Grand-puppy

Every grandparent should have a Grand-puppy. They are fun, like Grandchildren, but without the daily responsibilities. My Grand-puppy is Charlie.

I remember when David first got Charlie for Staci. He was no bigger than a minute. Mike and I puppy-sat on several occasions when he was small. We firmly believed that he had invisible springs attached to the bottoms of his paws, as he seemed to bounce wherever he went. He thought the cats were his own personal play-toys. Chuck the cat finally got smart and would sit on a surface just high enough so Charlie couldn't reach him. Then, whenever Charlie would bounce by, Chuck would swat him in the head from his elevated perch. Charlie, rather than getting angry at being swatted, thought that this game was marvelous fun, and would bounce by time after time so Chuck could swat him.

The last time Charlie stayed with Mike and me, Mike had a bit of an adventure with Charlie and our two dogs, Buster and Rose. Mike decided he would try to walk all three dogs at the same time to save having to go up and down the stairs so many times. He hooked all three up to their leashes, and off they went. About fifteen minutes later, I heard a commotion outside our apartment door. There were dogs barking and Mike swearing. When I opened the door, there stood Mike with a couple of leashes wrapped around his legs and three overly excited dogs. "Help me untangle this mess," he said as he stumbled into the kitchen. I got the door closed behind them, and then dissolved into gales of laughter. Couldn't do anything but laugh. Mike had his angry face on, but at the sight of me helpless with laughter, he soon started grinning, too. As soon as I could stop laughing long enough, I unhooked the dogs from their leashes, and Mike extricated himself from the tangled mess. "I think I'll walk them one at a time from now on," he said. That worked out a bit better.

Charlie came to stay with me for a few days this summer while David and Staci were out of town. By that time, Buster and Rose had gone to their new home, so it was just Charlie, Noodle the cat and me. Charlie has mellowed out considerably since his puppy days. I really enjoyed his company. He would come up to me and look at me with those sad Beagle eyes until I would stop whatever I was doing, and pet him a while.

David brought Charlie's bed with him, and I put it next to my bed. It remained unused until he went home. Charlie preferred to lay by my feet at night, and he always faced the door. I was well protected and guarded.

Charlie's cage was here as well. I set it up in my bedroom for him to use while I went to work. Charlie is used to this when he is home. But he would have none of it while he stayed with me. The first morning I tried to leave him in it, he started barking as soon as I locked my door. I discovered that you can hear a Beagle's bark all the way from my apartment to outside my workplace next door. Knowing that my neighbors would be less than thrilled to listen to a Beagle bark all day, I went back upstairs, let Charlie out, hooked up his leash, and we both went to work. He was perfectly happy to be in a kennel at work where he could see me.

The second morning, I tried again to leave Charlie when I went to work. I found that the sound a Beagle makes when he howls carries nearly as far as does a Beagle's bark. So Charlie spent another day watching me work.

I took a few pictures of Charlie while he was here. As you can see, he seems to have worn himself out guarding me and watching me work. I really enjoyed having him with me for a few days, even if David didn't trust me to feed him properly. David claims that the last time he left Charlie with me, the dog gained five pounds, so David arrived with Charlie's food all measured out in zip bags - one for each day that he was here. Charlie likes chicken, meat loaf and hot dogs, as well as his dog food. But he is really partial to French Fries. Nice try, David.

http://www.4shared.com/file/64179305/1582a508/Grand-puppy.html

Dad and Clarice

Clarice was Dad's older sister. There were three years separating them in age; Clarice being born in 1908 and Dad in 1911. Their closeness was not only in age, but also in love.

Dad and Clarice spent a lifetime joking and teasing one another. Each gave as good as they got. So many times when they were together, the banter between them would roll. He would kid her about her weight, and she would counter with a remark about his lack of height. She would say that he needed to respect his elders, as she was older than he was, and he would counter with his opinion that his parents saved the best of their children for the last, which was what he was. With all of their kidding and joking, I never, ever heard either of them say anything that could be considered mean. They loved each other.

Both Dad and Clarice lived in the Blackduck Apartments for a number of years. I noticed at that time how they were concerned about one another. Dad would go to her apartment to check up on her, and she would stop in at his apartment to see him, nearly on a daily basis. But neither would let on that they were checking on each other to make sure each was OK. They treated those times as if they were just popping in to say hello. Each was able to maintain their dignity and independence this way, and it worked for them.

