One smart cat

(1980 memoirs)
Frankie told me years ago she had such a smart cat.  When half grown she taught it to play ball with her.  When I asked what happened to it, I think she would say no nore than it died.  And when I asked if she ever had another, "No."

Squirrels

(1980 memoirs)
Frankie could coax squirrels to eat peanuts out of her hand, and Lorin took a picture one time of a squirrel taking a peanut from my hand, tho no credit to me.

Owl's nest

Near the street on the side of her house was a tree with a hollow trunk, and one year Frankie had an owl's nest in it.  Oh the happiness!  She spent much time there going as close as she dared.  She kept counting them and trying to photograph them.

Monarch butterfly

(1980 memoirs)
Frankie may have made a failure of that dusty, fusty course but not of her life, for every creature was her friend, and she spent hours ferreting out its secrets.  She found a chrysalis of a Monarch Butterfly that had fallen and put the twig of milkweed it was on carefully under a large wire strainer to await results.  When it showed signs of life, she had her camera ready and took many pictures of the various stages.  I have seen the same series since in many nature magazines but none better than hers, in my view.

A failure

(1980 memoirs)
[Frankie took the Classical course at Ripon.]  "I made a failure of it," she would tell me, feeling remorse and pain.  "If only I could have been put in the other course!  I always wanted to learn about animals and living things and about the world!"  --  "But, Cousin Frankie, why didn't you change?  You didn't have to take the Classical."  --  "I didn't think I could change the way they do now.  I took what they said and made a failure of it."

The Classical course

(1980 memoirs)
Cousin Frankie went to the college [Ripon] herself when she was young and often told me what a disaster the whole thing was.  At that time there were two courses only, the Classical course and the Science.  Somehow, some way, God knows how, somebody pushed her into the Classical course where she had no roots, no feeling.  Greek and Latin grammar beat about in her poor brain where it had no place to be.

Spencer Carrier

And yet some how, some way, out of the the past Spencer Carrier came to see her one day.  I didn't know what to expect and came wonderingly down the stairs from my room.  He was such a nice man!  Just a little Mortimer-Sneerd-y - that deep guffaw:  alugh!  It sort of went out all over and all over us.  He was a small person and wore a dark grey suit - straight tan hair - guess maybe a mustache.  As I recall he didn't stay to dinner, only the afternoon.  Cousin Frankie was pleased, but not altogether at ease.  Unexpected company frequently makes us feel that way.  I was always glad I saw him, tho, and knew how nice he was.

Self sacrifice

(1980 memoirs)
And yet Frankie had her romance.  A man named Spencer Carrier (I think) thought a lot of her and wanted to be married.  She told me about it once and said so pitifully, "But, you see, I had to care for Mother.  She was sick and had to have care.  And I couldn't leave her."  I could only nod.  No use to make suggestions:  --Couldn't you have all lived together?  --Couldn't something be worked out?  Water over the bridge and all long ago.

Animal magnetism

(1980 memoirs about life with Frankie)
The next morning [after a date's good-night kiss], my dear cousin would talk to me about "animal magnetism."  She said she herself never liked to take a man's bare hand unless she had her gloves on.  There was just something about it--

No-kissing cousin

(1980 memoirs)
Especially in my freshman year [at Ripon] I was new on campus and probably cute, and so I had a lot of dates.  Often when the evening ended in kissing we would be aware of a dark Shape within the window, which, if ignored, tapy-tap-tapped on the pane.  This was usually enough to bring the good night to a Climax.

Dancing

(1980 memoirs)
When Tommy (Doris) Tucker [later Hamley] and I danced a little in the living room, Frankie did come in and say we'd have to stop because the floor was "too weak to stand it."  [She may have been right; even in the 1920s it was a very old house, probably built in the 1860s.]

Victrola

(1980 memoirs)
I must have come to live with Frankie for four years, while I got my college degree, in 1922.  Now that I am old myself and used to being alone, I marvel at her charity and goodness for having me around.  Of course I was kin.  I was Frank's girl, and she knew my people, and that made a difference.  But tho I know I loved her from the start, I know now I did many many things that must have upset her very much, and many that she suffered in silence.  In the first place, I had a very small "victrola" with cheap records (jazz).  What fortitude it took to listen to that - and never a word of complaint.

Temperance

 A story about Frankie made the family rounds and here it is.  You have to know the whole crew was for Temperance, and no doubt all had signed the Pledge and heard of the pitfall of the Demon Rum.  Well, Mrs. [Alvira] Clapp was very sick, declining, no appetite; Frankie was waiting on her as best she could, but at last a doctor was called in.  After his examination, he recommended two or three tablespoons of wine be given his 90-year-old patient.  Frankie heard this prescription with mixed feelings.  "But, doctor," she remonstrated, "don't you think it may start a bad habit?"

Muskmelon

(1980 memoirs)
One thing as a child Frankie despised above all and that was a muskmelon.  So of course her brother Henry tried to tease her about it.  He dressed one up as a doll and offered it to her.  Amazed at her good fortune and his generosity, she lifted it up in her arms to her face - when suddenly - her eyes still dilated in the telling - she caught the scent of the thing and then threw it as far as she could throw!  Of course then Henry and any others in the joke laughed their heads off.  But when I knew her [over 50 years later], she had gotten over this horror and we had them on the table.

Almira Clapp

(1980 memoirs)
I can't tell you anything about Frankie's father, oldman Clapp [Quartus].  I think originally they lived out on a farm, not too far from Ripon.  Frankie's mother [Almira] was little and frail but lived a long time, and because Frankie was such a dear devoted daughter, she gave her youth to caring for her mother and set her marriage aside.

Drain & cool

[In Frankie's house] a large hinged, covered drain took care of all dirty water.  And lord, now that I think of it, I have to say it was in the dining room; however, actually rarely used.  As to refrigeration, I recall things like butter and milk being kept covered in the earth-floored basement; for the rest, I guess we just went to the store more often.

Bedroom washstand

(1980 memoirs)
In the bedrooms [in Frankie's house] they had wash bowl and pitcher on a wash stand, fresh towels hanging on its side racks, soap in the proper soap dish.  The toilet I think was down the short, clean basement stairs.  And a pot under the bed - a chamber pot.

Newberry Street

(1980 memoirs)
[Henry Clapp's] sister Frances [1866-1958] was a very dear and unusual person.  She lived in a nice little white colonial house on Newberry Street [in Ripon] and let out some rooms converted into an apartment to an unmarried lady - Clare Mears - who sewed beautifully and made her living by it.  They got along year after year with no bathrooms, no furnace, no refrigeration.  Imagine that.

Congo cow

(1980 memoirs)
One thing I remember with a smile is the tale of wicked Halloween tricks college boys played in Henry Clapp's day [1880s?].  I am thinking of the one where somehow boys got a cow up in the belfry of the Congregational Church, the one college vespers were held in, etc. Henry was a good story teller.  He was small boned, slight, small twinkling eyes now, and had a good command of language.  November1 when school opened there was an unfamiliar lowing, heard by all, understood by the farm boys, a cow wanting to be milked in her own familiar quarters.  Memory fails when I try to recall how "the authorities" got her down, but of course it was done and amid no tell-tale faces.

Helen & Carol

(1980 memoirs)
But later two children were born to them [to Florence Clapp & Herman Hillsburg]:  Helen, dark haired, smaller again than her mother but like her, musical; and her brother Carol a couple of years younger.  They had many slim years and Florence gave piano lessons to help out.  I believe eventually Florence and Herman were divorced.  No doubt once passion was satisfied the difference in their education and experience made living together too trying to be bourne.  [In 1910 Florence wrote Lois a long letter detailing her life as a single mother in New Hampshire.]

Sad doings

(1980 memoirs)
On the night of Florence's graduation from the [Ripon College] School of Music, her parents had a "doings" for her, sort of a social hour, and Herman was not invited as he was only the hired man, and her pleas were ignored.  So the poor girl lay on her bed and cried her eyes out.  Aunt Lois told me, and I think she said she went up to her.  Some time later the lovers laid their plans and ran away together.  I don't know any details about this.

Herman

(1980 memoirs)
[Florence Clapp] grew up well educated and graduated in music from Ripon College in piano.  Her parents "kept her down," were very strict, and she was not allowed to have any beaux, any fun.  So of course what was to happen did happen and she fell in love with the hired man, Herman Hillsburg.

Florence

(1980 memoirs)
The Clapps only daughter was a dark haired girl, Florence, a smaller, nicer replica of her mother.  When I knew her, she had married twice, so I am writing hearsay, which no doubt is the truth after all.

Flowers

(1980 memoirs)
[Chores for the Clapps] might include getting flowers from the greenhouse to the church Saturdays.  By providing flowers every Sunday, they always got their names in the weekly leaflet of the Congregational Church, tho of course it was splendid of them to do it; and tho it advertised, was also costly and I am sure often a lot of work.  The kind of flower and what was ready blooming was often a topic of discussion at dinners.

Chores

(1980 memoirs)
[Lucretia Clapp's college girl] Edna would get up early and get the wash on the line before leaving for college -- hurry hone at night to clean and cook supper, and studied after the dishes were done.  I think there was a college boy too, who shoveled walks, fired the furnace, carried out ashes, mowed the lawn, and did what needed to be done.

College girl

(1980 memoirs)
I will say this about her [Lucretia Clapp], she knew how to solve her problems - some of them anyway.  She lived in a great big white house with greenhouse nearby and the gardens and orchards behind.  [By 2010 these had become the grounds of the Ripon High School.]  By keeping on a college girl to work for her room and board, she managed to get her work done without paying for it.

Business woman

(1980 memoirs)
Henry's sister Frances and family didn't care for Lucretia because she was so bold and inquisitive about business matters which were better left to the men.  Frankie told me about it when I lived with her and went to Ripon College.  "When Father and my Brother Henry were talking about business, she went right behind Father's Chair and leaned over to read his papers!" she said, still with awe at the enormity of it.

Lucretia Clapp

(1980 memoirs)
Lucretia Clapp was a big horsey person with an English accent, large boned, well filled out, long black naturally curly hair.  The hair is what I have never forgotten because if you stretch the truth a little you could say she never washed it.  She parted it in the middle, combed it neatly down on each side where it waved, and wound it into a big bun on top of her head with a comb to hold her back hair up.

Quartus Pheletus

(1980 memoir)
Before drifting away from the Clapps, I want it recorded Henry's father was Quartus Pheletus.  This is the oddest name I have ever heard, and am spelling it from sound so marked the e long.  Quartus Pheletus and my father's grandfather were cousins, I think.  If you dig around and find I am off a generation or so, you will have a good idea how my mind works.  The Clapps came from New England.  And that is where Henry got his wife, Lucretia.  ["Philebas" is a Greek name, meaning "loving youth."  The Clapp/Parsons relationship is still undetermined.]

