Jacob's Surgery

David called a couple of weeks ago to tell me that Jacob needed surgery. It seems that there was a cyst near one of Jacob's kidneys, and the surgeon they saw told them that it needed to be removed.

There is a feeling of helplessness that occurrs when a child so small has to go through something like this. He is only 5 weeks old. As a grandma, all I can do is stand by and pray. I asked David if he wanted me to be there for the surgery. He said that he didn't think I needed to be. I think if I had had transportation, I would have gone anyway. But I don't, so I went to work. Sometimes it helps to keep busy. It didn't. I looked at the clock so many times, and the hands on that clock just seemed to stand still. So I prayed. And prayed some more.

When the surgery was over, David called to tell me that everything had gone well and that my grandson was OK. I think I sort of fell apart for a moment. David felt bad for making me cry. He didn't. It was sheer relief that Jacob was out of danger.

It is amazing, this power of love for a grandchild. He has been in this world only a short time, and yet I love him so very much. The thought of anything bad happening to him, or to any of my grandchildren, for that matter, is more than I can bear. They give me such joy. I feel so good whenever I see any of them. They are a part of me and I love them all more than I can describe.

Thank you, God, for keeping them safe for me.

http://www.4shared.com/file/38689395/d455dd38/23_feb_2008.html

Picking Apples

http://www.4shared.com/file/38483014/4bb89890/21_feb_2008_a.html

David called one fall day and asked if we would like to go picking apples. I said that we would love to. So on a clear warm Saturday in October, we went with David and his family to a large apple orchard near where we live.

The orchard has activities for young and old alike in addition to picking your own apples. The first thing on the girl's agenda was to ride the horses. They were a bit put out when they found they were too small to ride the big horses on a trail ride, but cheered up when they found they could ride the ponies small enough for them. Around and around they went, waving to Mom and Dad, Grandma and Poppa. I was reminded of my sister and I riding horses on the carrousel in Spicer when we were kids, pretending that we were galloping across the countryside. After their pony ride was over, they spotted one of those big inflatable jumping bouncing things that kids love play in. We watched them jump and turn somersaults and do their gymnastic moves. Made me tired just watching them. If a person could only bottle all of that energy and save it for future use.

Then we all piled into a large wagon pulled by a tractor, and out into the apple orchard we went. We climbed out of the wagon when we came to the section of the orchard where the Haraldson apple trees were, and off we went through rows and rows of trees, laden with beautiful red apples, searching for the biggest and juiciest ones. We all had sacks to fill. The girls wanted to hold on to "their apples," but when they found that they couldn't carry very many and eat an apple at the same time, they decided to help fill the bags. Boston is independent and was content to pick her own apples, but Maddie decided that if she picked apples with Poppa, she had a better chance of reaching bigger ones higher in the branches of the trees. So she kept Poppa near her. "Poppa. Help me pick apples, Poppa. Over here, Poppa." Needless to say, he was delighted to reach the apples she wanted for her.

http://www.4shared.com/file/38483356/c39c82e1/21_feb_2008_c.html

When the bags were full and the pictures were taken, we piled back into a wagon and headed back to the main building of the orchard, where we paid for our apples. Then it was time for a treat of caramel apples and a bit of candy for our apple pickers before going on home. When Mike and I were home, we sat and talked about how much fun we had watching our granddaughters play and pick apples, and about how nice it was, spending an afternoon with David and Staci. As I filled the big wooden bowl in the middle of the kitchen table with beautiful red apples, I reflected on how good it is to spend time with our family. It was a day to be long remembered.

http://www.4shared.com/file/38483067/9df05fed/21_feb_2008_b.html

Marjorie Mae Paul

http://www.4shared.com/file/38400282/5258b6ad/20_feb_2008.html

Marjorie Mae Paul Matheny was my Mother. She was born July 16, 1924 in Blackduck, to Gladys Adell Morehouse Paul and Andrew Jackson Paul. She graduated from Blackduck High School on May 28, 1942, and married Ralph Douglas Matheny on July 21, 1945 in St. Paul. She died at the hospital in Bemidji, on April 26, 1996 and was buried in the Lakeview Cemetery in Blackduck. These are the facts of Mom's life and death, but these facts do not tell who she was. So here are some of the things I remember about her...some are my memories and some were told to me by Mom and Dad.

