A Cat's View of Thanksgiving

Our family had a terrific Thanksgiving, full of good food, love of family, and lots of laughs. But I am going to let the really good story teller of the family handle that description. I refer you to the link, Smithbites, the food blog hosted by our daughter-in-law, Debra. Debra and our son, Rod, were the very able hosts for our Thanksgiving celebration, as you can tell from their blog.

The various families present at our Thanksgiving are owners of quite a good number of cats. Debra and Rod, alone, have five cats living at their house. Considering Thanksgiving from a cat's point of view, I don't think they are are very thankful.
In the first place, I doubt there were cats present at that first Thanksgiving held by our Pilgrim fathers. History says that there might have been one cat on those boats bringing those pilgrims across the ocean. But, as hard as that first year in America treated those pilgrims, I wonder if that first cat survived. It wasn't until the 1700's that tamed cats are mentioned again in the Americas.

I know for a fact that Debra and Rod's five cats were not too enthralled with the crowd that invaded their household. Windy took up roost in a basket, trying to look as pretty as possible while still avoiding the possibility of being stepped on. Sparky stayed out of the way in a Scrabble game box lid. Rags just hid in the basement as usual. During dinner itself, they were all locked away in their basement cat room, much to their distress. I'm sure the smell of roasted turkey was wafting down the stairs.
and old, dry food was their only Thanksgiving treat.

Accompanying this blog entry you will see our cat, Frank, waiting patiently for his share of the feast. Alas, it wasn't going to happen. Immediately after this picture taking, he was confined in "Kitty Prison" in one of our bedrooms, where he spent most of the day. This was on Friday, when our children and their families gather at our house for "Leftovers Friday." The name of the celebration pretty much explains itself. Except that granddaughters, Lydia and Avery, did finish decorating our Christmas tree, as has been the custom for a few years now.

Frank never discovered the charm of the day. When he was finally released from prison, he spent a good amount of time smelling all the shoes in the room. Since all our children are cat owners, it must have given him many thoughts to ponder.
The thoughts made him so excited that he must have forgotten that he is an OLD cat, because he attempted to climb the Christmas tree. Either it was his excitement or the fact that Lydia was attempting to take his picture at the bottom of the tree.

Why, he even hissed at Lydia! Now this is a cat of limited vocabulary. He is a very old quiet cat, living in a household with old, sort of quiet people. He has a quiet purr which he employs while being cuddled in an old person's lap. He has a funny noise he makes when he carries a stuffed animal in his mouth. It must be some kind of ancient hunter's call.....I don't know. Then he has some cuss words that he utters when he is released from some place like a closet wherein he has accidently been locked! Ohhh, he can be one grouchy cat.

Anyway, while all the humans in the family had a perfectly wonderful holiday. the cats are delighted that things are returning to normal. Normal being that they pretty much get whatever THEY want.

I forgot to mention that the Cincinnati family have a cat who has taught himself how to unlatch the window and let himself outdoors. Daughter-in-law Elaine has a video of said cat caught in the act. Randy kept wondering why Elaine would get up in the mornings while he was showering and open the window, then go back to snuggling in her warm bed. (Insert picture in your mind of one wet, towel-clad husband shivering in the breezes while wife sleeps warmly in bed.) Randy was very irritated with Elaine until they discovered that the cat was opening the window.
Anyway, the cat was left in Cincinnati under the care of a cat sitter who came in daily to check. I hope that he wasn't able to figure out the lock that they put on the window. If he did, he may have had an especially interesting Thanksgiving.

Now, one cat in the family may have had a feast worthy of mention. Cheryl and Jon have the queen of all mousers, Ditto. Ditto goes outside in the mornings, runs to the field across the road, and HUNTS! Every day they find multiple dead mice lined up on their driveway. Now there is a cat who knows how to provide a perfect cat Thanksgiving feast.