Occupation carpenter?

(1980 memoir)
On my birth certificate on the line for Occupation someone with a good imagination wrote in "Carpenter" after my father's name.  As much as I can recall, I have never known him to drive a nail, tho he no doubt did.  But Carpenter -- no.

Truck gardener's wife

(1980 memoirs)
I don't know much about those early days.  I was born in 1904 in Fond du Lac -- but some aunt told me about how hard my mother used to work bunching up radishes and onions and other produce in season for my father to take out and sell to his customers.  And the poor girl had a hard time getting him up early, getting breakfast into him, and getting him on his way.

Bean picker

(1980 memoir)
The trouble [with Henry Clapp's bargain] was that Henry was tight and somewhat dishonest.  "An old skinflint," my father called him.  Many times when my father would get up early and go to the garden to work, he would find Henry had gotten up still earlier, and here he was picking my dad's beans to sell for himself.  "What are you doing in my bean patch?" my father would say.  "Why -- why -- I wanted to surprise you!  Yes -- yes -- look at all I have picked for you already."  That story and many like it circulated around our family circles and made us all laugh our heads off.

Clapp's bargain

(1980 memoirs)
In Ripon there were some of [my father's] cousins, Henry Clapp, married to Lucretia, and they had a greenhouse and orchards with cherry and apple trees and also a big garden planted to produce enough to sell.  My father made a bargain with Henry that they would go in together on this, as Henry needed help and Frank had a wife to support.

How they married

(1980 memoir)
[My parents] were married in the Lutheran Church of her home town of Oconto [Wisconsin] and came to live in Ripon and also nearby Fond du Lac, where his family lived on Waupun Street.

How they met

(1980 memoir)
When [my father, Frank Parsons] was young, he worked putting in a telephone line and got acquainted with my mother as she walked back and forth to teach her one-room country school.  Whe he told me about this, he marveled on how she kept a good, orderly school when she was such a small person and her school boys were big and burly and tall as 6 ft.

Trying to forget

(1980 memoir)
The real reason [I am writing this memoir] is that I am trying to forget some of it myself.  Life for me has just about gone by, hard as it is to realize.  Here am I, 76, having outlived all those I am writing about.  Enough of this, then, and let's start going back.

Prolog

(1980 memoir)
I don't know what has come over me, but recently I have had such urgings to write down a few things about some of my relatives and friends that I feel I really must start.  This is in no respect an autobiography, nor do I promise always the whole truth, as some details are like bad smells in the kitchen, better suppressed.

Quiet Olga

(1994 October, memoir)
One time [my mother's] sister Olga came to visit but was so quiet she didn't cheer us up much.  "Don't you have any little chain to wear around your neck, Carolyn?" she would ask.  She would sew for all of us, and, tho she was so very quiet and she brot little joy, we were sorry to see her go, except for my father -- I think he felt easier.  I think any man does.

Minnie solitaire

(1994 October, memoir)
[Minnie, my mother, was] solitary and none of the neighbors good enough to invite over.  To tell the truth, that's the way it was.  She was above them in education, had taught school, and read every book she could.  She even tried Christian Science, but it never quite came off.

White

(1993 May 5, memoirs)
[On the Lawson estate] when prize Jersey cows were milked, the men were obliged to wear pure white suits.  The inside of the barn was kept pure white.  It was said many people did not have such a good house.

Playmates

(1993 May 5, memoirs)
One time [when we lived at Green Lake] my parents were worried I had no playmate, so I was dressed prettily and taken half way to Lone Tree Point, where another girl my age met me.  I recall the white clovers.  We were unloaded and left alone for 2 or 3 hours.  We tried to play together but very dull and my mother said I never had to go again.  ...  We lived in a "house in the woods."  I recall it had a porch on two sides of the house, and Lyn's buggy was there for naps.

Summer evening

(1994)
Would you like to hear about a sweet thing that happened to me years ago?  It was a calm quiet summer evening and Lorin and I were in our white house on Grove Street.  It was summer and very quiet and yet balmy in our part of the evening.  Lorin had been stamping; and of course I was knitting.  I put this down and went out hoping to catch our cat and bring her in for the night.  As soon as I left the house behind me, I realized what a heavenly night it was  --  quiet and wondrous.  The stars were large and low, and the sky holding them a midnight blue.  I called inside, "Lorin, come here."  He put down his book and slipped outside.  "Look," I said.  "I didn't remember it was like this," he said, putting his arm around me.  We kissed and stood for a while feeling our love and our creator's.

Bicycle

(1990s memoirs)
I was sitting around in the lobby [at the Schmidt Home] watching the clock go around when suddenly a man approached me to ask whether I was not the mother of Skip Kay, who bought a bicycle from him while he was at the time [1942] working at the Coast to Coast. I said I probably was and he said, "I knew it, I knew it!"  ...  He was Ed Hanson by name.  Of course I didn't recall any such thing.  ...  I remember Daddy asking you if you were sure, and you said yes, that was the only one for you.  And you said it was, that you had gone over it.

The wicked glint

(1995 March 13)
Skip, I want to tell you about how you behaved to the delight of all assembled when you were eating.  Sometimes I would take you to visit Grandma Rosa Kay and her daughter Lee, and of course you were the prime show.  I fed you first and got you off for a nap or there was no peace.  So -- you were with your bib tied firmly on and a dish of cream of wheat before you.  Lee and Grandma seated on one side were ready for a show.  I was the one with the apron and the spoon in hand.  So -- open wide -- a spoonful of cereal -- equal to your role of entertainer -- as soon as you had a mouthful, you loqked as wicked as ever you could, took a deep breath, and let it all out, admiring ones beware!  --  Then Grandma and Lee would howl with laughter!  Later on in the week when Lee went out with her friend Arabella and Grandma would invite Mrs. Watkins over, she would tell the whle story including the wicked glint in the big blue eye.  Also when Lee was at her bridge party she would entertain all with what Skippy was able to eat and drink and how he managed those things.  So -- if it were early enough, Lee would walk to the street car with us and see us safely on our way to Whitefish Bay, or sometimes Lorin came to eat with us, and of course then we would all three ride home together and get a tired little boy washed up and tucked in.

Martha's children

(1990s memoirs)
[What Martha's children did:]  Frank took up gardening for wealthy families; Lois made wigs, did tailoring and housekeeping; Mary worked in a shoe factory and did dressmaking; and Bill, the baby of the family, went off to work for the railroad, taking his lunch.

Picking up chips

(1990s memoirs)
My father, Frank Parsons, lived as a boy in Waupun, Wisconsin....  The family was poor and his earliest memory was "picking up chips" for his mother, Martha, to get an early morning fire going for the family breakfast.

School clothes

(1990s memoirs)
One day my mother told me to close my eyes and keep them closed.  Then she put me in a coat.  When I opened my eyes, I was in a long gray rain coat she had sent for.  Beautiful.  Once my Aunt Lois gave me a scarf she made.  It was about 2 feet wide and 5 feet long.  I looked odd in it and was stared at.  I don't think I wore it very much, and my mother understood and didn't make me.  I wore long underwear and over it long black or tan stockings.  Sometimes high laced shoes.  I saw my mother decorate a straw hat with old roses.

Hot potato

(1990s memoirs)
When I went to 8th grade [in Green Lake], I walked about a mile and a half and had a hot potato in my black muff to keep my fingers from freezing.  Coming home I was called for by a chauffeur sometimes or walked too.  One time I walked to a pier where a covered launch picked us up and took us to school.

Preoccupied

(1990s memoirs)
One day Lorin got on a sreet car [in Milwaukee] with someone on the seat near the window; he was obliged to ride [a short distance] from office to court house.  Then looked up and saw he had been sitting all along with his Auntie Mabel.

Street cars

(1990s memoirs)
I often got on the street car in Milwaukee and rode to town, sometimes holding Skip if car was crowded.  ...  I could buy a street car ticket and ask for a transfer ticket, which I could use to change cars and go in a different direction.  One family could use the same ticket but was not supposed to do so, but we did not have our pictures on them.

Rural rides

When young I once lived on the Lawson Estate in Green Lake, Wis., and rode to school in a bob sled with straw on the floor where we sat; or in a cutter with horse and bells; also, but not to school, in a lumber wagon.  Never on horse back.

Martha's song

Only song Grandma Martha Parsons sang:  "The north wind doth blow, / And soon we'll have snow, / And WHAT will the Robin do then? / Poor thing.  / He'll sit by the barn / And keep himself warm / And HIDE his head  under his wing.  /  Poor thing."

Scotty

(1993 July, Parsons memoirs)
Then there was Scotty, Aunt Lois's wild horse.  Her husband got the horse for himself, and she thot what he drove she could too, and she did [from Fond du Lac] way out to our house in the country [at Green Lake? or just Ruepings?], in her wide hat, long skirt and shirt waist.  We gasped.  But she was walways OK.

Studies first

(1993 July, Parsons memoirs)
When Grandma Parsons died [in 1923], I was at Ripon, and Cousin Frankie [with whom I lived] got the message over the phone in the morning but kept it from me all day in case it would interfere with my studies.  The next day I took the bus home, tho.

Lois

(1993 July, Parsons memoirs)
[Martha's] daughter Lois was "the smart one" and married Ad Brower, a man I never remember seeing.  She divorced him because he gambled; and married Bill McWhorter, a fat, bald engineer on a railroad.  In both of these marriages Lois never left home.  I always thot him not a very nice person, sort of a low thinker and speaker.

Grandma's advice

(1993 July, Parsons memoirs)
[Martha Parsons, my grandmother,] was always lots of fun, and I would stay with her while the rest went to the movies.  She could not stand them....  So she would give me money for a quart of ice cream and we would put our feet on the glowing coal stove and tell stories.  "Do the boys try to put their arms around you and kiss you and all that?" she would ask.  "No" I would answer, wondering how it would be.  "Well, they will!  And don't let 'em."  I said all right and we got on another topic.

Martha Parsons

(1993 July, Parsons memoirs)
[To her Rueping memoirs, Polly added a few scattered recollections about her own family.]
[Martha Newton Parsons was my father's mother.]  She was illiterate, and Aunt Lois [her daughter] used to say she could get the Martha all right but when it came to the Parsons would just write a big P and trail off the rest.  I think Lois wrote it over and explained so she could get her pension from her husband [William Henry Parsons] from being a soldier in the Civil War.

Boo boo

(1993 July, Rueping memoirs)
One day when we were playing hide and seek and hiding by pairs, I was with young Rueping.  I think they called him Boo Boo [Bube] - it meant boy in German (?) - so we were hiding and he softly kissed me on the cheek and said, "Your're my girl now."  I did not reply in any way but thot, "What is going to become of this?"  Not a thing ever did nor did I ever tell anyone until this instant but - was I prepared to be a millionaress?  Not exactly, I guess.