I came to understand better about their love for one another when both of them were residents of the nursing home in Blackduck. Clarice had lost her ability to remember beyond a minute or so. Yet, whenever I went to see her, she always knew who I was, and this amazed me. Dad was no longer able to care for himself, and had fallen several times before finally going into the nursing home. He used a walker or wheelchair to get around, and you could often find him sitting with Clarice in her room. He had more patience with her than I have seen from anyone before or since. Clarice and Dad had this conversation once while I was visiting them.

Clarice: "How is Mom?"

Dad: "Mom died in 1955."

Clarice: "Who is on the home place?"

Dad: "Nobody. The house burned down."

Clarice: "This is Vicki."

Dad: "Yes, this is Vicki."

Clarice: "How is Mom?"...................

These questions would be asked and answered many times over, and I never saw Dad grow impatient. I asked him about this once, and he said, "How could I be impatient with her. She's my sister and I love her."

Shirley told me that Dad and Clarice could be so very funny at times. It seems that as residents of the nursing home, they were brought together with many of the other residents for exercises. For them, in wheelchairs, this meant doing arm stretching exercises to help keep their upper body mobility. They usually sat side by side, and would be dutifully doing their exercises, when Clarice would whack Dad on the back of the head. Dad would continue exercising for a little while, and then reach over and smack her on the shoulder. Pretty soon, Clarice would whack him again, and so it went until one of the aides would say, "Now, you two Mathenys cut it out and behave yourselves."

When Dad died, I was doing pretty well at his funeral. I knew that Dad had lived a good life, and had lived longer in years than most of his brothers and sisters had. We had known for some time that Dad's death was just around the corner, so it was not a shock when it came. When it was time for the funeral to start, Dad's casket was at the back of the church. Earlier, when I had talked to Clarice, she wasn't sure why she was at the church. I was behind Clarice when she was wheeled up to Dad's casket so she could see him. I believe she had a moment of complete clarity, because she reached out and patted his cheek, and said, "Oh, Ralph." That's when my heart broke.

Clarice followed Dad the following year. She was the last of the nine Matheny brothers and sisters. They were quite a clan; kind, loving and full of the dickens. I don't dwell on their deaths, but on the memories I have of all of them. I could always stop in to see any of them and be welcomed with a hug. It is because of them that, although I didn't grow up in the Blackduck area where most of the family was, I always think of that area as home.

http://www.4shared.com/file/64072397/36132bc9/Dad_and_Clarice.html

I Am Grateful

We all think of things we are grateful for or thankful for during the Thanksgiving season. But sometimes we need to count our blessings without a holiday to remind us to do so. There are no photos accompanying this post. Just words from a grateful Mom.

I am grateful for my eldest son, who asked me to email him on my days off so he knows I am OK. He shows up at my apartment every week or two, and he and Kathy have taken me to lunch and shopping. He calls just to see how I am and to share whatever is going on in his
life. If he is here while I am at work, he will go to the store and pick up whatever I need, making it easier when I take the bus to go shopping, so I don't have so much to carry home by myself. I am grateful.

I am grateful for my eldest daughter, who has stepped up to the plate and helped me out in bad times. A few days ago, while talking with her on the phone, I told her that I was glad that she enjoyed my blog enough to want me to continue. I told her that earlier, I had felt somewhat overwhelmed now that I was alone, and she made sure that I understood that if ever I needed anything, all I had to do was call her. She tells me what my grandson is doing, and in the process, makes me laugh at the things he does and says, usually at a time when I really need to laugh. I am grateful.

I am grateful for my youngest daughter, who calls just because she hasn't talked to me for a little while, and wants to know how I am. She keeps me informed about what she and her kids are doing, and that helps me stay connected. She is always there when I need to go somewhere I can't get to by bus, or even if I can, she still takes me where I want to go. We have gone out to dinner together a couple of times lately, and I enjoy her company. I am grateful.

I am grateful for my youngest son. He and Staci bring the kids to see me from time to time, and email me pictures of their family, and that always brightens my day. He, too, will call to see how I am. He will do things like stopping in to see me at work, or like today, when he stopped at work and I wasn't there. It is my day off. Starla told him I had taken the bus to Target, so when I got off the bus, he was right behind, honking the horn and yelling, "Hey, Mom." He came in, and we sat and ate popcorn and drank sodas and talked for a long time. It makes me feel good that he wants to spend time talking with me. I am grateful.