Okay, Now I'm Really Angry

Did you notice that I have changed the title of my blog from the "New ABCs" to "Mining the Golden Years" ? Well, I have been through the alphabet three times, and maybe that is enough. And, as you will see, from this entry, my anger today made me think that perhaps I should and could address some issues important to a senior citizen, and to all citizens. Either that, or learn to laugh at our Senior foibles.

Today's blog was spurred on by my reading an editorial in today's Herald/Bulletin.
It was another attack on our Anderson schools. It was written by a John Hughes of Chesterfield, and is titled, "Bring in the State for the Betterment of Students."
Now, Mr. Hughes does make some valid points. But near the end of his letter he states, "I read recently somewhere that teachers are considered the bottom of the barrel for college grads."
I refer you, dear reader, to www.theheraldbulletin.com, Friday, November 19, the editorial page.

I was so angry. It took me barely two minutes to get the computer fired up, and to start writing my own letter to the editor in defense of teachers. It took me even less time to mail the letter. I don't know that it will be published, or if it will do any good. But it made me feel better.

The picture accompanying this entry, are some of the very good teachers that I had the privilege of teaching with through the years. We were all together today, as we continue to work with books, kids, and people. We are all volunteering our time with the "Friends of Anderson Public Library." Now that's the kind of people that teachers are.

The following is a copy of my letter:

Okay, now I'm really angry. I just read the latest editorial attacking teachers and their ability to teach - calling them the "Bottom of the barrel!" I know many teachers. I taught for nearly thirty years. I am married to a retired educator. The "bottom of the Barrel" we are not.

I remember the hours I spent at my job. I remember the work I took home and finished every evening. I remember days when a fifteen minute break was impossible, and I ate my lunch in twenty minutes. I remember applying band-aids, comforting hurt feelings, calming fears, confronting anger, trying to instill some manners and values where none had been taught at home. I remember my fellow teachers, some not so good, but most of them tireless workers who had the best interest of students at heart.

The writer's words are like daggers in my heart. I never took a class on a field trip, when, at the end of the day, the exhausted parent chaperones did not say to me, "Thanks for all you do. I really don't know how you do it." But then, those were parents who cared, who took the time to teach their children manners and values. They took the time to be involved in their children's lives, to spend time at school involved in education.

I lived through all the so-called "educational movements, reforms, and improvements".
I witnessed the teachers' union go from gaining much needed change to unreasonable demands, just like the industrial unions that have caused industries to flee to foreign countries. I watched many changes in superintendents - some who fought everything teachers requested, some who were union sympathetic, some who built big "super-sized" school buildings intended to save on utilities and administrators' salaries. And all research shows that small, neighborhood schools with small classes are the best learning environment for kids. They are also much more accessible for parents and families.

I lived through the time when the School Board changed from being a mayor-appointed board to an elected board. Now, it is true that there have been many highly qualified board members elected to our school board. But it is also true that there have been some who were not qualified, and came with very selfish agendas.

And then there are the lawmakers who are now trying to legislate us out of the mess we are in. Let us consider merit pay for teachers, and the fact that the merit is to be measured by standardized testing. We are living in a society that has now abandoned its children. Teen, unmarried mothers think it is "cute" to have a baby. Few parents feel it is necessary to marry or establish a family and home where children can be taught to respect teachers, elders, or authority. Am I wrong to feel that teachers need bonus pay to teach in schools with the lowest scores? Call it "combat pay", if you must. Be realistic! A teacher must deal with the raw material that he/she receives.

And now we have closed schools, pushed students into huge schools that are grossly over-crowded, where there are inadequate means for discipline, where police are necessary in the hallways and lunchrooms. It is no wonder that all those caring parents,who are most concerned with their child's education, are fleeing our school system in favor of some alternative.

True, this is a turbulent transitional year. And all the transition years are difficult. Things will settle down. AND there are some wonderful things happening in education right here in Anderson, right in the midst of all the turmoil. Mr. Finger wrote an editorial in defense of the arts in schools. Everyone should have the chance to witness Mrs. Finger as a teacher of music. Let us talk about an outstanding and dedicated educator. Mrs. Finger TEACHES, she demands respect and gets it, she changes lives, she causes many of her students to set out on a path to becoming outstanding citizens. She is just one of many.