Flag flower bed

(1993 July, Rueping memoirs)
[Behind the Rueping cottages was the] Flag Flower Bed:  foliage plants, red, white, and blue were used and kept trimmed evenly as the year went on; also flag pole in dark yellow.  Father sent for the correct number of plants and set his best man at it.  The flag was a replica of real one and a picture is in album of family pictures.  I appreciate it more than I did at the time, realizing the math it took.

No sleeves

(1993 July, Rueping memoirs)
Over on the Ruepings' lawn, my father had a fine sand box built, and my brother Lyndon and I went and played too.  One hot summer day, about 100 degrees I suppose, my father came home all excited, complaining to my mother:  "Do you know that Carolyn is over there playing with no sleeves on her dress?"  Mother said she thot it was OK as I was young and weather so hot, "but send her home, then."  And that was the first time I ever felt self conscious.  I was wearing a blue calico dress.

Mag

(1993 July, Rueping memoirs)
My father never looked at another woman all those years [when Minnie was sick], but at night he would go to Taychedah and have a beer and talk with pals.  There was an old man who used to say to a spinster passing the saloon on her way home, "I know ya, Mag.  With you little red petticoat.  I knew ya Mag, years ago - I knew ya."  And she would hurry past as fast as she could walk.  And the men would all laugh, of course, at the window or outside.

Our house

(1993 July, Rueping memoirs)
The Ruepings built our house for us.  It had a porch across the front with big willow rockers.  Downstairs:  living room, dining room, kitchen.  Upstairs:  four bedrooms, one for the maid and a sleeping porch for my mother, who had TB and went to Wales WI to a San to learn how to take care of herself.  She slept on the porch year around.

Peacocks

(1993 July, Rueping memoir)
On our side of the road there were chicken coops with wire runways, including peacocks - which is why I can sound off like the male.

The big cheese

(1993 July, Rueping memoirs)
When my mother died [in 1919], the Ruepings sent over a big cheese, dark yellow American, thinking it was something we could use different ways.

Art and the rabbits

(1993 July, Rueping memoir)
Art was very well behaved and quiet, but not too bright.  My father never got over a joke of his.  He told Art if he wanted to shoot some rabbits, he should come out with his gun some day as there were plenty in the snow when cottages were vacant.  So one day he drove out, parked his car, got out the gun, and said, "Well, Parsons, where are the rabbits?"  FMP told that for years and always got a laugh.

The Old Lady

(1993 July, Rueping memoir)
After dinner, old Mrs. Rueping went up to nap.  I'll try to make you see her.  There were no flies on her.  She owned the house, and the three Sallees lived with her.  She looked just a mite like the duchess in Alice in Wonderland.  ...  Often times on a summer afternoon Mrs. Frederick Rueping (the old lady) would walk over, with cane & cane, cross the road, up our front steps, and sit on the porch and visit in German with my mother.  My father used to say if he could talk German, he could ask much more for his services.

Lunch with the Old Lady

(1993 July, Rueping memoir)
Mrs. Frederick (Old Lady) Rueping lived on Division Street (I think) in Fond du Lac, not far from the high school, and when she heard I was taking German, she insisted I take dinner with her every noon, where nichts but Deutch would be spoken every noon.  So I went, but I am afraid I did not learn much.  Around the table was Mrs. F. R. and Irene and her half-witted brother Art, all speaking Deutch.  I too had to say, Bitte gibst mir die Buetter or Kartoffel or whatever.  The maid came out at the stroke of the bell and cleared off and brot in the pie.  I think we did say a short German prayer first.  Then, after dinner, Irene and I and my German grammar went into the parlor where she skimmed thru my grammar lesson and I read and did some too.

Irene

(1993 July, Rueping memoir)
Irene Sallee needs a special paragraph.  She had a barn fixed with a stall for her horse behind our house, and she was an excellent horseback rider; in fact, she was the instructor at Grafton Hall, an Episcopal girls' school.  Her hair was combed back tightly with a big roll, and I never saw her adjust a pin, all tight and stayed put.  ...  She was very masculine but not rough.  ...  She came out every day and curried her horse and cared for hooves, etc., etc.  My mother let me go out and watch and talk to her as I had so few people in the summer to be with.  But I was never asked to ride etc.  We just talked about the horse as she brushed or whatever.

William

(1993 July, Rueping memoir)
In a cottage beside [Fred's], fifty feet apart or so, was his brother William, a pleasant, well spoken person who had a son and adopted another, Stephen Lynch, so he would have a playmate.  These boys were fine felows, and I used to play hide and seek with them.  All spoke German.

Florence

(1993 July, Rueping memoir)
[Fred Rueping's] daughter Florence was sent to an expensive girls' school in the East.  Once when they had picked me up walking home from school (2 miles?), she asked me about one of my friends and then said, "So she's your side-kick, huh?" and was reproved by her mother, and she laughed.  I think my father had the Dance Hall built for her parties, but I can recall only one she had in that hall, with a small orchestra.

Fred

(1993 July, Rueping memoir
F. J. Rueping - Fred/erick, that is - was always stern, usually in grey town suit with bow tie and short grey mustache.  He drove a little Ford with the metal polished brightly.  Was it a Ford?  I think so.  His wife was rather large.

Maid service

(1993 July, Rueping memoirs)
The Rueping "cottages" were built like houses, and both families had maids who did washing and ironing.  William Rueping had two maids and once told me how expensive it was to replace a glass goblet she broke.  About $9 or more.  I suppose better at the town house.

Rueping estate

(1993 July, Rueping memoir)
The Rueping summer estate was bounded on the east by Lake Winnebago, on the west by the highway running north from Fond du Lac to Taycheedah; along the north and south sides was a four-foot prickly hedge to keep intruders out.  The  Ruepings lived in three "cottages," which were just like houses, painted grey, etc.  They fronted on the highway, and a semicircular, graveled drive, neatly edged, ran from it around the back of the cottages and then curved back to the highway again.  Our house was across the road; there was also a "dance hall" and a boat house on an artificial island in the lake, reached by arched bridges, like Chinese ones.  Frank Parsons designed and built the hoat house.  The motor boats and canoe were stored above, under the ceiling, in the winter.

Who were the Ruepings?

(1993 July, Rueping memoirs)
You asked me ... "Who were the Ruepings?"  And I could use this whole new tablet and more trying to explain this Fond du Lac family to you.  But just let me say they were a rich German family for whom my father worked while I was in high school.  [They owned the "Fred Rueping Leather Co., tanners and curriers" (per business card) in Fond du Lac.  They had several town houses, but in summer they shared an estate about two miles north of Fond du Lac, on the western shore of Lake Winnebago.  In 1917 Frank Parsons became the caretaker and landscape gardner of their estate, when Polly had completed 8th grade in Green Lake, and he continued in that position well into the 1920s.  Polly recorded her extensive memories haphazardly as they came to her; I have reorganized and tacitly amplified them.]

Dance hall

(1992 Memoirs)
when I was staying with Aunt Olga in Oconto, there was a dance hall two houses from her (on Main Street) and I would go there with a girl friend about my age and dance.  Not waltzes -- perhaps a one-step.  I do not remember how the music was provided or what it was.

Pleasing Frank Parsons

(1992 Memoirs)
Once or twice my father came to see how I was getting on, and we were both rather afraid of him.  He came to eat and she [Olga] made a point of buying meat for noon dinner, but he slept at the hotel.  I was obliged to write him once a week and saw one of the letters where I said, "It snowed and snowed, father."  I guess news was scarce and I knew he would have no interest in the doll outfits Florence Fenski and I would make of Aunt Olga's scraps, when Florence said, turn it up there and put a feather right here, and it will be the cutest little hat you ever thaw."

Winter wear

(1992 Memoirs)
In the winter, Olga would open the oven door and warm my underwear and long black stockings before she helped me into them.  I sat near the range when I tucked my long underwear in my long black stockings.  My woolen dress went over my slip.  I was ready for school, fourth grade, when I finished my breakfast, pulled on my galoshes, hood and mittenes, and of course coat.

New dress

(1992 Memoirs)
One evening as we [Polly & Olga] walked, we saw a girl playing on a school yard.  "Look at her, Carolyn, tearing around in her new dress like that!"  Next day she came for a hole to be fixed and Aunt Olga said "Humph!"  But she did it.

Bags

(1992 Memoirs)
One time Olga got a job she loved.  A man came with a stack of cloth, all cut, ready to be sewn into bags to be used by the woodsmen for holding -- I have forgotten what -- pine cones?  wood chips?  Anyway, easy work for her -- no fitting etc.

Oconto kitchen

(1992 Memoirs)
[The room after that [i.e. beyond the dining room] was the kitchen, which held her sewing machine at the window looking onto an alley.  In the kitchen, the width of the house, next to her machine was the range, where a kettle was kept boiling and from which ashes were carried out in the back yard two or three times a week.  Here was a large table, which when the leaves were up was plenty large enough to lay out pattern and cloth and cut the garment.  On the wall opposite the window was a sink which had just one fawcet but only a drain to a pail under the sink.  This when full was carefully carried to the back yard and dumped along with upstairs slops and ashes.  In the woodshed was a pail where we pinkled before we went upstairs to bed.

Vitriol

(1992 Memoirs)
One time officers, knowing her habits, came to question her [Olga] but she knew nothing and shaking in her shoes stuck to it.  There were two women in love with the one man.  ...  When they met on the Main Street, the wife dashed vitriol acid in the other's face, burning it and disfiguring her for life.  But no -- Olga had not seen that.  She had been in the next room, the dining room with the big mirror where customers "tried on."

The sitting room

(1992 Memoirs)
I shall explain the [Ellman] house to you.  You came up on a half-foot porch which ran across the front of the house, gray in color.  You came in quickly and right before you was the narrow carpeted stairs taking you up.  To the left was an old door to the living room (called the "sitting room," not the "parlor"), furnished with a couch, dark green, with a raised head but no back.  A large rocker held us both when, behind lace curtains, we watched the crowds go by.

Lace curtains

(1992 Memoirs)
Uncle Fred and Aunt Olga, brother and sister, kept house on Main Street [in Oconto WI], the little house that was home to all of them.  The front porch was nearly on the street, with two windows on the left with lace curtains, at which Aunt Olga and I sat in the dark and watched the passing crowd.  "Hump," Aunt Olga would mumble, "look at her dress, torn at the hem, and I just finished it yesterday.  Hump."  I knew she was an excellent sewer, accurate and painstaking, and charged little for her pains.

Learning German

(1992 Memoirs)
Although everyone told me what a great advantage I had to learn German [in Oconto], I never realy learned it.  [But well enough to play cards, first as a teenager, with old Mrs. Rueping, then as a young married, with Rosa Kay, her grandmother-in-law.]