Mom was the fifth child born to Andrew Jackson Paul and Gladys Adell Morehouse Paul. She had an older half-sister, Dorothy, whose mother, Lulu Felt Paul died the day after Dorothy was born. Mom's siblings were Duane Curtis Paul, Adella Grace Paul, Elaine Gladys Paul, and Margaret Ann Paul. In 1932 Andrew and Gladys had a stillborn baby who is buried in Lakeview Cemetery in the same plot as her parents. I heard Mom and her sisters talk about "the baby," but I didn't know it was a girl until I got into genealogy. Emily Joyce Paul was born when Mom was nearly 14 years old. Em always said that Mom was like a mother to her.

Mom and her older siblings had musical talent. When their father would preach in Nebish, they provided the music. Mom played piano, violin and cello. She earned letters in high school for playing cello in the orchestra. I remember hearing Mom play her cello when I was young, before her hands became crippled with arthritis. I was amazed that my Mom could coax such beautiful music from that instrument. The last time I heard Mom play her violin was at a 4-H "Parents Night" meeting at Sunnyside School, where the parents of members took over the meeting and provided the entertainment. Mom and Dad worked up a musical number. Dad had a toy violin that was about 12 inches in length. He hammed it up in front of the audience while Mom played her violin out of sight of the crowd. They played the old cowboy tune "Red River Valley." They were a hit. I still have Mom's violin and I treasure it for the memories of the music she played on it.

Mom had a beautiful alto singing voice. I used to sit by her in church and listen to her sing. As someone who can't carry a tune in a bucket, I envied her ability to harmonize. I inherited my singing ability from Dad. Libby and I used to fight over who had to sit by Dad in church and listen to him try to sing, always about a note and a half off key, and who got to sit by Mom and listen to her beautiful voice. What Dad lacked in ability, however, he made up for in enthusiasm.

Mom worked out only once in her life. After her family moved from Blackduck to St. Paul due to her father's failing health, she worked as a nurse's aide at a hospital. The rest of her life after she married Dad, and as long as she was able, she spent as a homemaker. She was a stickler for a clean house and I remember many Saturdays spent cleaning our old farm house from top to bottom "in case we get company." She always had a variety of pies and cookies in the freezer for the same reason. She taught me to cook and bake and many other things that have helped me over the years. Mom made the best homemade bread, buns and cinnamon rolls that I have tasted. She would spend one day a week baking, and always timed it so that when we got home from school, a pan of buns or rolls were coming out of the oven, and we were allowed one for an after school treat. With lots of butter. Every now and then I get a craving for homemade bread, and I always use her recipes. Somehow they just don't taste the same as when Mom made them.

Her family was also blessed with artistic talent. Her brother Duane and sister Margaret painted; Duane doing landscapes and Margaret, portraits. Mom's talent ran more to crafts. It wasn't unusual to find old 78 vinyl records heating in the oven so she could shape them into the base for a wall hanging, or to have her ask me to go outside and find dried weeds and fall leaves for other projects. She dearly loved to decorate for holidays. I remember her taking a good sized twig from a tree, painting it white and putting it into a flower pot, and then hanging colored eggs from the branches for Easter and red paper hearts for Valentine's Day. She was in her glory at Christmas time, when every available surface was covered with evergreens and shiny ornaments. She made wreaths for the door and walls, once using white feathers for a wreath, and Christmas tablecloths for the kitchen and dining room tables. She once said that Christmas was her favorite time of year because she got to go crazy decorating. I remember being at Mom and Dad's apartment in Blackduck before Christmas one year. The living room was cluttered with boxes and garlands and evergreens and Christmas lights. Mom was in her wheelchair, directing my harried Dad as to where this should go and that should go and how to decorate here and there. He looked at me and said, "Help." Eventually we got everything just the way she wanted it.

Mom was a talented seamstress. She told me that when I was very young, there wasn't money to buy me a winter coat, so she took one of her coats and made a coat and bonnet for me out of it. She sewed the wedding dress and bridesmaid's dress for Em's wedding. She made most of my clothes until I was a senior in high school. And she had the patience to teach me to sew. She taught me so well that several outfits I made, with her guidance, won prizes in 4-H contests. She showed me how to do embroidery and I remember embroidering pictures onto endless dishtowels and pillowcases. Both of these things are a source of pleasure for me now, thanks to her talent and willingness to teach.

Mom had a pretty good sense of humor. She would tell a couple of stories on herself. Once when they lived in Willmar in the early 1950's, she said that she heard some scratching noises at her kitchen window. She knew that Dad was outside puttering around the yard, so she flipped back the curtains, stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry.....only to find herself face to face with the neighbor. He had been putting putty on his windows, had some left over putty, and had walked over to use it on the windows of our house. Mom said that he just turned around and walked away with this strange look on his face.