While we are at it, let's talk about merit pay for parents. Let's determine their salary by the hours they spend with their children, by the way their children show up at school ready to respect the teachers and be educated. This job is the responsibility of our entire society, not just the schools! And I have never heard on outstanding citizen say, "I owe it all to a teacher who taught for the standardized test." It was alwalys that teacher who was allowed the time and luxury to foster a love for learning, an excitement for some subject matter, and gave the student opportunities to pursue those subjects for which he felt a passion.

Z3 - Zounds! That Was a Lot of Work. I'm Zonked

Yesterday was the once-a-year fund raiser held by Christian Women's Club that raises money to provide Christmas gifts for the Mission Couples that Stonecroft Ministries supports. For the last couple of years we have joined forces with the Noon Exchange Service Club that meets the same time we do in another banquet room.

For years they have held a decorated wreath and tree auction to raise funds for needy families. So, on this one Tuesday a year, we meet together, eat together, make the decorative trees and wreaths to donate together, and bid on the auction items together! Truthfully, they do much more of the work and much more bidding than do our "older" ladies, but they do keep a larger percentage of the resulting funds.

Here is how it works. In August or September at our meeting, we signed up to decorate either a wreath or a small, table-top tree. Exchange Club purchases the artificial wreaths and trees at a discounted price. At the October meeting we pick up our tree or wreath. Then each person spends his or her own money to light and decorate. Then we bring them back on auction day, and all together they make a splendid display. Then we spend even more money buying back a decorated wreath or tree. Actually, last year I bought BACK the tree that I had already spent tons of money on to decorate! Can you imagine? But, I had grown fond of it, and couldn't bear to part with it.

This year I chose to do a wreath. I made poinsettias out of satin ribbon, along with other decorations, and a large red satin bow. It was very traditional, but pretty, and it sold at a pretty decent price. (I didn't bid on my own this year.)
The items sold well, I think. The highest price was about $90.00, with the average being about $40 - $45, I think. Some of the items were really beautiful and unusual.
There was a leopard print small trunk used as a container for a tree decorated in exotic feathers and animal print decorations. I think it brought the highest price.

I bought a very pretty wreath done in greenish-gold and shiny grapes, sprays, and
two green poinsettias - really pretty. But it was bid up and up and up. I payed way too much!

The thought occurred to me that we could all just donate about a third of the money we spent and probably make more money for missions. BUT - we wouldn't have reason to meet, eat, and have so much fun. And we wouldn't have seen the beautiful room full of Christmas that put us in the mood for the holidays to come. AND - folks always grumble about donations - don't they? And, many of us had the fun of creating something new and unique.

Oh, by the way. In the picture you see a tiny little tree that I already had at home. I decorated it in Scotty dogs, and tartan plaid ribbon, in honor of the Highland Scots High School that closed this year. It sold for $20! - probably for someone's child or grandchild who went to HHS.

Y3 - Yet Another of Mother's Stories

Yesterday I entered one of Mother's stories in my blog. Today I will record the second one. I truly believe that this is the one that she entered into Arthur Godfrey's contest. Sadly, her story won no prize.



IT'S AUTOMATIC



Not many people in Middletown know the story back of Mary Brent. You see, Mary's husband is the owner of the town's leading newspaper. Well, to be perfectly frank, it is the only newspaper. Middletown has a population of only 2000 people, so it wouldn't support a daily paper, let alone two newspapers. So you see, it is more or less a family affair. The paper was handed down to Tom from his father. Tom would rather part with his right arm than the "Weekly Clarion," as the paper is called.


Well, I almost feel like one of the family. I've lived next door to the Brents all my life, and Mary and Tom seem like my own children. I watched Tom court Mary and bring her home to live next door. After Tom's folks had gone beyond, the old home place was just as if it had always belonged to Tom and Mary. I've been Aunt Hettie to all their children, four boys and one girl. Most all of them are grown now.