Aunt Minn & Uncle Albert

(1992 Memoirs)
There were several Ellmans who came "off the boat" whom I never really got to know in Oconto.  There were the Ellmans "across the river," Aunt Minn and Uncle Albert, who never spoke English well.  Uncle did more so than Aunt Minn because he mingled more with those who did speak it, the storekeepers and the neighbors, but for us and his wife always the mother tongue.  One evening Aunt Olga and I walked over to see them.  For some reason a bucket of water stood near the door and he bumped into it, spilling half.  He jumped and swore but not with such a virile tongue as Aunt Minn.  Aunt Olga, who of course took it all in, explained it to me later, omitting the swearing but pointing out to me how upset both were.

Norwegian housekeeper

(1992 Memoirs)
Before she [Minnie] gave up [housekeeping], she hired a number of housekeepers, one of which was an aged Norwegian with blond hair long and gray and worn on a roll at the top of the head, very insecure.  We got along fairly well although she was too lonely for her family to stay long.  When I explained something to her, she would say when at last she understood, "Oh, daj but ee ay."  "Yes," I'd say, "That's what it is."

Minnie's health

(1992 Memoirs)
After my brother was about 4 and I was 9 or so [ca. 1914], our family broke up because of my mother's failing health.  Perhaps she did overdo at housework; my father thought she did.  [She had tubercolosis.]

Ellmans

(1992 Memoirs)
Olga was the oldest [Ellman] and never married.  Minnie, my mother, married a gardner; Max went off to the Phillipines to fight for his country; and Fred was a druggest who always limped [because of an accident with runaway horses] and used a cane as long as I knew him.  ...  Emma died young.

Hoot!

(1992 Memoir)
The Ellmans, [Caroline & Frederick, came from Germany,] so their children were of German stock of which Hattie [Harriet] was the youngest.  My mother, an invalid, enjoyed having Hattie come and she enjoyed the railroad trip.  "Hoot!" my father would call to her.  And both would shake with laughter because "Hoot" means "Hat" in German, about all the German my father knew.  She was one of a family of six and a milliner by trade.  She could take a straw frame, tack up the brim, run a narrow ribbon around a daisy, and you'd be proud to wear it to church.

Guns

(1992 Memoirs)
At the top of the stairs of the Kilmer house, called by some "the laundry," he kept his guns, about half a dozen shotguns, always loaded, standing leaning in a corner.  "Oh, Clarence," my aunt would wail, "please take those guns out of the house.  The children--"  "Yup, yup," he'd say.  And then in a grumbling, menacing tone, "You boys, leave those guns alone.  Ya hear?"  "OK, OK" the three would say.  "Oh, Clarence," Aunt Hattie would wail.  And there they stood at the top of the stairs, loaded, as before, as long as I was aware.

Uncle Clarence

(1992 Memoir)
As I lie in bed at this retirement home, I keep thinking of who I am and of those who came before me.  Tonight for no reason at all my mind is hovering over Uncle Clarence, Aunt Hattie's husband - a Kilmer, a Canadian, I think.  As Aunt Hattie was my mother's youngest sister, I went to visit quite often.  The Kilmers lived in the northern part of Wisconsin where Clarence and his brother had a hardware store, the only one in Oconto Falls.

Editing

(1992)
Skip, I hope you are editing this [memoir].  Am I repeating myself?  ...  Isn't this at a point where you can finish it yourself?  ...  And if I think of interesting incident, always can be added.  [The blog is reproducing Polly's fragmentary recollections pretty much as they were received.]

Barter economy

(1992)
My Aunt Lois gave me a $10 gold pen in a case and on chain around my neck, and I gave it for my first ride in a plane for 10 minutes.  Maybe it was $5 for five minutes - whatever.  Lorin watched me, would not go up, and said he was glad I was safe on ground again, but I wished for a longer ride.  That was at the football field, I think.

Odd names

(1992)
At this time [as a college student] I often went with a girl Fern Bump, and Nick Ferris, who had an old car.  I was with Warren Mutch, father a philosophy prof - like a cartoon prof.  I learned that "nature abhors a vacuum" and other things.

Cousin Frankie

(1992)
[So I could attend Ripon College] my father arranged for me to live with his cousin Frances Clapp, whom I called Cousin Frankie, as others called her Frankie.  She was very sweet and simple, always at every church (Congregational) service and distributed some Christian lesson books called? "Home Christian Studies" (I think this is not it).

Other guys

(1992)
[At Ripon I met Lorin but] I also went to the movies before that with a fellow named Parsons and in my freshman year several other guys, as the frosh were always popular.

Journalism

(1992)
It is often of interest how couples met.  I think we [Lorin & I] met after school when we met with a group wanting to write for the college paper.  ...  I learned to be a journalist and wrote for the school paper, the "College Days," and also the literary magazine, "The Scribbler."

Lyndon

(1992)
[My only sibling was] Lydon Ellman [Parsons], who met his death drowning around 20 [27].  He was in a row boat with a friend, who told me Lyndon gave him the oar to hang on to and he went under himself.  [At Beaver Dam Lake, WI, in 1938].

Pranks

(1992? Halloween)
Well Al Hallows' Eve is over for one more year.  Cousin Frankie and her brother Henry, who married Lucretia out East, never tired of telling how they used to put the outhouses on top of someone's woodshed.  And the goat that was found on the church roof discovered the next morning.  The pastor guessed who did it and publicly asked those boys to get it down so they couldn't refuse.  They were great on pranks in those days, more so than now when kids are watching TV.

The good life

(1992)
How did I get here from Milwaukee, Lorin's birthplace and our home too?  It was thought I was used to a small town and wasn't getting acquainted in Milwaukee.  So Lorin pulled up stakes after hearing Judge Bancroft tell how good life was in Richland Center.  So we pulled up stakes, sold our house on Beaumont and moved to Richland Center.  I was very disappointed in the house - small and inconvenient.  The judge's daughter, Babe, said, "Yes, Daddy built all these houses."  I felt sick and lonely.  Our son couldn't get acquainted either at school. When relatives came out, they said, "A good place for a rest.  Nothing to do."  Gradually friends and church and school came around and now its nearly done.

Escorts

(1992)
Jan is expected back from Milwaukee where she has been to a teachers' convention.  And so I did years ago [when teaching at Linden WI and engaged to Lorin].  An incident I recalled from that era.  I had come to Milwaukee and Lorin met me.  A teacher I knew and had sat with on the bus naturally expected me to go around with him.  But here was Lorin taking one arm, the other man the other arm --  "Polly is going with me" -- a slight pull on the arm.  Daddy said, "Oh no.  Polly is going with me."  So I told the Linden man that's the way it was and I went to a very beautiful room at Richland Court -- I may have slept with Dede, Lorin's sister -- so long ago.

Roxanne

(1992)
Lying on my left side [at the Schmidt Home] I heard someone pulling out the waste basket under the night table.  I opened my eyes and looked in the face of a slim girl, brown hair, pulled back in a pony tail.  Hello, I said, who are you?  Roxanne, she said.  "Oh, you're in a play," I said.  "I know," she said, "I've seen it all ready."  I hadn't, so went back dozing and let her take the basket, thinking she may be a college student.

Buffalo Bill stuff

(1929 August, Buffalo WY
Oh, nearly everyone at Cody is so fed up on this Buffalo Bill Stuff -- they can't abide it any more.  It's played up constantly and becomes painful.

Euchre

(1929 August, Buffalo, WY
The edge on the friendships were pretty thin this afternoon.  Vi and Jeannette [Jurgeson] were going to play euchre and wanted me to play (Tommy was driving down a perilous mountain about then, but we had to have some diversion, hence the cards).  She was quite horrid about teaching me, but I tried hard to be noble -- aren't you proud of me for holding my temper?  Please do be -- it was noble.

Wide open spaces

(1929 August, Buffalo WY)
There are fields of horses and little colts, and plains of cows and dear little calves.  So darling -- no fences -- all so free.  There's something about it, somehow.  --  I suppose a winter would cure me of quite a bit.  -- ?  --

Cow boys

(1929 August, Buffalo, Wyoming)
These towns are full of cow boys with high Stetson hats, fancy boots and high heels, colored leather and stitching.  Sometimes their shirts are of 6 or 7 different colors - bandana or scarf -- oh, boy!

Altitude

(1929 August, in Buffalo, Wyoming)
[Polly and three friends drove out to Yellowstone Park; on her way back she wrote to Lorin.]  Have you ever been affected with the altitude?  We drove over the Big Horn Moutains today, and they were worse than the Rockies.  Tommy [Tucker] and I are the only ones bothered, it seems.  The pressure was annoying, but when all the tubes began to pain, we nearly saw doctors.  Usually coming down, our hearing comes back with a rush, but today things seemed farther away and stayed gone longer.  Most odd.  But we feel better now, all but a little dizziness,ich is going fast.

Paper route

(1970 June)
His [Lorin's] feet were so painful whenever he walked or stood that he would take his shoes off the moment he came into the house.  As a boy he delivered papers over a very long route in Milwaukee and thus developed flat feet and bunions.  A couple of years before his father died [in 1957] they were together in a car in Milwaukee riding along Lake Drive, and Lorin recalled to his father his job as a paper boy - and when he pointed out the distance he walked every morning, starting out in the dark, his father simply could not believe it.

Reddish nose

(1970 January)
One time years ago when he [Lorin] was coming home from Milwaukee, his windshield wiper wouldn't go and he had to lean out of the car to see to drive.  He got the wind and snow in his face and ever after had a reddish nose - the blood vessels had burst.

The blue stocking cap

(1970 January)
Some years ago ...  after [Lorin had had] several experiences of walking thru a blizzard a ways - I knit him a blue stocking cap and mittens.  He DESPISED being seen in that cap, but feared more some illness brot on by below zero weather, exposure, so did wear it this past - last - January.

Here comes the lad

(1970 January)
Every morning we got up at 6:30 - breakfast at 7 - a tense time wondering if the paper boy would come with the paper in time to be read at the table.  Sometimes Lorin would be oh-so-quaint and say, "Ah, here comes the lad."  Or I might.

Lawrence & Lorin

(1969 after Christmas)
[Skip and Miryam went off to a history convention.]  Master Lawrence [4] and Lorin, meanwhile, spent the week from Christmas to New Year's with us.  He was good, he was naughty, he was charming, he was fun!  We often looked out of the corners of our eyes studying him.  We came to the conclusion he was a pretty nice little boy, and he liked us too.  When Lorin would wiggle his ears, Lawrence would shriek with disbelief.  Some best times together were on Grandfather's lap having Mr. Toad ("Wind in the Willows") read.

Turkey

(1969 Christmas)
For years Mary M's godfather, Louis SaLoutos, gave us a turkey all hot from his oven for our family Christmas Eve supper, and this year was a repeat performance.  ...  I hurried around, set the table, baked a mince pie, and Skip and Bruce went after the turkey.  ...  Lawrence [4] watched at the window for the turkey to come and opened the door.