When we lived at the farm, Dad came home from work one afternoon and called to Mom to come into the living room, as there was a Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman there. At that time, door-to-door salesmen were common, and Mom was none too pleased with any of them. Dad was a great one for playing pranks, so when Mom called back that she didn't want any darn old Kirby salesmen in her house, she thought Dad was playing a joke on her. You see it coming, don't you. When she walked into the living room, there stood the Kirby salesman with his vacuum cleaner, ready to demonstrate how well it worked, but with a look on his face that indicated he thought maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Don't get the idea that my Mother was a saint. She wasn't. She had her faults as we all do. We had our disagreements, mostly when I became a teen-ager. She was a very religious woman, and we argued about her belief that dances and movies were sinful. She believed that Sunday was a day of rest, and that I couldn't keep Sunday a holy day by playing 4-H softball. When she became so ill that she had to move to the nursing home in Blackduck, she became somewhat selfish and used her illness to get what she wanted, as do many chronically ill people. By this I mean things like whenever she wanted all of her children to show up for some event, she would tell us that we had to come because this "might be the last time" we were all together. That worked for her for many years. Mother was good at guilt trips. But we all knew that this was her pain and sickness talking, and not our Mother. Her selfishness came from forced idleness confined to a bed or wheelchair. I know I would not have borne this with the grace that she did. It was rarely that she ever complained, and then only out of frustration at not being able to do the things that she would have liked to do. She was devestated when she could no longer hold a needle to sew or embroider. She turned to working crossword puzzles while she could still hold a pen. Near the end of her life she was given morphine whenever she felt she needed it. Whenever I tend to complain about my lot in life, I think of her and feel ashamed that I should complain about anything. Through all of her illness, she was always there to listen to problems and offer good advice. She was well respected and well loved.

I miss her.

Christmas 2007

I tend to go into a "Bah, Humbug" mode late in the fall each year. I think it is because I tire easily of the commercialization of Christmas. I don't want to see merry little elves selling toys on TV commercials before Thanksgiving. I want to go back to the Christmas seasons of my past. I know I can't, but I sure would like to.

This year was different, however. We went to Jill's home for a lovely Christmas Day brunch. Although some had other places to go later in the day, nobody seemed rushed to leave. We had a good meal, good conversation, and good time spent with children and grandchildren. I enjoyed it thoroughly.

I was reminded of the Christmas Days of my childhood. Christmas Eve was just for our family, but Christmas Day was spent with our only relatives living close to us in the Willmar area....Ronnie & Em. There was always a turkey or ham dinner with all the trimmings, and homemade cookies and candies. Dad always made his "Ralph's World Famous Peanut Brittle," and we made Divinity and Marshmellow Creme Fudge.

There were gifts for all, but instead of shopping until we dropped, these gifts were all handmade. Mom was always good at coming up with ideas for gifts for Ronnie & Em's family. One year she found a pattern for knitted slippers and I made slippers for all of them. Another year it was warm knitted scarves. Mom could take the simplest of materials and make a beautiful wall hanging, and I recall she did that one year for Em. It had a base of wire mesh with dried grasses and weeds and flowers. Keep in mind this was in the 1950's and early 1960's when this type of thing was popular home decor.

Em was pretty good at finding gifts for me as well. One year she made a yarn octopus that lived on my bed for years. I just saw a pattern not too long go for the same thing on the internet. Made me feel my age when it was listed under the heading "Antique Patterns." Em, like all of us back then, would can vegetables and make pickles and such every fall. Nobody could make dill pickles like Aunt Em. I begged her for pickles whenever we went to their house. So one year she gave me a jar of her homemade dill pickles with a big red bow on the top of the jar. My family thought I was going to share. They were wrong. Em had to bring over another jar for the rest of the family.

Now this may not seem like much in today's world of computers and electronic gadgets. I have to admit that I love my computer and all of the gadgets that go with it as much as the next person. But I long for a Christmas where everyone can open a gift and not have it break the bank. Isn't it funny that I can't recall many of the Christmas gifts that were bought in a store, but I clearly remember gifts that were made with love; a blue yarn octopus and a jar of homemade dill pickles.

http://www.4shared.com/file/38084679/619845b6/17_feb_2008.html

Grandfather Paul

http://www.4shared.com/file/37861921/8b9dc22b/14_feb_2008.html


I once asked Dad to tell me what my Grandfather Paul was like. He described him as a rather stern man, but fair in all of his dealings. I had talked with Mother about her father from time to time over the years, but I had the distinct impression that she and her sisters had placed him on a pedestal, and she described him in rather lofty terms, so I never learned what the man was really like as a person. She told me of his holding church services in Nebish when she was young and how she and her brother and sisters went along to provide the music. Her other descriptions seemed to me to be descriptions of someone who was ready for sainthood, and although it was good that she thought so highly of her father, I don't believe that these descriptions quite portrayed the man.