But, I'm getting ahead of my story. As I said before, I've been Aunt Hettie to all of them. I've baby sat with'em - nursed 'em when they were sick - spanked 'em and loved 'em. Mary helps Tom on the paper, as did all the boys. But, Mary's biggest
help to Tom and the paper is her weekly story. Why, I'd sooner miss a meal than one of her stories. And, mind you, this has been goin' on for years.

I might never have known how Mary writes her stories, if it hadn't been for what happened a few weeks ago. But, let me start from the beginning. It all began when Mary entered one of her stories in a contest, and, lo and behold, Mary came off with first place. Now, the funny part of it was, the first prize was an automatic washer and drier. Well, the whole town of Middletown was right proud of Mary, and happy as could be for her.

Mary had always done her own laundry work, and, believe me, the shirts those four boys and Tom wore added up to around twenty-five or thirty shirts a week. I know, 'cause I used to count 'em when they were flying on the line like so many white flags of surrender. There were many colored ones, too. I used to love the way Mary would hang the colors so they would look pretty together, and match 'em with colored plastic clothes pins.

Mary and I do a lot of visitin' over the back fence. I used to laugh at her matchin'
the clothes pins to the shirts, but Mary's a funny little thing. Things like that help her to forget that she is doing all that hard work.

But, all that changed after she had the washer and dryer. It certainly saved her totin' all those clothes back and forth, and I knew it would save her so much hard work, and give her more time for the newspaper.

But, a funny thing happened. Mary's stories started changing. They were shorter and shorter. And, finally, they began repeating stories that Mary had written years ago. They couldn't fool me, 'cause I hadn't missed a one. Then, one morning I turned to the story section, and there, as big as life, in place of Mary's story, was a new column headed, "My Favorite Recipe."

Let me tell you that this made me and lots of other folks pretty sick. We all had more recipes than we could ever use. Well, this kept on for a month or more. Amd everyone in town was pretty upset about the change in the newspaper!

Then, one morning I looked out the window and there they were, sixteen white shirts flapping on the line, not to mention the snowy white sheets and pillow cases. Well, honest to goodness, it was a sight for sore eyes. They sure looked tood to me. I hurried and put on a fresh apron and ran a comb through my hair. Something must have happened to Mary's new washer and dryer, else why was she hanging her wash outside?

I called through the screen door and Mary answered from the basement.
"Come on down, Aunt Hettie."
"Is your washer broken, Mary?" I asked.
Mary acted sorta sheepish - that's the only way I can express it.
"No, Aunt Hettie," she said. "Now that you've caught me, I guess I can confess my secret to you. Maybe you'll have a hard time believing this, but, so help me, it's the honest to goodness truth. You see, this old washer talks back to me, and it's here I get all my ideas for my stories. As this old washer gyrates back and forth, it says things to me. Listen, Aunt Hettie, hear it now? It's saying,'a new fur coat, a new fur coat, a new fur coat.' Now watch while a put a new load in, all socks this time. Do you hear what it's saying? It's saying, 'Jim mustn't know, Jim mustn't know.'
"Well," I said, "I guess I can hear it now that you mention it. But, land sakes, how can you make a story out of that?"
"Well you see, Aunt Hettie, I put down all those things in my note book, then they start my mind working and I have no trouble writing my stories. But, with my automatic washer, I never get a single idea, and I simply run dry. I just had to come down and use my old washer."

Well, I helped her empty the water and hang up the socks and went on home. I could hardly wait for the next paper. I went out early to bring it is so I could read it while I had my breakfast coffee. I turned right to the story section. And there it was. Mary had called her new story, "The Secret." It was a dandy story. The secret, of course, was a fur coat that the wife's hushand didn't know she had bought. I even forgot to drink my coffee until I had finished reading the story.