The HO train

(1969 Christmas)
Here I am going to tell about my last present to Lorin, the HO train, or postage stamp train.  From a crack or two he let out the last couple of years, I got the idea he might like a minature train; so to Krouskop's I went and bought the last one they had, about $25, that is very high for me to go on a present.  That night two boys knocked at the door wondering if I were going to keep the train as they had their eyes on it.  If I were not, I should return it to Krouskop's and they would buy it.  One was young Jim Clausius.  Lorin kept at me - "Who was at the door, Polly?" - until I finally told him.  He decided Christmas was for kids and the train better go back.  But he unwrapped it and looked at it longingly and lovingly.  He said that was the nicest thing anyone had thought of for him in years, and under other other circumstances he would have loved it.  All right.  So I brought it back.

Homemade gifts

(1969 Christmas)
This was the year of the homemade gifts.  I made up a Sunbonnet Girl Quilt for Elizabeth Thursz.  Aunt Olga Ellman had made the blocks years ago.  And I made an Alice in Wonderland Quilt for Lawrence.  I crocheted a brown and white rug for Mary Margaret.

Fruit cake

(1969 December 7)
On December 7 we were snowbound and [Lorin and I] made fifteen pounds of Fruit cake.  (Jokingly we wondered if such a big recipe wouldn't last us the rest of our lives.  Only too true [noted in margin, June 1970].)  It was unusual for us to do these things together, and we thoroly enjoyed it.  He helped me partly because of the fun and partly because both of these projects [mincemeat and fruit cake] were too much for me alone, and he knew it and came to my rescue, as always.  We packed it all away with brandy ... and stored it in the attic after first taking out a cake for Christmas and sending one to Aunt Mary Maibuchner in Fond du Lac.

Mincemeat

(1969 November 15)
On Saturday, November 15, Lorin and I made five quarts of rich mincemeat from the recipe in the "Woman's Home Companion Cook Book."  Lorin's favorite pie.

Stamp collectors

(1941 Fall)
[To her Aunt Lois:]  Skip loves his school this year [fifth grade] and loves his teacher [Wanda Roberts].  She disciplines them, yet is kind.  I must take the stamp off your letter for him.  He saves everything for his album or for trading with other boys.  Lorin is so good to him, and they go over their stamps together.  Skip is so like his father in appetite and all.

Over 90

(1994 May 10)
I am often sleepy.  Does this have anything to do with being over 90?  Just refused invitation to kick a Beach Ball around.

Holy week

(1967 March 20)
Well, we are in Holy Week now.  Just finished embroidering another cross on another purificator.  Daddy's last class on Revelations Wednesday.  ...  I am going to make name eggs for each Sunday School child.  ...  Also have a wonderful Easter and a big smile for te first robin.

Nightmare phoning

(1967 March 20)
Last night I dreamed I was phoning, facing breakfast alcove, when the ceiling came down and an electric shock caught my hand in the phone making it limp.  I called MM from upstairs, and she came, and I told her to get Joe R. to fix the ceiling.  Then you came in all covered with a yellow oilskin, no holes for face (sort of KKK) - but I knew you right away.  You said, "What's all this?"  I said, "A mess.  Where did you come from?"  You said, "Oh, I have been staying with friends who have a little cottage over here on the Wabash.  Been doing a little writing."  This kept pegging at me - Wabash?  Here in Wisconsin?  Until I finally work up.  Queer.

Go easy

(1967 March 7)
Future [at KU] sounds bright and cheerful and, as you say, if you go easy on wine, women and song, and beards, berets and sandals, all will be very well indeed.  I am not worried about the teaching because I know in my heart you are a very dedicated person.  And I am glad that you are satisfied with the library and the possibility of development.  Skip, twice you have said how harmonious it is there.

Location, location

(1967 March 7)
Since you first mentioned the possibility of Lawrence, I have been trying to lay my hands on a map to find out where it is located, but only found it yesterday.  The maps of Kansas we had did not give it.  But now I found my old black atlas book and located it.  Seems to be near Topeka, Kansas City and Leavenworth.  Also the Missouri River near there.  As map is so small, cannot tell whether river goes thru Kansas at that point or whether lines are railroads.  You will have to expand on it or get Chamber of Commerce of Kansas to fill me in.  Looks to me like a good location - better than center of state, for instance.

Lawrence Richmond

(1967 March 7)
Random thoughts [about Skip's new job at Lawrence, KS].  Who would ever have dreamed after all these Ozzy years there really was a place called Kansas?  And won't the baby be confused wondering if he is a person, place, or thing?  ...  Bad enough with that Richmond middle name, but now the first also.  Fate.

Got the job

(1967 March 7)
Yesterday noon as I was getting lunch, Daddy came home - and in response to my hello burst out with "Good news!  Good news!  Skip got the job!" [at Kansas U].

Bible class

(1967 February 27)
Daddy is giv a Lenten Bible Class, and so far we have read Deuteronomy and Amos.  He is excellent but too few come.  Yet all are anxious for the class.

Lenten excercise

(1967 February 27)
For a little Lenten exercise, I have taken over a box of linen left by the LeHew sisters in which are a few altar linens half finished - also cloth for making more - so I am embroidering crosses on those and hemming them.

Warm pyjamas

(1967 February 27)
Sad to say I was stricken again with this rheumatism I had before, and on top of it have a heavy head cold.  ...  I haven't been fully dressed since Valentine's Day.  I could, but I am warmer and more relaxed in warm pajamas and robe; besides it is easier to go on like this when I alternate work with rest periods.  I have help twice a week and my family helps too.  Dee lets me know when we are getting oil or groceries and Penelope [cat] gives me lots of love.  So I wait for my cold to go away and Spring to come and then I'll be fine.

State of the Union

(1967 January)
Last night we went to the Irish movie, "Fighting Prince of Donegal."  About a dozen people there, no more.  Tonight President Johnston is on TV for 2 1/2 hours and the place may be packed.

Ngaio

(1996 March 29)
What are you reading that can be talked about?  I am still on "Grave Mistake" by Ngaio Marsh.  When you find out how to pronounce "Ngaio," let me know.

Costume wardrobe

(1966 October)
I am sending the little girls [Gail & Elizabeth] a costume for Hallowe'en....  I only wish I had time to make two good outfits, but it is getting cool now and I have work to do on Lawrence's outfit.  Just want you to know the Miss Patches [an Oz book character] took hours of work, and I sent it with a hope you will take it with you when you leave [Colorado] and have the girls start a costume wardrobe.  It is such a joy to dress up even if it isn't Hallowe'en, as well we know.

Powder plant

(1966 September 9)
Yesterday the Powder Plant at Baraboo exploded and several fire departments called out.  $500,000 damage.  It was the building making bullets for Viet Nam.  Rockets OK.  No one knows cause.

Restoration

(1966 September 9)
Yesterday I spent some time restoring an old doll that Edith's old auntie had when young.  Recovered the body.  Leather arms and hands and boots are ticklish.  Fun to do.

Sunday School

(1966 September 9)
I am again going to have my class in needlework in the Auditorium this fall, if enough sign up.  Almost wish they wouldn't - I have so many projects lined up.  Thought I was all set on Sunday School book and at last minute Anna Lord wanted to combine her class with mine and take younger group, so now I am short 3 books  ...  but think they are out of print though excellent.  So I must dream up a course until I hear [from publisher] or get new ones we can afford all around.  Also on layman Sundays [when no priest here] I take the Morning Prayer session of the combined Sunday School.  Small, true, but the preparation about the same.

Sheets

(1966 September 9)
It is amazing how long some sheets (linens) last.  I have some that were in Vina's household.  The sheet I sent you I got the year I moved here [1938] when Carolyn Bancroft worked in Krouskops.  She is a grandmother now.

Norwegians

(1966 August 13)
Norwegians, old and hard of hearing, gather in the hall chairs [outside LL's hospital room] and talk like crazy.  LL tells the nurses it doesn't bother him at all but tells me it does.  There is no lounge on 2nd & 3rd floors.  He wanted the radio on and the nurse got all mixed up and handed him the TV remote control.  Then the loan radio of Holly [Strang]'s wouldn't go.  ...  Holly brot him a new FM that played beautifully, blocking out the Norwegians with concert.  Helped a lot.

What'sup?

(1966 August 10)
We follow the adventures of the Kentucky Kays with eager attention.  By the 24th will Laurie be walking?  Will the cat have kittens?  Will the Volvo speedometer be working?  Will the bill on prayers in schools be dropped?  Will the French landlord change his mind on taking out his bedding?  What about the snags in the Doctor's MS [about the Council of Bourges]?  Will they be ironed out?  [No - it was finally published in 2002.]  Can Gail bring her bike?  Were Elizabeth's winter boots packed?  Is there room for Miryam's roller skates?  Don't forget your camera.

Dying

(1966 August 10)
You can have no idea what a relief this has been to me [that LL is OK].  Before the operation, he talked so sensibly about dying.  He said now he had had ten more years than people with his trouble [diabetes] often have.  He has had a good life and a happy home, and if this were it, all right.  HE may have been ready, but I was not and am plenty glad the Grim Reaper gave us a miss.

Ruth Nee

(1966 August 10)
[The night after the operation] I phoned Ruth [Nee RN] about 10 p.m. and after learning all was well, we both [PK & MM] got a good night's rest.

Gall stones

(1966 August 10)
[The day of LL's operation, Polly was waiting in his hospital room.]  About 2 along came a RN with the [gall] stones in a neat little box!!  Offering them to me?!!!  I gave her a disgusted look and she laughed and said, "You can make them into a necklace and wear them around your neck."  I turned away and looked out of the window and think it revolting.  However, I guess this is the usual procedure, as you say.

Hospital

(1966 August 7)
I was talking to Jean yesterday and TERRIBLE screams came over the phone.  I asked if someone was hurt - fighting? - te kids were just playing hospital!

Nursery

(1966 August 7)
[A few days before LL's operation] I went to the hospital about 2....  Well, he was tired of being in bed, and I persuaded him to take a long walk to the Nursery to look at the babies.  When we arrived at the window, not a child!  Quipped he:  And this is the population explosion they want us to build a new school for!

Merit badge

(1966 July 31)
David Spear came to pass his stamp merit badge, and although Daddy had planned to watch the play "Mary Mary" with me, he spent 2-1/2 hours passing him - helping him do some hard things.