I have only one memory of my grandfather Paul. I remember seeing him in a bed in a darkened room with a light on near the bed, so I could see his face in the light. I remember his face, which seems to me to have been rather sharp in features. This may have been because he was ill, quite thin, and near death at the time. I remember that he wore gold rimmed glasses and his hair was grey. I remember that he smiled at me and reached out to touch my face.


A couple of years before Mother died, I asked her about this memory of mine. I was convinced that I was remembering a dream and not an actual event. She told me that this really happened. About five or six years ago I asked Dad about the same event. He told me that when my Grandfather was in the hospital in St. Paul, he had asked to see me, his granddaughter. At that time, children were not allowed as visitors in hospitals, so Dad had sneaked me up the back stairs to Grandfather's hospital room. Dad carried me into my Grandfather's room, and Grandfather Paul's face lit up with a smile when he saw me. Dad said that Grandfather had reached out and caressed my face. I was only 16 months old at the time. He died two or three days later on October 14, 1947. I have since thanked God for giving me this one clear memory of my Grandfather Paul.


While researching my Paul ancestors, I have found family stories and letters that indicate that Andrew Paul was a good and honest man, that he had a deep love of family, and that he also possessed a pretty good sense of humor. He had written some accounts of family doings that showed his humorous take on what was happening at the time. These I will share later. He seems to have kept his sense of humor even when terribly ill with a heart condition that caused him to be hospitalized and eventually caused his death. The following poem was written while he was in the hospital. Keep in mind that the year was 1945, before political correctness, and before the end of WWII.


I wish I had known him.

A Day in the Hospital

Doctor, doctor, here am I
Full of aches and pains that cry.
Surgeons Order N.P.B.A.
Local doctor John McKay.

Punch my side and count my pulse
Take my tempo and nothing else.
Room three and 12, bed number one,
Third floor east and the fun's begun.

Five o'clock and a grim faced man,
Slops the water in an ice-cold can.
Shakes the bed and stubs his toe,
Slams the door and makes me sore.

Gentle nurse with cloth and dish
Wash my face and make a wish.
"Soon this sap will be much stronger,
Then I'll have this job no longer."

Six o'clock and all is well
Morning papers with news from hell,
So many Germans and so many Nips
Bite the dust and cease their kicks.

Sorrowing homes and solemn faces
Speak of death and vacant places.
Can the price more precious be
To set a world of mankind free.

Seven AM and here's your tray,
Breakfast served in bed today.
No coffee, no tea and no salt for me,
Light diets are easy for cooks it must be.

Eight o'clock with morning bath;
Roll to this side then to that,
Right foot up and left foot down,
"Turn on the light when you are done."

Turn the mattress and change the sheet,
Toss the pillows and let me sleep.
Weary hours make up the day,
This old bed is my only stay.

Pills and hypos pass the time
Til the clock says "It is nine."
White coats come with solemn tread,
Gaze upon this cuss in bed.

"How are you today" they ask.
Shake your head and say "Alas"
"Good," "Better," "Worse," "Yes," or "No."
It matters not -- on they go.

By many pills and physic fed,
Better than soap and water in bed.
Rest and sleep without a worry
Only to wake and jump in a hurry.

"Orderly Ernest bring the pan,
Shut the door and start the fan."
Poisonous gasses fill the room,
Makes me faint, makes me swoon.

Here's my doctor; he is late,
In a hurry cannot wait.
"How's your ticker, let me see,
Out of here you soon will be."

Eleven o'clock brings Barber Joe,
"Shave Mister, shave Mister, shave Mister so?
Four bits a whisker and may Hitler blister."
And this is the Jew for you.

Twelve o'clock comes none too soon,
Dinner for the common Bob, lunch for the snob,
Looks much the same when served by a dame
On a tin platter with great noise and clatter.

Silently solemnly sadly they wend,
To the door that is marked for MEN.
One shower and three toilets in a row,
The one in the corner is for me I know.

Caution, caution, watch your step.
Don't you know you've lost your pep?
Bath tub may your coffin be
If you slip on soap or knee.

