burning/stinging in my muscles, that's okay.  That just means they're getting a work out.  But when they begin trembling with the effort of continuing on, it becomes dangerous.  If I were working out in a gym, or running, or whatever, it wouldn't matter so much to push myself physically.  The worst that could happen THEN would be that I fell over with exhaustion.  Being up on a roof or scaffolding, it's not exactly the same concept.  Falling over in exhaustion would mean falling OFF.  Not an option. 

At any rate, at least that little part of the roof is done AND I've gotten those initial quivers out of my system, the worst of them anyway.  Using the scaffolding while working on the back porch DID help with that too, thank goodness.

And (knock on wood) so far not a hint of a drop has fallen into the bay window area!

Dr. Peter Saul of Australia Speaks on a Tough Topic: End of Life

I saw a video clip of Dr. Peter Saul talking about the choices we make, or fail to make, regarding our own end of life care.

He reminds us that with increasing longevity comes not more years of youth but more years of old age, and that frailty comes to us all.

Dr. Saul refers to two of the most imortant questions of our lives:  1)  If you can't speak for yourself, who do you want speaking for you? and, 2)  Have you talked to that person about what your wishes are should that time come?

My personal interpretation of his message is that all of us are responsible for making choices not only about our lives as we go along through them, but about the ends of our lives.  I'm not talking about suicide or euthenasia, but about the fact that each and all of us need to take just a little time (while we have it) to prepare ourselves and our loved ones for the ultimate inevitability of life - it ends sooner or later.  HOW it ends is up to us for the most part, barring violence or a natural disaster of some kind.

There are information packets available at any medical facility that explain the options and procedures involved, and access is as easy as stopping in and requesting the information.  The forms will make you think, and give you a format through which to make your wishes known in case you're ever in a position where you can't speak or write them in person.

More important than filling out forms is making sure those closest to you know in no uncertain terms exactly what it is that YOU want for YOURSELF when your time comes.  Tell them flat out and put it in writing so there's no chance for misunderstanding. 

The thing is that, except for the thinking about it and making your choices, the whole process need take only a few minutes.  Once you've gotten it straight in your mind, write it down and then tell those who need to know, giving them copies of your written words. 

If you leave it up to others to decide, without having given them any type of guidance, you aren't being fair.  So just do it and get it over with.  Then you and your family don't have to think about it again until the time comes sometime down the road - and when that time DOES come they will know what to do, which will relieve them of much stress in what will no doubt already be a stressful time.  It won't be THEIR call, but YOURS. 

For the record, my choice is simple.  No interference whatsoever, period end of discussion.  Nothing.  This goes beyond "No Code" and "DNR (Do Not Resuscitate)" for me.  It means render no aid and I mean that literally. 

I cannot afford and flatly REFUSE to accrue the bills associated with even one day of a hospital stay or an emergency room visit, let alone a nursing home or hospice care.  Finances aside, I figure my life is my own to do with as I please, to the very end.  I accept the responsiblity for my own choices - AND I accept the responsibility for seeing to my own health and well-being to the best of my ability.

I am most assuredly not averse to life!  I love mine and fully intend to live it to its utmost.  That means that I try to take the best possible care of myself that I can.  When I'm up on my roof, I'm not likely to fall off and break my neck because when I'm up there I'm CAREFUL.  I take precautions to protect myself.  I accept the fact that it's MY responsibility to prevent both accidents and illnesses.  If I fail, I die.  It's as simple as that.  It's nobody's responsibility but my own to keep me going.  

Keep in mind that where a person is on their 'life-line' makes a big difference in what their choices will be.  A young parent with a family to raise would probably NOT make the same choices that I've made, nor should they (in my opinion,they need every possible chance they can get to raise those families and live their lives fully).  I work in a nursing home and on more than one occasion I've had someone tell me that they wished the thousands of dollars being spent to keep them there every month could be going instead to a young family who needs it, or to put someone through college.  True.  More than one person has told me that.  I never want to be in a position where I would be saying the same sort of thing.  I love my job and I love my people more than I can say ... it's just ... thought-provoking at times.