Mr. Apfelbaum

(1966 July 31)
Saturday Daddy sold his foreign stamps to Mr. Apfelbaum for $5000.  We were so glad they came on Saturday while he was still here [and not yet in hospital] and could handle the transaction.  Mr. and Mrs. Apfelbaum have a retail stamp store in Philadelphia employing about 50 people.  They tour months at a time buying up collections.  ...  They arrived about 9 a.m., stayed to lunch, left about 4:30.  We were all exhausted.  It took 8 cartons from movers' size to small, which had to fetched from attic & basement.  ...  Mr. A reminded me of Grandfather Kay, dapper, slightly bald, shrewd, same oxy sense of humor:  Would you like to get in this box?  (Ha Ha).  ...  Lunch was a nightmare.  Everyone on diets, all different.  Mr. A was off fowl, fresh fruits and salad, coffee, cigarettes.  Whew!

Gall bladder

(1966 July 28)
[LL must have a gall bladder procedure.]  When I tell you he will hate every second, every minute of having people poke him and wash him and hurt him, and yet cheers us up about his going, not a word of complaint or self pity, only hard work to the end to straighten out his affairs, which are more complex than you ever dreamed of, you can understand perhaps why I think he is the bravest and most courageous person I ever knew.

Probably barefoot

(1966 July 8)
In case you are wondering and you probably are not, I am wearing a beige cotton knit two-piece to the wedding [of Marthea Kay] with a blue hat, white purse, probably barefoot.

LeHew house

(1966 Spring)
The LeHew house is being dismantled, and I have been over there - bought a chair to replace that big striped one that Grandfather paid 500 for years ago.  So LL says - or was it 300 (?).

Sit-down strike

(1966 Spring)
The UW students have been having a sit-down strike vs. giving out grades for evading draft.  Copying Chicago U.  It seems to me they would do better to spend time studying, but it is going through channels etc.

Water

(1966 Spring)
Or Robin never left her nest, and I am so proud of her.  And I'll tell you what attracts wild life - water.  I have been putting some out and enjoy seeing all birds and squirrels bathe and drink.  Never knew it could be so much fun.

Elephants

(1966 Spring)
Kiwanis sponsored a wild animal movie - Africa.  ...  It was in the Auditorium but a small portable screen.  Good pictures tho.  ...  Did you know the elephants feed their young from their two breasts which are between their front legs?  And often 2 young.  One 5 years old and one as old as 3?  I never knew that before.

Jury trial

(1966 Spring)
Monday was drawing the jury and preliminaries.  Never quit court house till 5:30.  Tuesday the same - a a school bus of all involved, judge, jury, attorneys etc. visited scene of crime.  Witnesses on stand.  Mr. Broce [the plaintiff, LL's client] testified to several documents - identified them - then came one and he said he didn't know - forgot his glasses.  !  Daddy covered for him.  An attorney has to be ready for every crisis that may come.  By Wednesday night the other side decided to settle and were we glad.

Xmas tree farm

(1966 Spring)
Starting last week, he [LL] worked like mad every day preparing for jury case this week.  He was for Broce who operates a Xmas Tree farm at Lone Rock vs. Electric Co. who by negligence burned down some acres of trees by dropping hot wires, as far as I can make out.  By the time LL has been with it all day, he wants a change of subject when he gets home.

Remote

(1966 July 4)
[Mary Margaret, at RC hospital for tonsillectomy] has a wonderful corner room (#325) - the Housner Room - complete with TV high over the dresser mirror.  The first thing she did as we waited for nurse to come in was to snoop in all the dresser drawers.  In the top dresser drawer she immediately pulled out a gadget and started snapping it.  She said, "Gee - I never saw one of these before.  It must be remote control."  It was, and the Picture showed on The Box.  I was sorry it didn't operate something else just to teach her a lesson.

Mrs Lincoln

(1966 July 3)
You remind me of Mrs. Lincoln, who strapped a typewriter to her running board when setting out on a long trip; in case she should be moved by some glorious scenery, Pearl, her husband [aka Judge Lincoln] could pull to the side of the road and she could type up her emotions.

Sparklers

(1966 July 3)
When LL got the Sunday paper today, he also got a package of colored sparklers; so when it gets dark now we are going to go out and sparkle, as it will be all the Glorious Fourth she will be able to enjoy [because MM is going to have her tonsils out the next day].

Suit up!

(1966 June 24)
Also a word about the swimming pool.  There is now a fence around it, and no one allowed in without a bathing suit on.  So mothers who do not trust the life guards wear their suits so they can enter the area.  So you could bring yours.

Quite a Saturday

(1966 May 28)
This has been quite a Saturday for your father.  He came home [from the office] at 10 a.m. [instead of noon] to rest for a few moments and found the vacuum cleaner going upstairs; the radio on WRCO and MM ironing on the first floor; and the new lawn mower going outside.  Then off to the court house lawn to help in Kiwanis car check of muffler, seat belts, etc.  He was the one who put the sticker on at end!  Home and found lunch late (I was involved in all other activities - was directing and helping Donna upstairs when MM called - she had made Jello and spilled juice, red, on the clean clothes and what to do? - also out with Gary).  At 1 p.m. he started his Confirmation Class, and from 2-3 to Library and shopped - 3-4 with us after funeral to Krogers, and then we got cones and ate them by the swimming pool.

Eastern Star funeral

(1966 May 28)
The funeral of Mary Speidel's mother ...  was an Eastern Star funeral.  About seven ladies and one man went up before coffin.  Each read something appropriate and placed a sprig of flowers on her coffin.  Prayers were said and a song sung.  And that was the entire ritual.  She had been Worthy Matron and also held offices in the state role.

Makeover

Spent the evening at Jean Birkett's, where the women of our church met.  She has a new living-room curtain arrangement.  The bottom part of her windows have small working shutters, while the top is monk's cloth with fringe that pull.  You will have to see it.  Transforms the room and surely is different.

Life skills

(1969 May 22)
Very much interested in Lawrence's [arithmetic] paper of matching numbers.  All right but one!  Jan, who is substitute teaching kindergarten, says very fine.  Hope he grows up appreciating the virtues, honesty fair play, etc.  Very important.

Opportunity

(1969 March 17)
P. S.  Daddy gone now [to Milwaukee for a funeral] and to stay over night.  So tired.  I hated to see him go.  Very quiet here.  Took the opportunity to paint inside medicine cabinet and toilet seat.

Signs of spring

(1969 March 17, St. Patrick's Day)
Do you actually hear mocking birds?  I saw a butterfly, and wondered how he could be so misled.  On this walk [our neighbor] Hubert was shoveling his walk.  He said, "At last getting down to the sidewalk."  Getting off big cakes of ice.  I still can't get my back door open - an icy snow drift has been there all winter.

Coal cutter

(1969 February 9)
What a time with Lawrence [3+] and the accident!  ...  O - the parallels I could draw!  Remember when we were all ready to go to a Masonic banquet, and Lawrence's father decided to take a silver knife and try to cut a piece of coal in two at the sink.  Nearly cut his finger off.  So off to the doctor and then to the banquet.

Mantel clock

(1969 February 9)
Thought to replace our mantel clock [inherited from Alfred Kay, which sounds Westminister chimes - at all the wrong times].  If so, $450.  Few chimes made today!  May try again to get this one repaired.  [Still goes out of sync in 2012.]

Nothing fancy

(1969 February 9) My birthday was somewhat unusual.  In the morning about 9:30 I took a cab to Church, where I attended the funeral of Hazel Crane, Dorothy Lenz' mother.  After shopping for a dress to wear March 1 [MM's wedding], I met LL at the Park Hotel for lunch.  We nearly broke down - or up - on the ordering.  I said I'd take an egg salad sandwich.  Waitress:  "We don't have that.  No one wants it, and it gets pushed to the back of the fridge and sours."  LL:  "I'll have a club sandwich."  Waitress:  "No tomatoes!  Nope.  They come all green."  LL:  "What will you put in place of tomatoes?"  Waitress:  "Lettuce.  Chuck in more lettuce."  She settled for a Denver sandwich for me.  "Skim milk?  No.  Oh no."  So she started us off by pouring our coffee, which was cold as bla by the time we got to pie.

Dollar day

(1968 March 20)
[After a day when Lorin bought a new car, let Polly get some new furniture, and was approached for loans to both his children, he] retired early to bed, complaining of dizziness.  "I never thought I'd live to see the time I'd spend $10,000 all in one day," he murmured somewhat weakly - (yet not keeping the grin entirely off).  P. S.  Actually, I'm happy about the new car.  Daddy works so hard, I'm glad he can have something for himself sometime.  You know?

A busy morning

(1968 December)
Must watch TV with Daddy.  We have a new lounge-sleeper which is an Early American davenport by day and sleeps 2 at night.  Upstairs.  Now I can stretch out if I am watching a long movie.  We had another beautiful elm in front cut down the same day Mike Meadows brot the sofa.  First the crew to cut the tree.  Then the city crew to haul it away.  Meadows here an hour - couldn't get the sofa upstairs.  All the time Betty here vacuuming and cleaning, and phone ringing.  Quite a busy morning.

Soup

(1968 December 1)
We had a fine #12 turkey, and now I have cut it all off the bones, covered them with water, added diced onion, carrot, celery, parsley, lemon slice, and tomorrow we'll have
soup.  How's that for economy?  You were brought up to be frugal, so it should come easy to you.  I will never spend much, unless I am absolutely carried away, and this is indeed a rare occasion.

Long hair

(1968 December 1)
Cannot imagine you a Beatle fan.  You have something (I don't like) in common tho.  Haven't you?

Not too bad

(1968 Summer)
I told Daddy last night, now I was better, I was going to see to a lot of things and pick up the house.  He said, "Oh, the house isn't too bad"  In the past we have had some bad times when his shirts were ironed badly and my sewing was all over.  I have learned to do the things that are important to him.

Kanables!

(1968 February 3)
 Think I'll visit Mabel Kanable at Jean's tomorrow.  Think I told you she fell on her lawn below zero, where she lay one hour until helped.  The fracture was pinned on her hip, and she is running the vocational school from her bed.  We were convulsed.  She had her own phone at hospital, and she would answer by saying, "Kanables!" just as if she were at home.  But she mustn't be alone yet, so is at Jean's.  Is fine - wheelchair - crutches.

Starter

(1968 April)
Also in Kansas City paper says 5 dead in riots.  Hope you were home correcting papers.  Daddy says if negroes want to be like white men, they should try to start acting like them.  for a starter.

Babysitter

(1968 April)
I noticed in the paper all the rioting began in Baltimore.  Gives one pause to think.  Hope by the time you get ready to go there [on your postdoc in August] things will have quieted down.  If a question of safety, as long as I am able I will take the baby [Lawrence].  Hope this unnecessary and family can be together and stay together.  You will know as time goes on.

Something new

1968 March 20, First day of Spring
As Lorin came home at noon, I was finishing licking an envelope at my desk.  "I just threw Caution to the Winds" I said.  "And ordered a dress and cape at Simpson's.  What's new with you?"  --  "Look outside," said he.  Looking out, I spied a gold four-door Cadillac.  "Whew!" said I.  Then he explained:  as he was coming home [in his Oldsmobile] Frank Jones [client & GM dealer] caught up with him at Hestitunes with this car they had been waiting to come in.  So they traded so Lorin could try it out.  So there it was.  Beautiful.  Convenient to get in and out of.  Our last car.  You know, every time Lorin (the Bank) uses his car, he salts away fifty cents so when it is time for a new one, he has a car fund ready.