One and couples triple fours,
Come the callers at each door.
"Hi there Johnnie, Hello Jack."
Shake the arm and slap the back.

"Some wise guy you I'll say,
Spending winter in the hay.
What's the trouble with you all?
Haven't seen you since last fall."

Three o'clock and evening papers,
White House scandals and Eleanor's capers.
W.P.B. and O.P.A.
Busy boys indeed are they.

I hear the "grub wagon" down the hall.
Five o'clock and supper for all.
Scraps from the kitchen arranged with tact,
Just to see my stomach react.

Good night nurse and watch with care,
Stoop and hear my evening prayer.
If I am wakeful in the night
Use the hypo, that is right.

Day is done and I'm all in,
My old carcass not worth a pin.
Give me an easier job I pray,
Chopping wood or making hay.

--N.P.B.A. Hospital, Jan. 1945
Andrew J. Paul

On Becoming a Grandma

Many things change a person's life. But the one thing that changed mine the most was becoming a grandma.

Now, I was born and raised in Minnesota. I should be one of those hearty souls who revel in snowdrifts and ice on the lakes and cold weather. I am not. I detest it all. I do not need snow to enjoy Christmas. I have no desire to engage in snowball fights, nor am I apt to build a snow fort or sit on a frozen lake dangling a hook and line through a hole in the ice. Nope. Not me.

So when I was living in a warm climate, enjoying being able to walk down the street in January without the need of snow boots or parka or mittens, I get a phone call telling me of the arrival of my first grandchild. Then the pictures start coming in the mail. You know the ones. The sweet little baby face. The smile that melts even the coldest of hearts. The ones that every grandparent worth his salt whips out at the slightest provocation to show off to whoever was dumb enough to mention grandchildren. Those pictures.

And then another phone call telling me that in addition to my grandson, I now have a beautiful little granddaughter. This time I didn't even wait for the pictures to come in the mail. I looked at my husband and said, "Start packing. We're going home."

Back to the ice and snow. Back to frostbite inducing cold and wind. Back to bare trees and snow boots and parkas and mittens. And back to those people who are more precious to me than anything else.....my children and grandchildren.

Best move I ever made.

http://www.4shared.com/file/37679814/13c66f7f/13_feb_2008_a.html

http://www.4shared.com/file/37680640/9c1aaa72/13_feb_2008_zach.html

http://www.4shared.com/file/37680677/29536c12/13_feb_2008_c.html

Footprints on the Trail

The flu bug lives at our house. He is a nasty creature who saps my strength and energy and makes me sleepy. So today I am giving you some reading material and a previously scrapped page of the author of this piece.

There were seven siblings in my grandfather Paul's family.

Melvin Curtis Paul - b. 1870

Arthur Brayton Paul - b. 1871

Grace Vedder Paul - b. 1873

Andrew Jackson Paul - b. 1882 (my grandfather)

Alice May Paul - b. 1884

Clara Lydia Paul - b. 1886

Walter Eugene Paul - b. 1888

In 1893 my great-grandparents, Hollis Brayton Paul and Adella Caroline Curtis Paul, after much discussion and correspondence with their son Arthur who had already moved to Minnesota, decided that the family should leave Chenango County, New York where they had lived all of their lives and move to Duluth. This decision was not made lightly as it meant leaving all of their friends and family, but they thought that if they stayed in New York, their financial situation would be grim at best, and they could do no worse in the fast-growing area of Lake Superior, and could possibly do better.

In 1932, the youngest of my grandfather's brothers, Walter, wrote "Footprints on the Trail." It tells of the first Paul family member to come to America in 1637 and of the Paul line until the time of the writing of this piece. Much of it describes their lives in New York, their journey to Duluth, and how they lived in Minnesota. They must have been tough people to have endured all that they did to make a life for their family, and I found it fascinating reading.

The text is saved in WordPad and is as I received it from a cousin. The Preface tells a little about my great-uncle Walter, and at the end is a list of explinations of some of the words and terms that appear within the text. "Footprints on the Trail" is included in the Zip folder with the scrapbook page of Walter and his wife, Maud Ethal Mandery. Enjoy.

http://www.4shared.com/file/37581596/fcb9da98/12_feb_2008.html

Meeting Our New Grandson

We met our new grandson last weekend. He is a marvel. There are very few joys in life to equal holding your new grandchild for the first time.