All of my children have been there for me when it mattered. They make my life better. And they make me laugh. I once told one of them that I intended to live long enough to be a problem to my children, and the answer that came back to me was, "Mom, your work here is done!" I told another that he was driving me crazy, and his response was, "That's OK, Mom. It's a real short trip!" Another reminded me that I probably should behave, because, after all, it was my children who would select the nursing home! They all have wonderful senses of humor. Without that, we would all take ourselves way too seriously. The fact that we can joke and laugh is a good thing, and keeps us grounded, and lightens the load of everyday living. I am grateful.

I probably don't tell my children often enough how much I appreciate them all, and that is something that needs to be said. I hope they all understand how much I love them and how much it means to me to know that they are near. I am grateful.

Love,
Mom

School Days

Boston started First Grade last week. She likes school, and reported to her parents that she already had two new best friends. Oh, how quickly time passes. Wasn't it just yesterday that she was learning to walk? I hope that her enthusiasm for learning continues, and that she has teachers who are wise enough to challenge her and keep her moving ever forward.





http://www.4shared.com/file/62979301/9d6cd646/School_Days.html

I am continually amazed at what my grandkids are learning. They are light years ahead of what I learned at the same ages. Their opportunities are limitless. My prayer for them is that they should never stop learning. This is also my unsolicited advice to them. The day that I do not learn something new is a day wasted.

Boston's first day at school brought to mind stories of other school children. Her Great-Grandpa Matheny attended the White Pine School, which was located about a quarter mile from the Matheny farm in Taylor Township, Beltrami County. His father, Clifford Alton Matheny, was one of those responsible for organizing and building some of the rural schools in that neighborhood of Minnesota. Dad told me that his oldest sister, Lois, was one of his teachers at that school. He said that he liked having Lois teach him, but the downside was that his shenanigans were curtailed somewhat, because she would report his misbehavior at school to their father. He also related a story about encountering a black bear on one of his walks to school. It seems that the bear was at least as afraid of him as Dad was of it, and the bear headed off into the woods. Dad completed the Eighth Grade at that school, and then, as was commonplace in those times, did not go on to High School, but worked on the family farm until he married my Mother in 1945.

This photo was taken at the White Pine School. The three boys in the back row are Dad's brothers, Keith, Kenneth and Bruce. The three girls on the left in the front row are not known to me, but are neighbor children, as is the boy with the hat. Dad's sister, Clarice, is the smallest girl with the dark dress, and Dad is the little boy on the far right. Dad once showed me where he had carved his initials into the siding of the schoolhouse when he was a student there. Those initials, sadly, are gone. A few years back, an arsonist decided to burn down the school, and it is no more.

Boston's Great-Grandma was born and grew up in the town of Blackduck where her father, Andrew Jackson Paul, was Depot Agent, and that was where she attended school, graduating from Blackduck High School in 1942. She had musical talent, as did most of her family, and she won a High School Letter for her work in the High School's music program. She played piano, violin and cello, and she told me that the Letter was for playing cello in the school orchestra. I wish that some of that musical talent had been passed on to me, but alas, it was not. I tried piano lessons as a child, but lacked the interest or patience to practice. And Mom had a beautiful alto singing voice, which passed me by as well. Nope. Can't carry a tune. Not even in a bucket.

I have photos of Mom when she was of a school age, but this is the only one I believe is related to school. The kids are dressed in what looks like Colonial costumes, and this looks like it could be part of some sort of pageant. Mom is the little girl on the far left of the photo. I wish I had found this photo while Mom was still living, so I could have asked her about it.

It is amazing how things have changed since my parents went to school. My grandkids are learning things that were unheard of even when I attended school, like anything computer related. I recall that it was a big deal when my Typing class got an electric typewriter. Just one. We took turns using it. It has been years since I saw a typewriter in an office. When I went to High School in the early 1960's, the only options for girls were Home Economics, Secretarial courses or the basic classes if you wanted to become a teacher. And if you wanted to be a nurse, you took Biology. Now the sky is the limit. Girls can be whatever they want, whether it is the head of a corporation, an astronaut or a candidate for President of the United States. And how good it is that these options are available. I expect great things from the First Day of School girl, as I do from all of my grandchildren. They all have the opportunity to become whatever they wish, and the intelligence to do it. They are, after all, my grandchildren!

An Afternoon with Great-Grandpa Matheny

Dad loved kids. He understood them. He enjoyed their silly jokes. He made them feel important. He listened.

Dad never lost a certain child-like quality about him. He lived through many hard times and much adversity, and yet, he always kept his sense of humor. Perhaps that is what got him through those times. I know that his sense of humor is one of the things I remember most about him. The silliest of jokes tickled him so much. The sillier, the better. I think this is one reason he related to the grandkids and great-grandkids so well.

