Mike and Rose

I am the animal lover in the family. I dragged home several over the 20 years of our marriage. Mike grew to love the animals. Well, maybe not the cats. Most definitely, not the cats. But he tolerated them because he loved me. But in spite of his protests, he grew to love the dogs.

Rose was probably our biggest challenge. She was willful, stubborn and had a mind of her own that no amount of cajoling or threatening could change. And she was naughty. Just because she could. But she also was one of the most lovable dogs I have ever had.

Rose had lived in a kennel with a run for all of her four years before I got her. She was a breeder dog and knew only her owner who fed and cared for her. So living in the city was a new experience for her. She was distrustful of people, and although she learned to walk on a leash, it wasn't her favorite thing to do.

Rose's stubbornness manifested itself most on her daily walks with Mike and Buster. She would decide that she just wasn't going to go where Mike and Buster were going, and would simply sit down, brace her front legs, and refuse to go any further. Mike had to pick her up and carry her a ways, set her back down, and then she would walk with them. Until she decided she didn't want to. Again. I would kid Mike about taking Rose out for a "drag."

In time, Mike did a wonderful job of socializing her. As he walked Rose and Buster, he often stopped to chat with people he met on the trail by the river, or on the downtown streets. Rose got to the point where she would go up to people and let them pet her without trying to sink her teeth into their hand, which was the goal. Mike would often come home from their evening walk, and tell me about some young lady or other who stopped to pet Rose. I kidded Mike that he just walked her because she was a "chick magnet." But his walks with her were the reason that her personality changed from being fearful of people to enjoying meeting new friends. It is thanks to Mike that when, after he died and I found that I was unable to give Buster and Rose the time and attention they deserved, she was able to easily make the transition, along with Buster, to their new home with a loving couple who could spend the time with them that I couldn't.

http://www.4shared.com/file/53073720/bf1e9175/Mike_and_Rose.html

She never lost her stubborn traits, however, and often was a trial to Mike. After Mike's death, I had the occasion to talk with our vet. He laughingly recalled a day when Mike and Rose stopped in at his office, which is four blocks away from our home. The vet said that apparently Rose had been particularly stubborn that day, and Mike's first words to him were, "I hate Yorkies." While going through some recent photos, I came across these three taken a month before Mike died. This was typical of their morning play. I'd say that he didn't hate Yorkies all that much.

Grandma Paul

My Grandma Paul was one of the sweetest women I have ever known. She was kind, loving and always had time for me, both when I was a child and when I grew into womanhood. She was a quiet woman. I never heard her raise her voice. I expect that she did, out of necessity, when raising her large family. All mothers find the need to raise their voices from time to time to get the attention of their misbehaving children. But she had infinite patience when it came to her grandchildren. She had the ability to make me feel like I was the most special child.

My family had moved from Blackduck to St. Paul in the late 1940's. Mom and Dad felt that their opportunities were limited in Blackduck, and that they would be better off financially if they went to the city where jobs were more plentiful. We lived at that time with Grandma Paul in her house on Hewitt Ave. in St. Paul, just across from Hamline University. It was a wonderful time for a little girl, who adored her Grandma and was able to spend time with her on a daily basis.

Grandma worked at Brown & Bigelow company at that time. Grandpa Paul was ill with heart trouble, and Grandma worked to support herself and her children who remained at home. Brown & Bigelow was a company that printed calendars and small art prints. I don't know what her duties were, but I remember hearing that she was a supervisor of her department.

Mother was a really good cook, and she no doubt learned from Grandma. I remember, in later years after my family had moved to Willmar, we would go to Grandma's house in St. Paul for special occasions. Grandma could make a meal that was truly memorable. Many times she would make roast beef with all the trimmings, and possibly the best gravy that I have ever tasted. It was rich brown and oh, so good. In my family, whenever someone was able to make good gravy, it was always referred to as "Grandma Gravy."

There are traits that seem to be passed down from one generation to another. Grandma wasn't fond of having her picture taken, which is probably why I don't have many good photos of her. I am more at ease behind the camera than in front of it. She disliked large crowds of people, as do I. She would attend functions where there were many people, but she always seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when she got home.