Last Saturday David picked us up and took us to his home for the afternoon and evening. We had such a nice time. We played games with our granddaughters and watched them color pretty pictures and put together puzzles. They wanted to play "beauty parlor" with us, so they put pretend makeup on us and styled our hair. Poppa allowed as to not having much hair to style, but that did not deter Maddie one little bit. The giggles were music to our ears. We got a good start on spoiling our grandson. We will do so at every opportunity. Grandparents get to do this. It's the law.

David cooked us a supper of walleye that he had caught on a recent fishing trip to Red Lake. It was to die for. It had been a long time since I had Red Lake walleye, and it was really a treat. Made me want to go fishing again. It has been a long time since I did. I won't fish on the frozen lakes, but dearly love to fish from a boat or dock in the spring and fall. I wonder if I remember how to cast?




http://www.4shared.com/file/37131316/dcac5f25/7_feb_2008.html

As I watched my son and his beautiful wife Staci with their children, I was impressed by what good parents they are. I am so very proud of the adults that my children have become. I think that this is what all mothers wish for their children...that they become good, responsible people. I am blessed.

Matheny Great-Great-Grandparents

William Matheny and Elizabeth Everhart were my great-great-grandparents. The line goes like this:

Ralph Douglas Matheny was the son of

Clifford Alton Matheny, who was the son of

Hiram King Matheny, who was the son of

William Matheny and Elizabeth Everhart.

These two pictures are amazing to me. They were taken before 1906 and are the only pictures of William and Elizabeth that I have ever seen. I acquired them merely by chance. I was researching the Matheny name on Ancestry.com when I stumbled upon a family tree authored by a distant cousin that I had never met. I emailed her and she responded with more information on my Matheny family. We now email occasionally and compare notes and share what we find. She put these pictures into her family tree and I was able to download them along with some others that I will share later.

http://www.4shared.com/file/36916731/dac4e2d8/5_feb_2008.html

I know that William Matheny was born in 1814 in Virginia. I have not been able to find who his parents were, but I keep searching. When I can find that link, I will be able to trace our family back to the year 966 in France. I have traced the Everhart family back to 1678 in Germany.

William and Elizabeth Everhart were married in 1842 in Ohio. They lived in Indiana where William farmed until they moved with their family to Minnesota shortly before the time of the Civil War. They lived in the Darwin area in Meeker County where William again farmed until about 1878 when they moved again to Ottawa, LeSueur County, and William ran a ferry across the Minnesota river. Included in the Zip file with the scrapbook pages for today is a transcript of the Minnesota Legislative Act giving William permission to run a ferry. It is interesting in that within that act are the conditions under which he could operate a ferry as well as the fees he could charge for various passengers on his ferry; each foot passenger - 5 cents, each horse or mule and rider - 15 cents, etc. In September of 1905 their daughter Sarah Matheny Meeker brought her parents to Trafton, Snohomish County, Washington, where they lived until their deaths - he in March of 1906 and she in January of 1913. It seems that several members of the family moved west - some to Washington and others to California, while others remained in Minnesota.

William Matheny's obituary from a publication entitled "Our Hope" (possibly a church newsletter)
"The subject was well known to many of our readers who will be sorry to learn of his death". -Ed.
"Matheny - At Trafton, Washington
March 22, 1906
William Matheny, aged 92 yrs, 5 mos and 24 days. Our aged brother was born in Virginia, September 28, 1814. He married Elizabeth Everhart sixty-four years ago in Ohio, soon after moving to Indiana. After sixteen years residence there, they moved to Minnesota, where they resided until last September, when their daughter, Mrs. E. L. Meeker, brought them to her home in Trafton, for care and comfort in their old age. This venerable pilgrim's death was very peaceful, in strong faith and bright hope, the result of a long and loyal Christian service.

Nine children graced his home, three of whom were present at his obsequies. All grew to maturity, but two now sleep; the son, the late Simon Peter Matheny, well known and lamented in the Middle West. Forty-nine grandchildren and twenty-five great grandchildren had he, and his death was but the fifth in the four generations, covering nearly a century of time. His stay among the dust dwellers will be brief, and his song sweet, when he wakes up in the morning of the eternal day. A faith like his, and the Grace of God well proven, sustains his lonely companion in her sorrow."

I recently corresponded via email with a lady who is involved with a museum and historical society in the Trafton, WA area, and she told me that the Matheny name was well known in that area of the country. I am in the process of researching those others who moved to WA and CA. It is sort of like putting together a puzzle - a piece here and a piece there until a picture emerges. I hope to have a better picture of that branch of my family before long.