Mary's stories have an even greater attractgion for me now. Of course, she uses her sutomatic, but every time I see Mary's washing flappin' on the line, I know that she has gone to her old washer for inspiration. Then, I try to pick out which phrase in the story the old washer had suggested. It may not be an automatic washer, but it sure is an sutomatic story teller.


by Gladys Lininger Green





Not until I read this story yesterday, did I realize that my mother probably did arrange her washing on the lines so that the colors made an artistic arrangement, and the clothes pins matched. That would be pleasing to her artist's eye, and make all that hard work bearable.

XXX - Kisses to My Mother

Yesterday I wrote about my parents, and about their lives and marriage. Then, today, as I was cleaning out some drawers, I ran across copies of two stories that my mother had written. I mentioned her love of writing yesterday. What a coincidence that I would find her stories today. I believe that these were written about 1946 or 1947. I believe that she submitted at least one of these stories to a contest held by Arthur Godfrey's radio show. My mother listened to this show every day in the mornings as she did her work. So the following is her story - just as she wrote it.


THE HOME SHOW

I was standing at my ironing board, not doing my weekly ironing, but an array of unironed shorts belonging to my daughter. They were of assorted colors and styles. I was rather enjoying the outlay of color and thinking disconnected thoughts, with the radio going in the background. All of a sudden, the announcer's voice caught my attention. "Be sure and attend the Home Show beginning this week in your capitol city. On and on his voice went , telling of all the wonderful new home appliances and inventions. He even told of a model home, completely furnished, to be seen Sunday at the show in Indianapolis.

Thes set me to reminiscing. How many home shows had I seen? How had they affected me? If I were to go this year, what would I look for? - What would I see?

I remember the first one. I was quite a young thing then. This was the first time that I was aware that a home show existed. I had been going with a young furniture salesman, who proved that he could sell more than furniture, because later I married him. His company had given him two tickets and had asked him to attend. Since we lived in a progressive town of about 40,000 people and were about forty miles from Indianapolis, it was quite a trip at that time.

We had a delicious dinner at a rather swanky place. I was dressed in my very best. I can remember now how important my clothes were to me at this stage of my life. Perhaps it was good to have had so much that I wanted then. I think it made it easier to do with less later on.

But, the home show - we were so confident then, that all those new things would be a certainty in the home of our future. I can see that model home now, with the rows of red geraniums in the kitchen windows. I still think I would like that. But, you know, twenty-five years later, the most I have had at one time in my kitchen windows, were two geraniums, and they were pink, not red.

The first home show was one of the memories that has a way of lingering. It is strange how little things remain in one's memory.

The next home show found us married. In fact, very much married. We were interested especially in the booth devoted to helpful necessities for the nursery. I can remember how terrible I felt. I was in the early stages of pregnancy, and felt as if I would have to make a dash for the rest room at any moment. But, in spite of this, the whole thing was fun. We didn't have our own home, so we were vulnerable to everything. But, nothing looks especially good when waves of nausea are sweeping over one.

The next home show was several years later. My husband had changed positions in the meantime, and the country had gone through a war and a depression. We had gone through several small wars ourselves. This home show found us in our own rented home with four small children. But we still had our dreams of our own home that would have all the new ideas and improvements.

Up to this time our furniture was just "gathered together". We added pieces as the requirements arose without much stress on beauty and design. It was usually bought to fit the pocket book rather than the house, and after much juggling of the family budget.

By the next home show, my husband had gone back into the furniture business. This was the time we made our one and only purchase at a home show. It was a little packaged "start" of a giant redwood tree, with instructions for planting. In fact, it was to be started in water, in a bowl. This "knot" of a redwood tree happened to be the shape of a tiny, standing bear. It sprouted and grew beautifully and adorned our dining room table for months. To this day, the children call the bowl our "bear dish," although the tree is only a memory now.

We went to the home show a few times after that. I must confess, the model house didn't impress me much. The whole show had taken on more of the atmosphere of a fair. Our lovely dinners were my nicest memories of the trips. We always had fun.
No, I think I will change that. We always "have" fun.