My old things

(1968 February 21)
I often look at all my old things and wonder what will become of them.  When Richland Center has a museum, that might be the answer - those old flat irons - etc.  Oh well  --

Nice try

On my birthday Daddy asked me out to eat at the Park [hotel] and then to the Eskin [theatre] to see "The Taming of the Shrew"  Usually I am home at night (also days) and when I do go out, I prepare for it by resting up beforehand.  Too too bad but a nice try.

Winter coat

(1968 February 21)
Yesterday I bought a new winter coat - blue and black - with fur trim so I can wear a fur hat with it ... if I want to.  Half price and buttons up well at the neck.  The one I wear to Church is too dressy for dashing downtown on errands.

ABC book

(1968 February 21)
So glad to get your letter, and I have been trying to get some pix to fill out Lawrence's ABC book, but we take almost no magazines that have pictures any more; however, I think that pictures of the family would be interesting to include - E for Elizabeth, G for Gail, M for Mama, etc.  This does not mean I have stopped looking, and will send on any I come across.

Ale

(1968 February 3)
[After your quick Christmas visit]  Even Daddy felt bad - he had gotten in ale, and with all the commotion never got it out.  Wanted to have some with you.  Well, you have to be terribly quick to get a record played, or something said you have been wanting to say, let alone favorite dishes cooked or drank, at Xmas.

Detour

(1968 February 3)
The Seminary [Street] bridge is unsafe and closed and being worked on, therefore all traffic to clinic etc. goes by our house, including school buses, trucks, etc.  Big difference.  People walk over the dam.  Cabs charge 50 cents instead of 40.  I was going to town to do a few errands but doesn't seem wise to add a dollar to my small purchases, so may rest up and go with LL at one some other day.  He works late - TAXES.

Auditorium remake

(1968 Februry 3)
Friday spent nearly all day abed and took pills and was OK to go to opera at night.  The Auditorium has been painted pale blue.  All the gold cupids and trim done over.  New furnace.  Red covers on seat backs.  Red carpet.  It was "La Boheme" in Italian from Wis. U. and very well done.  There were two sets - actually painted on each side.  The interior of attic became outside of tavern.  I was intrigued.

Daddy days

(1968 February 3)
Daddy did well this afternoon.  Brot a lemon pie home in perfect order.  He works away at his coin book and has a new Bach organ record.  Tax time again.  At the annual [parish] meeting last Sunday, he asked, at close of meeting, when we would be able to discuss this new service with Fr. S?  And a few choice phrases not complementary.  Next day, Fr. S. came by to see me, and Wed. night called by invitation, and he and LL had a very good private talk 8-11, but no concessions.  At least, communication.  Monday, yesterday, hestarted his coin book over from beginning.  Probably all for best. Different approach.

Competition

(1968 February 3)
WRCO (radio station) has consented to let the College have the air Sunday nights, and they had a big meeting, and MM is temporary chairman.  She says who would leave Ed Sullivan and Smothers Brothers for them.  However----

Apology

(1968 January, first Tuesday)
Some traitor may have gone behind my back, whispering to you about my being lacking in business acumen.  To illustrate his theme, he may point out that had I been so minded and alert, I should have given you this mail [when you were here for Christmas] so you might have cashed your check.  On my part, let me point out that:  (1) My mind is on more important things, such as feeding the starving.  Ask any man whose faintness is due to lack of nourishment which he would rather do, sit down to dinner or cash a two-bit check, and you will see my meaning.  (2) Not having x-ray eyes, how did I know it was a check anyway?  (3) I wasn't to blame anyway.  Why wasn't I asked if any mail had come?  At any rate, here's your old mail, and really, I am sorry.

Happy new year?

(1968 January, first Tuesday)
Happy 1968.  Pogo says it doesn't have to be happy.  But so nice if so.

Little boys

(1967 November 2)
When I go shopping, I eye the little boys and often ask their mothers how old they are, to keep up with Lawrence.

Modern Colonial

(1967 November 2)
Last night Auxiliary met at Alice Read's - new people here who built a house beyond Meadows on top of hill.  Looks small from road, but many rooms.  Frautschi's Madison [furniture store] did living room - theme is Modern Colonial - no maple furniture [like Polly's colonial], all walnut, all quiet and good taste.  Mr. Read has a study with old fashioned desk, sofas, etc.  In basement, a shop - saws, etc.  Children have their rooms in basement.  Also big playroom, etc.  Many closets.  Also a family room.

TA's on strike

(1967 November 2)
Daddy heard driving in Madison terrible now since bus strike.  Cars bumper to bumper take hours to go few blocks.  Parking?  !!  This riot caused a lot of trouble.  Every day papers full of opinions - police brutality - student rights - administration power, etcetcetc.  Meetings rehashed on the radio for breakfast and on TV evenings.  President Harrington interviewed by panel, etc.

Careless

(1967 November 2)
Yesterday George Bancroft's funeral here.  He was head of a building concern - concrete - made garages, roads, etc.  Had permission to carry a gun on Fridays when he had the payroll $5000 for crew.  Came home with gun in sweater pocket, stumbled on stairs, gun went off, bullet in lungs, etc.  Seems odd he, an ex soldier, could be so careless with a gun.

Living

(1967 November 2)
I think of you as I go about my daily round.  I think of all the good things you are doing that are so grand, and all the others I wish I could push back in limbo, wherever that is.  Living is the hardest thing to do in this life, I guess.  If we live alone, we are lonely, and if we live with others, it's hard to get along.  ...  The only thing to do is try, and I know you are doing that.

Mum's the word

(1967 October)
Last night Daddy went to Father S's study group [about changes in Episcopalian liturgy].  He came home feeling he had done his duty by going and keeping mum.  But on the side, tells me what errors in spelling were made on blackboard, what haf truths were stated etc.  He could give the lecture without notes!  But very sporting to go.

Allergenic art

(1967 September 13)
MM's art course [at the RC campus] met first time last night 6:30-8:30.  Class includes Drs. Meyer, Spear, etc.  They climbed a hill behind the campus and drew the scene below - right thru the ragweed, dews and damps.  Some wit remarked now class was over a clinic could be set up for colds and hayfever.

Mini skirts

(1967 September 10)
Mini skirts are banned by high school, which put out regulations, and now the stores here are stuck with thousands of dollars worth of clothes which were ordered months ago when high school said no restrictions, as I hear it.

Laugh-in

(1967 September 10)
We watched a new TV show called "Laugh-in" (Saturday nite).  Try to see it - very fast jokes and good.  Those buttons were everywhere:  Thop Lithping.  Lady Godiva wears jockey shorts.  Down with mini skirts.  Goliath was stoned.

Foreboding

(1967 September 10)
Church this morning and a warning in the sermon that things will be changed by the Seattle Triennial.  Highlight the Mass and toss out the Confession and Creeds is what I gather will be done.  Well, many old bishops will be against that and perhaps some were present in 1928 when the Prayer Book was first adopted, and they certainly will feel traditional, as you can guess we do.

Brotherhood

1967August 23)
Last night we spent an hour at the Meadows - Ann told about a wild tea she attended to honor a girl from India dressed in a sari (named Maude Murphy!).  It was at the height of the Arab-Israeli war.  As they sat sipping tea, one large-busted woman folded her arms and took a stand.  "Push them into the sea!" she would exclaim.  "Drive the Jews into the sea!"  Nearly everyone else there knew Ann to be Jewish.  One meek soul did say, "I do think, don't you, we should all try to practice brotherhood?"  The worst part was the Indian had come here to observe the religious tolerance she had heard America stood for.

Step back

(1967 August 9)
A year ago today was Daddy's gall bladder operation.  As I was spending an hour and a quarter in the dentist chair yesterday, I saw him go by on the way to court - by Fleming's [shoe store]- the old spring in the step just as always.

Ordination

(1967 October 16)
The Ordination [of our rector] went off without a hitch.  ...  There was a big variety of people there.  Owing to small building, I thot few would be asked.  Not so.  Every clergyman in RC, I think.  Delegation from Milwaukee and Madison.  Bishop H. says in his column in The Churchman there is an Ordination every Saturday now, and heccan hardly get his yard cleaned up before snow falls.  I was interested in two nuns who didn't genuflect as they came in and were a little lost in the beginning of service from Prayer Book to Hymnal, but as soon as the Mass started, they knew right where they were and went right along with it!

Trial period

(1967 October 16)
Daddy is wasting his life fighting in the courts over a heifer today.  One guy lost it, one guy found it and kept it - etc. etc.  Yesterday it was 4 trials.  Monday no noon hour other than eat and off to hospital to telephone-radio lecture to lawyers in area.  All trials in PM.  Oof!

Almost trivia

(1967 July 16)
Lots of little things going on around here of interest to us but almost too trivial to mention - the gopher that climbed way to the top of the apple tree; the brown thrasher family; the turtle the newsboy had in his money bag when he was collecting one morning; the new type sermons Fr. Stolpman is giving; my tooth that broke off with a crown in the offing - are all samples.  It is the same with you, no doubt.

Mittens in July

(1967 July 16)
What weather do you have [in Kansas]?  Hot summers?  I wonder what the winters are.  I have a spell on me for knitting mittens now, and if any of you will be needing mittens this winter, please draw around your hand, label with name, and forward together with color preferences.

New nuisance

1967 July 16)
The pantie factory below us has moved to bigger quarters, and I hear the City is going to use it for High School Recreation, Dances, etc.  Hire a Caretaker.  We are enjoying the Quiet while we may.

Summer of love

(1997 July 16)
I hear you have been to California and had yourselves quite a time!  It made us tired just to read it, and we're glad you were the ones who had lived thru it and not us.  Stamina must be the watchword.  Oh yes - the Hippies and the Chippies - we hear about them in our remote village also.  I'm sure you must have seen a lot of lovely things also.

Obedient dog

(1967 May 3)
May Day MM went down by river bank and picked big bouquet violets.  Dee <5> was to go also but for some reason would only frisk back and forth on bank by our clothes line.  Tho he has gone down alone by river and had to be called back.  [Probably understood that he was never to go down to the river]

Beaumont Ave.

Hear you are thinking of buying a house.  Arguments for and against.  Big consideration is money and depreciation and upkeep.  LL says it's a luxury.  The first one we bought was cute but too small.  When Daddy found he couldn't keep his stamps in your room any longer, I think it was a disappointment.  Our bedroom was also a sad place, as the rain burst in on the closet shelf and wet the albums one spring.  Think hard about your needs and what you can afford for upkeep.