At the Farm

In 1957 Dad bought 20 acres of land with an old farmhouse, located 10 miles south of Willmar. This land had originally been part of the Eddy farm. There were 9 acres of field that Dad rented out to Henry Eddy each year in exchange for beef that Henry raised, and the rest was woods and lawn. There was an apple orchard, a large garden space and a large lawn surrounding the house. It was the ideal place to grow up. My sister and I went to Sunnyside School, a two-room school a mile and a half away, and became active in the local 4-H club.

It was there that we learned the value of a hard day's work done well. By the time we moved to the farm, as we always called it, Mother was showing the adverse effects of the arthritis that would eventually cripple her. She could still do many of the household chores, but when it came to canning and freezing produce from the garden and orchard, she wasn't able to do much of it. I learned how to care for a garden, can vegetables, make pickles and relishes, and make jams and jellies. I remember that we had a large rhubarb patch along one edge of the garden, and we froze rhubarb and made rhubarb sauce to can. One year, the apples in the orchard were abundant, and I made countless apple pies that were stored in stacks in the freezer, and canned pints of the best tasting cinnamon flavored crab apple pickles that I have ever had. I will have to see if I have Mom's recipe for those.

As a kid, I was less than happy doing these chores as well as house cleaning when Mom was having a bad spell and was unable to climb the stairs to the upper floor of the house. But as an adult, I was glad that she taught me so much that helped me tremendously when raising my own family.

It wasn't all work, and we enjoyed country life. Some of Dad's nephews would come to stay with us in the fall and go pheasant hunting, and other relatives came in the summer to visit. I especially enjoyed visits from Dad's brother Kenneth and his wife, Hazel. Hazel had a way of making a kid feel special and always had time to really listen. She thought that everything we did was just wonderful! And she brought presents!

To this day, I much prefer country living to the city living that I am doing now. There is nothing like the peace and quiet of a country setting, and being able to actually see the stars without the interference of street lights. And there is also nothing like standing on the front porch of a farm house with your Dad, watching summer storm clouds roll in across the fields. Especially when your little sister is cowering in the basement!

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Cousins

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We are cousins. Curtis and Linda are the children of Mom's brother Duane. Paul is the son of Mom's sister, Adella. I'm not positive, but I believe that this photo was taken at the home of my Uncle Duane and Aunt Mildred. It seemed that whenever family members got together, someone was plopped down on a piano bench to have their picture taken. Nearly all of Mom's siblings had upright pianos in their homes. They were a musical family. Duane and Mildred didn't travel much, so I think we were all at their home in Bemidji. My family often stopped there on our way home to Willmar from visiting Grandma Matheny near Blackduck.

I love the look on Linda's face, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was caused by some shenanigans from Uncle Duane. He was always doing something to make people laugh. All the kids loved him because he could be just as silly as they were. I really missed him and his family when they moved to Arizona for his health. Curtis died a few years ago, and I touch base with Linda via email now and again. She lives near Phoenix with her husband, has two children and five grandchildren. Paul is a minister in Wisconsin. He and his wife Ilene have two grown children. Where did the time go?

Christmas Cookie Baking Time

David sent me these pictures of their family baking Christmas Cookies. He said that frozen dough that you just plop onto cookie sheets just wouldn't do, so he made these from scratch. I love the way that the girls frosted themselves nearly as much as the cookies.

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David told me that next year he wants a real tree with strings of popcorn and cranberries. What a fun project for the kids. I don't know if you kids remember the years that we made popcorn and cranberry strings for our tree. In those days I was always searching for economical (OK. Let's be truthful here. Cheap is the word.) ways to do things, like decorate our Christmas tree. Store-bought decorations were out of the question financially, so I needed to be inventive. One large bag of popcorn and four bags of cranberries worked wonders for decorating. I can still remember you all sitting on the floor with a bowl of popcorn and another of cranberries, stringing them on heavy thread. I think you ate more popcorn that you strung! When you had several threads full, we tied them together for one long string and wound it around the tree. It looked great, and I still love the look of an old fashioned Christmas with homemade decorations.

Another thing we did was make gingerbread men. We used cinnamon red hot candies for the features and buttons down the front. I had to hide the candies from you, as if I didn't, there would be none left for decorating. I rolled out the dough and cut the shapes, and you kids would decorate. I still had to watch you, though, as more decorations and cookie dough went into mouths than on the cookie sheets. I tried telling you all that raw cookie dough causes worms, but that didn't slow you down any. You come by it naturally. I love chocolate chip cookie dough. We poked holes in the heads of the gingerbread men and strung red yarn through the holes and tied it with a knot. Then we hung them on the tree. As time passed before Christmas, the number of gingerbread men on the tree mysteriously grew fewer and fewer. I didn't buy the excuse that mice had eaten them.