My daughters are well aware of my choices and they know the words to say should they get a question from someone someday:  "Let her go."  Or, more likely, and I'm laughing aloud as I write this, they'll say:  "Let 'er RIP, Mom!!!" (so very PUNNY we are!)  along with:  "You GO girl!"  and:  "I love you, remember the rules!" or "On the road again!"  Because they know that, relatively speaking, it will after all be only a brief separation for us. 

Ha.  Little do they know; it will be no separation at all seeing as how once I have my wings ... I'll be there.

Plan A Still Toodling Right Along!



Dining room, attic hall, and bathroom floors have been stripped, sanded, and sealed; that's a nice step in the right direction, and they look one heck of a lot better than they probably have in the 100 years of their lives to date.  Having gotten that far, and being heartily sick and tired of re-finishing floors, I decided that the old kitchen and the new kitchen are getting linoleum. 

The new kitchen's walls are also primed (okay, I admit I still have a little detail work and one little corner to do, but for the most part they are done!) so now I can get on with figuring out exactly what I want to DO with them.

Shelving units are built and more planned.  Some are for artwork display; some are for books.

I've begun collecting more materials for the roofing and for ramping.  The roofing will be time-consuming, what with having to remove two layers of cedar shakes (all those NAILS!!), but I'll dodder along as best I can.  As soon as I have the scaffolding (next on my purchase list) and the weather is nice enough, I can get on with it!  I have plenty of everything I need to get a good beginning.

One thing I discovered today is that my little pickup is a great little work pony!  I hauled almost half a ton of materials and that little old truck performed like a trooper, which is a huge relief.  This time it was mainly concrete blocks and rolls of roofing stuff; next it will be more rolls and lots of shingles, which aren't exactly feather-weight.

Moving right along ... in order to do the dining room floor I had to of course empty the room.  Once the floor was double sealed I decided I really like the space in there when it isn't all filled up with a big dining room table, the accompanying chairs, couch, easy chair, and whatever the heck else I had taking up all the room.  Since it's just me and Duke here, I made an arbitrary decision to dispense with most of all that stuff.  I'll have my small antique table, a couple of chairs, the counter for electronics, and my recliner and that's it.  Out with the rest!

For a few days the couch sat in the middle of my studio work room, taking up all THAT space.  Then I heaved a heavy sigh and went ahead and dismantled the day bed in the morning room to make room for the couch in there for the time being.  The day bed, dismantled, I just added to the rapidly filling front porch.  Some of the clutter out there consists of dump-bound junk; some of it I want to keep (if I can ever get to it); a large portion will sit there until the people who want it are ready to have it (which will hopefully be in this decade).  Once that re-distribution happens this old house will have a look that I will sincerely appreciate.

One of my 'between-work' projects in the next couple of days is going to be constructing the framing to use in building Duke's stone doghouse.  It's a practice run for the bigger projects I have in mind.  I'll also have to go rock-hunting, which will probably be the most fun of the whole project.  Other than that, I just have to get some concrete mix and a five gallon pail.  Well yeah, then I have to DO the project! 

Oh, an explanation of the term 'between-work':  I'm a CNA at a local medical facility and work the 3-11 shift.  When I have a bunch of work days in a row, my daily schedule is getting up and moving around nine or ten, eating, bathing, spending a little time on line or fiddling with either planning or working on something or other; then, because I'm OLD (and because my job is physically and emotionally demanding), I'll usually try to get some rest from noon until two when it's time for me to get ready for work, leave for work at two-thirty so as to get there on time, work from three to eleven, get home shortly before midnight, wind down until one or two in the morning, and do it all over again.  So the 'between-work' time consists of maybe an hour in the late morning. 

Anyway ...

The gal I 'sold' my other house to told me that she's going to pay me a little more on it, so I'm hoping to be able to go shopping again on my next weekend off, for those roofing materials and hopefully the linoleum for the kitchens. 

In between now and then I'll have one day 'off' from work and according to the extended forecast it's supposed to rain that day so I reckon maybe I can use that day to do something creative for a change.