In the 1960's, Grandma left the Twin City area and moved to Willmar, where my Mother and Aunt Em lived. She stayed in the apartment on the upper floor of Dad's house on Becker Ave. I was already married by that time and raising my own family, but I took every opportunity to visit Grandma. I took my children to see her as often as possible, as I wanted them to know their Great-Grandma. Every now and then she would watch them for me while I ran some errand or another. Kelly told me about spending time with Grandma then. He loved to go upstairs to be with Grandma, and he told of sitting and playing checkers with her.

It became a Saturday afternoon ritual for me to act as beautician for Mom and Grandma. I would wash their hair for them, put it up in rollers, and when it dried, comb it out for them. Both Mom and Grandma then considered themselves ready for Sunday morning church services. Grandma had the most beautiful white hair. I often wished that when my hair turned from brown to gray, that it would eventually become white like hers. Alas, that was not to be.

I have heard several versions of how Grandma met Grandpa in Blackduck. This is the version that I know to be closest to true. Grandma had come to live with her sister, Amy, in Blackduck. She worked at a cafe there, and that is where she met Andrew Paul. He had been widowed at a young age, and had a small daughter, Dorothy. Apparently, Andrew took many of his meals at this cafe, and a friendship blossomed into a romance. They were married in May of 1914. They raised six children of their own; Duane, Adella, Elaine, Margaret, Marjorie and Emily. Another daughter was stillborn in 1932.

http://www.4shared.com/file/52540244/4b4d7f38/Grandma_Paul.html

I particularly like this picture of Grandpa and Grandma. It was taken in 1924, when Grandma was pregnant with my Mother. Mom always joked that it was the first photo ever taken of her. I can't help but see the resemblance between Mom and Grandma. Many of the children look like Grandpa, but Mom had many of the facial characteristics of Grandma. I have always been told that I look like my Mother. Which means that I look like Grandma. Which is probably the best compliment I could ever receive.

I was blessed to have my Grandma for 32 years. She died in June of 1978, and is buried next to Grandpa in the cemetery in Blackduck, along with their daughter. After all this time, I still miss her and think of her often.

Michael

http://www.4shared.com/file/51152980/d1d0a27c/Michael_Lee_Miller.html

Comparing Notes

I had a lovely surprise a couple of weeks ago. Kelly and his wife Jackie came from Bemidji to visit. This was only the second time I had the pleasure of Jackie's company, and I love her as a sister already. She is such a nice lady and a perfect match for my brother. And she is willing to sit while Kelly and I talk of old times. That makes her a real gem in my book!

http://www.4shared.com/file/50450321/d1cad3a/Comparing_Notes.html

We spent a Saturday afternoon going through old family photos. There were many that Kelly remembered and some he had never seen before. We talked of old times and old memories, and of the stories our Dad had told us, comparing notes. We seem to talk of Dad more often than our Mother when we are together. I think that is because Kelly doesn't remember a time that Mother wasn't ill. Most of our memories of her include time spent in hospitals or other aspects of her battle with rheumatoid arthritis. Mom didn't talk of her family very much, so we don't have those memories to draw upon. But Dad was full of stories of his brothers and the shenanigans they would pull. Or stories of his life and growing up, the various jobs he held and of places he had been and things he had seen. So we talk of Dad.

I finally found out the ending to a story Dad had told me years ago, but would never tell me how he and his brothers got the Model T car up on the roof! Dad told me that "Someone, I don't know just who," had taken the Model T car belonging to a prominent man in Blackduck, and had left it on the roof of his garage. Dad many times would start a story with those words, "Someone, I don't know just who," and by the slight crooked smile on his face and the twinkle in his eye, you would know for certain that his brothers or sisters or cousins were involved, and that he probably was right in the middle of whatever happened. Anyway, the story was about this car winding up on the garage roof. Dad would never tell me how this was accomplished, but while Kelly and I were reminiscing, I asked if he had ever heard that story. He said that he had, and that Dad and his brothers took the car apart and reassembled it on the roof. Mystery solved. This proved to me just how far the Matheny boys would go for a joke.

Kelly and I love to compare notes. I am 15 years older than Kelly, and have 15 years worth of memories that he doesn't have. But he lived near Dad in the last years of Dad's life, and was able to talk with him much more often than I could. So we compare notes. Sometimes Dad would tell me part of a story and tell Kelly another part. The whole of the story comes together when we compare notes. How lucky I am to have my brother who is willing to spend time with me comparing notes and memories. I hope that before we are both too old to remember anything, we can diminish the miles that separate us and have more time to walk down memory lane and compare notes.