Gay 90's

(1967 April 21)
Last Sunday I was cleaning up some embroidery threads which were wrapped around wads of newspaper.  Upon ironing these, I found them to be for around 1890 and interesting.  Daddy and I reconstructed a scene in Milwaukee where on a Sunday afternoon Auntie Mabel was sorting threads and wound them on the bits of paper.  They are of no special value, and after you enjoy them, you may do what you like with them.

Skippy II

(1967 April 21)
Thoroly enjoyed your section on Lawrence [age 18 months], Skippy II, chip off the old block.  No nap while he is awake.  Gee, I don't know whether I could cope with him singlehanded or not.  He is getting to be a real person - his pictures are darling.

First letter

(1913? September 23, Oconto WI)
[Penny postcard (reading "Best Wishes") addressed in ink by Olga to:  "Miss Lois Parsons, Fond du lac, Wisc., Waupun Str."  Polly (age 9?) is staying with her aunt Olga while her tubercular mother is in a sanitorium.  Polly writes in pencil:]  Dear grandma and aunt Lois.  We are all well, and I like to go to school.  We hope you are getting along nice.  I wish you would write soon.  from your Loving Carolyn X+X+

Animal crackers

(1993 December late)
Believe it or not, I have just eaten a whale fish, and before that a graham hippopotomus.  How could I resist with the box open on the coffee table before me?  --  Sherry, [at Christmas] when we sat around half starved waiting for the call to supper, Skip would say, "Sherry's present!" and each of us would devour an entire wild animal with no trouble at all.

Drawing class

Mrs. Brice, wife of clergyman, just left, having invited me to a drawing class Monday.  The first lesson will be to draw an apple, and the next an article standing near the apple.  I am thinking of a spider and web.

Silent star

(1994 January 2, on postcard with picture of Norma Talmadge)
Here comes a movie star I used to love and go to see whenever I could afford it.  Not too much.

Dachshund

(1994 January)
The maid often sits down, and we talk a while - tonight about our pet dogs.  They have a wiener dog, her husband's pet.  Sits up as easily as lies down.  Never taught.

Be prepared

(1994 January)
I turned the light on beside my bed and POP the bulb burned out.  What to do?  In the dark I felt for my call bell on top of my blanket and pressed the button.  Soon came the maid, who turned on the overhead.  The maintenance man had left a bulb here in case I needed it, at my suggestion, and soon all was in order - a tempest in a teapot.

bible trivia

(1994 January 20)
This afternoon I wandered into the dining room, where people were sitting in a circle  ...  Those in the circle were playing Bible Trivia, and I was surprised to find myself the star performer.  All those childhood story books, some so beautiful; I wish I never gave them away.  [Actually, Skip still has them.]

Absent-minder

(1994 January 18)
Ruth [Pilger] Andrews wrote me she could no longer remember me, and this has made me very sad.  All she can recall is:  I in a tam-o-shanter hiking along with her.  I have slept with her in her bed in Ripon  We shared classes and good times.  I must forget her, I suppose.  She is busy answering a tabletop of consoling letters since Dick's death.

Car reader

(1994 January 8)
Christie the mail person says she knows Skip's writing by this time, as today when she brot the mail around and said, "A card from Skip - I know his writing by now."  Skip, let's work up a code to fool her!

Black cocker

(1994 January 8)
A woman here often brings her black cocker, perfectly trained.  She pays no attention to him but he heels when she turns and never sits unless bid.  She doen't bring him all the time.

Toenail scissors

(1994 early January)
Did we talk about baths here?  You take one when your name comes up in a little notebook Dorthea keeps.  So one night we had all this bath, and at the end she said, "This is as far as we can go.  Your toenails need trimming, but we have no toenail scissors." - "Oh yes we do," says little Polly, triumphant by producing hers.  Aren't these things always amazingly satisfactory?  Beyond sense.

Hiker

(1994 early January)
Some years ago I had hiking boots like Sally's.  I bought them at George's at Fond du Lac and brot them to Ripon, where Tommy and Hiker (Ruth Pilger) and I would sometimes walk to Berlin!  [20 miles apart]. Very very tired when I got home.  Part of discussion was if we should accept rides.  If the road were icy and the way long, I think we would.  I think I was the most in need of a ride and so tired.

Placement

(1994 early January)
I am trying to find a place for Toys for Tots calendar (Bears on cover).  At least I have the hammer handy!  ...  I found a place for the Bears calendar; it is in the bathroom suspended from a hook meant for robes.  You can sit and look at it for hours.

First choice

(1994 early January)
Do you remember how Louis Dodge [retired music professor] used to go on about a decision at meals?  "Tea or coffee?" I might ask with a pot in each hand.  "O" he would moan, clapping a hand to his brow, "which would be best?"  It was often quite a struggle.  --  Today I found myself becoming one of his Followers.  I must find an easy way out of this, said I to myself.  "There are but two choices - first or second - meat or chicken?  I like both."  What to do?  Suddenly it dawned on me - today, Monday, let all such decisions be for first choice!  "Meat or chicken?"  "Beef" I said, astounding her, before the words were well out of her mouth.  ...  Now tomorrow must be a Second Choice day.  If I am offered asparagus or spinach, spinach it is!  What think you of that, Skiperonius?

My tales

(1993 April)
Are you publishing my tales?  Be sure to mention a freak snow storm that closed all the schools, making it possible for Jan and Bob to go to Madison, and many others, I imagine.

No maid service

(1993 April 19)
Are the maids on strike?  No beds made today.  ...  Writing this off and on took two days.  I know why the beds aren't made - the snow - schools closed etc.  Maids couldn't get in!  Well, mine is done.

Green choices

(1993 April)
Would you like spinach or broccali the third Sunday after Easter?  Choice of food always given.  Waitress goes around each of 5 tables and records preference.

Chorus line

(1993 December)
Yesterday a long row of girls, about a dozen, came in my room after being introduced and permission granted.  The leader said, "We are a bunch of girls who likes to get together.  I am from Ithaca."  The large girl in the center gave the tone, and all sang Xmas songs, very lovely.  Also one day kindergartners.

Bellringer's ghost

(1993 October 1)
My bell was peeping and a maid came to shut it off.  I have no idea what set it off and thot it was someone else's - she said neither did she, and some times one got going when there was no one in the room, and they thot it was a ghost in that case.

Labor Day

(1993 September)
Labor Day.  What time is the parade?  Was always the question at home.  No info from the Republican Observer, who had an article about it - doors were closed.  We used to, LL and I, stand out on the hill and hear the band.  Then he could quickly go back to stamps.  People would go by with boats of all types tied to rear bumpers or a canoe tied on top.  Here the day is observed by dinner napkins with a family having a picnic.

Yes, no bananas

(1993 November)
The woman across from me is a fast eater.  On my right, Agnes Everson loves bananas and often is served half a one.  By this time she knows I don't like them.  One day she would not quit but kept asking, "How do they affect you?"  At last I said, "They make me want to throw up."  She was very shocked and now wraps the skin in her paper napkin.

Aggiornamento

(1993 November)
I sat in a circle and batted a balloon to teacher in center.  That was broken up as room was needed for something else.  It was a Catholic Service.  The priest passed me by with the Host.  Well, well - wonder what Christ thot about that.  A pretty girl, slim with dark flowing tresses, is paid by R C church and also is very particular about who gets the Body & Blood.  It was getting a little dull anyway.

Bugged begonia

(1993 November)
My cleaning lady saw some bugs on my begonia, and she shrieked, "O!  You can't have this any more."  And took it off.  Does she have the right to do this?  I'm going to tell her she has to doctor it up and return it, and see how she responds.

richest man

(1993 November)
In the lobby I was playing checkers with a man who told me the richest man in the world lives on the third floor.  I have forgotten the name.  He must have lots of mail.

Kitchen picture

(1993 November)
Somewhere I tried to draw a picture of my grandmother's kitchen.  Jan brot me materials, and if it is still around, I'll put it in, and with your imagination you can finish it off.  [Not found.]

Grandma Parsons

(1993 November)
I have so many Thanksgivings to remember.  The Fond du Lac relatives.  Aunt Lois stuffed the fowl and got it on the table etc. - then we sat after a brief blessing, and could hardly eat the good pie.  Then Grandma Parsons [d. 1923] and I washed up.  When the dishwater was thrown out, and we passed thru the dining room to join the others, here on the dining room table was a stack of scraped, dirty plates and cups and saucers, stacked with silver in a pile.  I said, "Well, I thot there were very few dishes," and she said,"Doll, I thot there was a whole lot!"  So we brot them all in the kitchen and started over.

Sweet talk

(1993 November)
Not much here.  Yesterday a group of us - Jim was the only man - went in a room to read [aloud] and one chair was lacking.  Jim said, "Never mind.  I can take Polly on my lap."  It's things like this that keep us young, eh Sher?

Bedtime

I have been tucked in and my light put out (really!).  "You have a good night now," Beverly says as usual.  And after a bit, I start thinking of you and put it back on again [and write in bed].

A smile

(1993 November)
A smile:  ...  A group of miners had a rule about their cooking:  the man who complained about his food was the next cook.  So the next day they sat down to eat, and one threw down his fork and said, "My god!  moose turd pie."  And then on quick recovery, "It's good, tho."

Decubitus

(1993 November)
What a time!  Dorothea, this older maid, bathed me and saw the skin broken on left hip, the side I lie on.  So tonight, another mattress on top of mine, like porcupine back [or egg carton], which I must have until sore on hip heals.  ...  I have a decubitus ulcer from lying on my left side (reading) too much.  Gradually my pleasures are stripped away in my old age.

Celebrity

(1993 November)
Christie, who has some job here, said yesterday she was at a book store in Madison and saw your mushroom book, and told the clerk she knew the mother of one of the authors!  And couldn't resist, felt so important!

No apple man

(1993 November)
Today I extracted one of my Macintosh apples from the fridge in dining room; washed and cut it up and passed it, and delighted all but Jim, who said he didn't care for apples.  Only one I ever knew so.

T-shirt

(1993 November)
A Guide by the three authors to the Mushrooms [of Kansas] book - all on my new T shirt, for which I do thank you v v much.  Yes, it is a bit large, but you must know better than I do by this time what Experience with Laundry will do.

Dear little tea pot

(1993 December)
When she [Susan Hirschy] grew older, she became v v fond of tea, and showed this by finishing up all of that elixir left in their tea cups by the company.  So after a few years, I put the kettle on when she was coming and brewed our own tea in my dear little copper tea pot, which through the years somehow was felt to belong to both of us.  "Shall I get out our dear little tea pot?" she'd say.  This affection, and her affection for me, led me to give that dear little pot to her today.  I hope you won't feel too bad about it.  As one gets older and older, one is more inclined to part with keepsakes, I find.  [P.S.]  Do say it's all right.