Jeri and I were talking about Dad just the other day. We were remembering some of the fun things about him. When my kids were young and we all still lived in Willmar, we saw Mom and Dad often. Sometimes it was just to drop in for a little while on our way home from town. Sometimes it was to spend a Sunday afternoon visiting. But we saw them often.

Jeri loves bananas. She particularly loved them as a little girl. Dad once told me that he, Mom and Kelly ate way more bananas than they wanted to, simply because he insisted that there be bananas in the house whenever Jeri was there. He told me how he loved it when she would walk through the kitchen door, scan the countertops with her eyes, and then say, "Got a "nana, Grandpa?" For that reason alone, they ate bananas until they nearly came out of their ears!

If we were at Dad's house in the morning, he would fix the kids breakfast. His idea of breakfast for his grandkids was a chocolate shake made of ice cream, milk and Carnation Instant Breakfast. Mom would fuss at him for feeding the kids ice cream for breakfast, but he said that it was good for them because of the Instant Breakfast. He said that they were getting more vitamins and things that were good for them in the Instant Breakfast than they would get in bacon and eggs. And, after all, the ice cream had calcium, and wasn't that good for their growing bones? So he fed them chocolate shakes for breakfast, and they loved it. Jeri said that she has since tried to make shakes the way Grandpa did, but she just couldn't get them to taste as good as the ones he made.

http://www.4shared.com/file/62135185/259d72c/An_Afternoon_with_Great_Grandpa.html

Here are a couple of pictures of Dad with some of his great-grandkids. I don't know what the occasion was, or if there even was one. I seem to recall that perhaps Jill wanted Zach to meet his Great-Grandpa. We all lived so far away that visits were few and far between, and Dad had seen pictures of Zach, but had not yet met him. At any rate, they spent an afternoon with Dad. He enjoyed every minute of it, and told me so when we talked on the phone after their visit.

In these photos, Dad is playing with Zach, showing him one of the things he whittled. It is a cage with two wooden balls inside, all carved from a single stick of wood. Dad never called it "wood carving," however. He whittled. Dad had been making these ball cages for years. My first baby rattle was one with a handle. That one is long gone, but I do have one that Dad made when I was just a small girl.

In the photos, you can see the shelves behind them. The shelves are filled with his whittled figures. He made ball cages, wooden puzzles, wooden chains, animals, birds, and whatever else took his fancy. Whenever any of us visited, he let the kids and grandkids pick out a piece to take home with them. I have a shoebox of his work that I treasure. From time to time, someone with the knowledge of the value of hand carved folk art, would try to get him to sell his work. He never did. He said that he whittled just for fun, and selling it would take the fun out of it. So he kept on whittling and gave his pieces away. He got such pleasure from giving.

I am grateful that some of my grandkids got to know their Great-Grandpa before he became so ill. I also hope that some will be able to remember him as I do.....a good man with a wonderful sense of humor, who was pleased when he could give and make someone else happy.

Back by Popular Demand

Back by Popular Demand

David and Staci stopped in yesterday.  They had new photos of the kids for me to see.  I downloaded the photos onto my computer, and then we sat and talked for a time.  During our conversation, Staci asked me if I would consider blogging again.  She said that the kids really liked seeing the scrapbook pages that I use here, and that she and David enjoyed reading the stories about our family.  David said that he thought it was such a good way for the kids to learn about our family.  He added that while at Jill and Joe's house earlier that day, Jill had mentioned to him that she wished I would do the blog thing again.  

So here I am.....back by popular demand.  

It has been nearly three months since Mike died, and I am feeling a little less overwhelmed than I was when I last posted.  My life has settled into a routine, and I find that I am able to do some of the things I enjoy, now that I am somewhat better organized.  Those who know me well know that I probably will never be totally organized, but I am at a point where it is better now than then.  I continue to be busy at work, and that is a good thing.....job security and all.  But I have worked out an arrangement with Star so that I have one day during the week off to attend to those things that I can't do on weekends, when the busses do not run.  She teases me about gallivanting about town via the bus, and usually asks me what adventures I am off to on my day off.  Like grocery shopping is an adventure.  Well, perhaps it is, what with the prices in the stores these days!

I'll try to give you some family history as well as some fun stuff along the way.  I will post as often as I can.  It is up to you, my children, to keep me supplied with photos of your families.  If I don't get photos from you, don't complain that you are not on the blog!!  

I think this will be fun for me again.

Love,

Mom