But, the realization came to me this morning, that perhaps I would see so much more, if I were to go this year. To be sure, we have a nice rented home now- still furnished with pieces we have gathered together through the years. But, they do have a certain charm to us. We probably never will have that home we were so "cocky" sure we would own on that first trip. Our home has not been built with material things. But, ours has been built with more lasting things - a happy home with five children.

All of a sudden I want to go to that home show this year. I will dress up in my very best. We will eat at some perfectly dreamy place, and, who knows, perhaps we will find another tree for the "bear dish."

by
Gladys Lininger Green

W3 - With Love for My Parents

My mother, Gladys Muriel Lininger Green was born in 1900 at the turn of a new century. She was to become a very Twentieth Century kind of woman, later becoming a charter member of a ladies'club, appropriately named "The Twentieth Century Club." This club was always to be an important part of her life.

Mother had just one brother, my Uncle Clyde, and they grew up in a very working class way, our grandfather being a mechanic. When the automobile was invented, the Lininger family had one of the first cars in Anderson, and our grandfather opened one of the first car repair businesses. After mother graduated from high school she worked keeping books at the "garage" for her dad.

Mother was always very artistic. She loved to paint and to write. She kept a diary and wrote short stories. She mostly painted lovely flower pictures. From her diaries, it seemed her days were filled with activities along side her mother. After her school days were over, they cooked, they walked to town and shopped, they had lunch or bought chocolates at the chocolate shop. Our mother LOVED her sweets, and passed this love on to all her children. Mother helped with chores at home, and she loved to read. I think she would have loved going on to college, taking art courses, and writing courses. Sadly, there was only enough money to send her brother, Clyde, off to college. And, of course, in those days, college wasn't deemed important for a daughter. They were just supposed to get married.

Mother put off the marriage part until she was 25 years old. I think she must have really loved her life of painting, writing, trips to town with mother, reading, and going to parties and church with her friends. She even owned her own gift shop for several years. And she ALWAYS loved a gift shop. Even in late life when she could barely walk, her step got a lot livlier if she was near a gift shop!

While attending her young adults class at church, Mother met a gentleman who had just moved to Anderson. His name was Mark Edward Green, and he had moved to Anderson, working at a furniture store, and supporting his widowed mother and younger sister. Of course, you guessed it, they fell in love. But to tell the truth, I think mother strung him along for quite awhile. I think she was reluctant to give up her idyllic single life. But love, and Daddy's perserverance won out.
They were married at the OLD ages of: Mother was 25, and Daddy was 30.

Silly people. They went on to have four boys, and then one girl in the next eleven years - and did all this during the Great Depression! They even had to live together with my grandparents for sometime during those depression years. As I think back on my childhood, I was a pretty happy child, but I know that our parents really struggled. We never owned a home - always rented. There were a few years during World War II, that we had no car. My dad always rode the bus to work during those years. In fact, riding the city bus was always a big part of our lives, because our mother never drove a car. So, when Daddy was at work, we either walked or rode the bus. I can still tell you the times and routes of the buses! And, if you walked to town,I can tell you where you could buy an ice cream cone on the way home.

Since I was the fifth child, and the only girl, Mother and I became great pals, just as she and her mother had been. I know that my parents were very tired with the struggle of caring for a big family with little funds. Our mother cooked three big meals a day, when she would really have preferred fixing fancy party desserts. She washed laundry for five males (my Dad wore a white dress shirt every day of his life) in a manual washing machine. The laundry had to be hung outdoors in warm weather, and indoors in the winter. And ALL those dress shirts had to be ironed. A loaded laundry basket was a constant presence in our house.

Mother always kept up her membership in the before mentioned Twentieth Century Club, and all those women had finer homes and more money than we did. Mother and Daddy belonged to a bridge playing club that met one Saturday night each month. And all those couples had fine homes and more money. I remember well the epic house cleaning our house underwent when it was their turn to host the bridge club. Mother also belonged to church circle and a home economics club called "The Golden Rule Club." Those Golden Rule ladies were really life long friends. I remember mother taking part in Mothers' Club at school. I think she was always treasurer. I remember feeling so proud when she visited school, because I thought she was prettier than the other mothers.