I haven't done much Christmas baking in recent years. Perhaps it is because there are just two of us now, and neither of us needs to be scarffing gingerbread men. But I think I would like to do this again next December, and I think maybe there might be a few grandkids that would like to help.

Love,

Mom

Here Goes!

Well, here I go again. Leaping into the unknown with both feet. I haven't a clue about blogging, but I am a reasonably intelligent woman, and I will learn as I go along.

OK. Here's the deal. As you are all aware, I have new hobby. You know this because I pester you for pictures. And I will continue to do so. Get used to it. I take these pictures as well as many that I got from my Dad and other members of my family and those I have taken over the years, and put them into digital scrapbook pages. I use the computer to do this because I love my computer, and because I am too cheap to spend the money on regular scrapbooking supplies. Well, maybe not too cheap, but I just can't justify spending the money, and I don't have space in our apartment to store supplies. Hence, digital scrapbooking.

Now, you may or may not be interested in what I am doing with these pictures that I keep bugging (that term "bugging" comes from the 60's. I am a child of the 60's. Can't help myself. I also like the word "groovy.") you for. I hope you enjoy them, but if not, that's OK. I do this for my own pleasure and if you like them, that's a bonus. But I need a way to keep them so that when my computer crashes, and it will, you know, I will not lose them. Even my new external hard drive will not live forever. So here is the plan.

I have started this blog to have a place to display my scrapbook pages. Yes, I know that I already have a website that hosts photos, but I have discovered that if anyone wants to print out a page or two, the quality from the photo sharing website is not the best.

So, I have also opened an account at "4 shared," which gives me oodles of space and makes it possible to download each page in a zip file, at the full printing resolution. I can put a low resolution page on this blog and link it to "4 shared" for anyone to download. This also gives me an additional backup for the computer crashing thing. Pretty smart, huh?

Sometimes I journal my pages, and sometimes not. Depends on my mood and the amount of space on the page. There are stories behind many of the photos, and I want to record these stories for anyone who might be interested, and also for myself for when my memory gets worse than it already is. I also plan to sneak in some genealogy here and there. I believe it is important to know your heritage. It gives you a sense of who you are and what those who went before you have contributed to make you the person you are today. I have tons of names and dates, but my interest is more in the people themselves...who were they, what did they do and why.

Finally, I am not happy with some of my earlier pages. Frankly, they are somewhat sucky, due to the fact that I didn't know what I was doing, and I didn't at that time have as many good digital scrapbooking graphics as I have now. So I am in the process of redoing some of the pages. When I first started digital scrapbooking, I felt compelled to use nearly every embellishment on every page. I have since simplified my style to focus on the photo and not the graphics.

All of that being said, here goes!



This photo was taken in the spring of 1910. Dad is the baby and his sister, Clarice, is holding him. They are seated in front of the first house that my grandfather, Clifford Alton Matheny, built on the land he homesteaded near Blackduck in 1904. Some years later, he built a new, more modern house that was stucco on the outside and had a second story for the children's bedrooms. Dad told me that they built the new house around the old one. They tore down the old house as the new one went up. The new house had electricity, but no running water or indoor plumbing. I remember that water was pumped using a hand pump just off the back door of the house, and the outhouse was a short distance in the same direction. Water had to be carried into the house, and I remember that the drinking water was in a white enamel bucket sitting on a stool by the kitchen door. There was a metal dipper in the bucket, and when someone wanted a drink of water, they filled the dipper and drank from it. It was the best tasting water I have ever had, and I don't think anyone ever got sick from drinking from the dipper. Folks were alot tougher then.

This photo is also of Dad and Clarice, and Dad said it was taken in the fall of 1910. Clarice's job was to watch over her baby brother, and she continued to do so for over 90 years. They probably had one of the closest sibling relationships that I know of, and even when both were in the nursing home in Blackduck, they enjoyed each other's company. Dad is wearing a dress in this photo, and he said that was common practice back then for a boy to wear dresses until about the age of three years, when he was old enough to manipulate the buttons on the fly of a pair of pants.

I have always treasured these two photos for the fact that they are now nearly 100 years old, and they are the only photos I have of Dad as a baby.

To download these scrapbook pages, click http://www.4shared.com/dir/5501571/98d99748/sharing.html

Love,

Mom