Our dad was not at home much. I first remember his being a furniture salesman with the Sears Roebuck Company. Needless to say, all our furniture came from Sears. Then, during the war, he was able to get a job with General Motors at the Guide Lamp Division, where he worked until retirement. He also always directed choirs, at church, a community choir, and for the American Legion mens' chorus. He was also on the city council for some time. So his evenings were often spent a way from home. I think that his children were somewhat a trial for him. He was older when we all were born, and he was always burdened with earning a living for such a big brood. He was a good man, a good Christian, but I think he really battled depression. He was so often serious, and did not seem to enjoy his life at home very much. Later in life, he made the comment that he only learned how a father should enjoy his children by watching his son-in-law, Don.

Even though Mother was very tired from all the demands of her household, I think she enjoyed her children. The boys always made her laugh. However, she would have probably made a very happy single woman artist, had she chosen that life. I know that she grieved for our father when he died in his sixties, but I think she managed to enjoy the twenty years or so of widowhood, experiencing the first freedom to do as she pleased in all her life.

But both parents loved us, for sure. And they passed down to their children, and then to grandchildren many of their passions: art from Mother, music from Daddy, a love of writing from both, a taste for sweets, an enjoyment of family celebrations, and the importance of family and education.

V3 - Very Good Grandparents, Indeed

Don really only knew one set of Grandparents in his life - his maternal grandparents.
But he knew them very well. His maternal grandparents were Walter and Grace Brizendine. I was only privileged to meet Walter one time right after we started dating. He died soon after, that summer after our senior year in high school. But Don has good stories and memories of his "Papaw." In fact, the whole family remembers him as a wonderful man. Don's mother, Madge, ALWAYS says, "Now, I loved my mother, but she was always strict. But I really loved my daddy!"

From all the family stories, I believe that he was just a quiet, steady man, a really honest person that was always to be trusted. He was a red head without the red head's temper. By the time I met him, he had had one leg amputated because of his diabetes, so he was confined to a wheel chair.

Don grew up in his grandparents' home, because his mom and dad were divorced when he was a baby, and his mother had to work. So, even though he was an only child, he actually grew up with his Uncles Jack, Bobby, and Max. And I have heard plenty of stories about their shenanigans. They were the younger three of Grace and Walter's children, having been born several years later than the older three. The older children were Loren, Madge, and Madonna. Walter and Grace raised and sold chickens.
Then they bought a property in the "Acre" , a neighborhood in South part of Anderson.
Their house was large, and after the children were grown, they divided into three apartments. In fact, several of the children started married life in one or another of the apartments. The large house was surrounded by several tiny houses, barely three roomed affairs. These they rented out also, mostly to folks coming to Anderson from the South to get work at General Motors plants.

And, I take it, that "Mamaw" ruled the roost ---- in a nice way. She cooked lots of chicken, lots of rice, lots of tomato soup, fried bread, and apple pie for all that showed up at meal times, be they family or friend. She shared her phone, her newspapers, her listening ear, her compassion, and her advice with her renters, her family, and her friends alike. I remember that she bought us a mattress and box springs when we got married, and with an ornery chuckle, said that is what newlyweds really needed. And she was always sending me a home made apple pie. I guess that for some time, she and Walter managed the old Colonial Theatre at 29th and Columbus Ave. And all the children had to work there doing whatever had to be done - mostly cleaning up.

And, even though Don tells hair-raising stories of their boyish exploits: hitching rides on moving trains, hanging on to the back bumpers of buses and sliding on the icy streets - all the Brizendine children grew up to be some of the most hard-working, successful citizens any parents could want. All of them, and that includes granson Don, have been abolutely honest and reliable. I think they are a real credit to the kind of people and parents that Walter and Grace tried to be.

U3 - Uncovering My Heritage

Having extended family together these last few weeks has given me cause to reflect on our ancestors, and what strange and/or wonderful traits we may have inherited.

So let me go back and consider the first generation that we knew first hand, our grandparents.

On my side of the family, my maternal grandparents were Harry and Madella (Della) Lininger. Grandpa Lininger died when I was 7 or 8, so I never really got to know him well. But Grandma L. was one of my very favorite people when I was growing up.
She was a tiny, pretty lady, standing about 4'10" tall. I only knew her with snow white hair, but her early pictures showed a very pretty young lady with brown hair.

Grandma was always busy and walked wherever she went, probably because she never learned to drive, and didn't have a car after Grandpa died. She would even walk the
12 or 13 blocks to downtown to shop and pay her bills, then walk back home again. That was when she was in her late seventies. Even when she was sitting or watching TV, her hands were always busy with crocheting. She was always crocheting. She made each of her children and grandchildren an afghan for a wedding gift. I still have the one she made for us.

She was a feisty lady. She always said she would "box your ears" if you misbehaved.
Actually, that was a threat she made jokingly to my brothers when they teased her. I don't think she ever threatened me with a "boxing." After Grandpa died, the grandkids would often spend the night with Grandma to keep her company. I loved to stay with Grandma. She let me wear her silky nightgowns. As I was falling asleep, she would ask what I wanted for breakfast in the morning, naming all the options. I didn't have to choose, and I knew it, because she always fixed everything she mentioned anyway.

What I remember about Grandpa Lininger was that he was always smoking a cigar, and the living room would be blue with a smoky haze. I know Grandma hated it because the next year after Grandpa died, she re-wallpapered the house, and bought new living room furniture. Grandpa never said much, except when we ate Sunday dinner there after church, my dad and Grandpa discussed politics. They were both staunch conservative Republicans, and they really disliked FDR. Grandpa had a fishing cottage on the river, and he called his outhouse the Roosevelt. Once, when we were getting ready to go home, he slipped a silver dollar into my hand! The most exciting gift I ever received as a child, because Grandpa NEVER paid us much attention. He did have some quirky habits. If he got tired and company hadn't left, he would just get up, go bathe, and go to bed. AND, he would put on his clean white shirt, tie, with pencils in the shirt pocket, and wear them to bed. I guess he was already to get up and start the next day.

My paternal grandparents were George and Lydia Green. George died before I was born.
In fact he died long before my folks were married. He was a lot older than Grandma Lydia. She was his second wife, his being a widower with two daughters when she married him. Grandpa Green was a Methodist minister, who spent most of his career traveling and establishing new Methodist churches. That is how he met Lydia. She was a young woman teaching school near Muncie, Indiana, when Grandpa came to town to help establish the church. They met, he wooed her, and they were married. They went on to have three children of their own. So Grandma helped raise his two daughters, Oma and Dietta, and her three: Rosa, Alice, and my dad, Mark.

After George's death Grandma lived parts of each year with her various children. When Grandma stayed with us, I thought her very old. But she was a most kind and sweet lady. She always had to use some aid, a cane or walker, to get around. And she had very poor eyesight for which she wore very, very thick glasses. She spent her days reading (she read every word of the daily newspaper), and writing letters.
She wrote beautiful letters, and maintained correspondence with many, many relatives.

I think I must have inherited a lot of my traits from the Green side, although folks always say that I look just like my mother. In the face, I do, with my dad's smile and dimples. But in build I am definitely a Green, much taller than my mother, and broader, too! Grandma Green couldn't benefit from the hip replacement surgery that is saving me from a cane or walker, at least at this time. And she did not benefit from the eye surgeries that are helping my vision problems. And, oh yes, I do like to write and I did teach school. Do we see a pattern here? And, I promise, I will never walk to town or crochet an afghan, though I might "box your ears!"

I think that is enough for tonight. Tomorrow I shall consider Don's Grandparents.