The Diary is Concluded – June 22, 1967

  

    Many readers have suggested that her last effort in behalf of her church congregation would make the perfect finale for Mother’s Diary.

    She struggled over this piece the last two or three days she spent in Man­son. It was to be a part of the program scheduled for May 25th to honor the confirmation class and she was to be in Iowa City on May 23rd. and died on June 15^th.

    The theme assigned to her was — “What Jesus Christ means to me.” This article, say her friends who suggested its appearance here, epitomizes her motivating forces which brought forth the character which won her such high esteem. In her absence, the article was read at the program by her husband.

Jesus Christ and Me

    You are familiar with the verse in Revelation which reads “Behold I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

    That’s the way it was with me, except that it wasn’t all charming and coy. In the first place it took me a long time to open the door. I heard him knocking and heard his voice—but all I let in was the part that promised comfort—as “Come unto me all that are heavy laden” and “Let not your heart be troubled,” and “Suf­fer the little children to come unto me.”

    I didn’t really want to become involved with such hard words as “Take up your cross” and “Forgive us our ‘sins’ as we have forgiven the sins against us,” and “Love your enemies.” I have always found it difficult enough to love my neighbor!” I didn’t ever plan to kill anyone . . . but Jesus said that everytime I was angry or insulting I would be liable to judgment. Jesus also said “if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” And he also said if anyone would sue you and take your coat, let him have your cloak as well” . . . and he said “if anyone forces you to go one mile (which was the custom of soldiers in those days when their packs became too heavy and they needed help,) go with him two miles.”

    These are all hardsayings and I was afraid that if I answered the knock of this demanding, hypnotic, loving, brown muscled Jesus, first thing I knew, I would be loving back and doing all sorts of things like teaching Sunday School, giving money I could use for myself, being on committees, and maybe even helping with Bible School.

    Which is exactly what happened! I let him in and he has taken over completely. I still fight back on occasions, but he just smiles and hangs on and tries to make me perfect, though I have often told him it was a hopeless job.

    My life with Jesus Christ is one in which he has come seeking and laid hold of me and doesn’t let go. I still don’t love my fellow­man as I should, but Jesus is now working on that … I’m still smoking, but he’s working on that too, I still don’t like calling on people, and going to potluck suppers, among a multitude of other sins, but he’s working on them all.

    The funniest thing about Jesus Christ is that no matter how many and difficult are the things he asks you to do, he gives you the strength and love to do them. He never lets go . . . even when I do.

    It will be that way for you too. And best of all, Jesus Christ is the light through which I see God . . . who is my creator and sustainer…

A Tribute – By Mrs. Muriel Vetter

 

    How can a grateful community do justice to the memory of Grace Jones?

    We cannot.

    The news of her passing has left a void in the hearts of many of us and a noticeably empty place in the groups and institutions to which she has supplied endless contributions of self. But this devoted mother and wife, honest churchwoman, sensitive philosopher and skillful writer has left a heritage for the community, a model of unselfish dedication. More and more will we realize the many blessings which we have received through her efforts.

       We will miss the beautiful thoughts and mediations she imparted at her own and inter-denominational church meetings.

-        the inspirational and spontaneous Sunday school messages.

-        the homespun philosophy and love which her column radiated and which caused us to review our own lives and the world around us.

-        the alert observations of a keen mind and a sensitive soul.

-        the thrill of attending a play or concert vicariously.

-        the words of encouragement but helpful criticism she afforded the speech students.

-        the versatility with which she performed tasks for us at a moment’s notice.

-        intelligent conversations and lively discussions.

-        the humility with which she regarded her many talents.

-        the power she exercised over words, especially His word, by which she lived.

        Many times we have thanked Grace for a job well-done, and many times she has humbly discounted the value of her services but we wanted to express a sincere appreciation for the hundreds of contributions she made to our community and town which we could never begin to enumerate. What a magnificent community – local and world we could have if others emulated her selflessness.

Mother’s Diary – June 15, 1967

            

      Friday, June 9 – from University Hospitals (only I hope I’m home when this appears in print) [In actuality, this would be the last column, the last words that she would write.]

 

      There was  a fairy story that I read long years ago, about a little boy who wanted to know what it was that acquainted him with the facts of pain – something ludicrous, no doubt. I do recall that when it happened, he ran around shouting madly, “Now I know what pain is!!”

      And, now so do I!

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      Every person not familiar with the set up here at University Hospitals has almost literally outlined his or her letter with a thinly veiled question mark, or a mildly raised eyebrow – to be addressing my mail to “Children’s” hospital!?

      I can just see their consternation as they picture me in an elevated hospital bed, surrounded by babies and children in cribs and on cots.

      Only Jo Macklin Gilreath referred directly to it, however.

      “Please note,” she wrote in a restrained postscript, “that I used every ounce of control I have and made no bad jokes concerning the title at the building in which you are confined! You’re welcome!”

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      Well, Jo, it’s like this. I had my reservations, too, about the situation. This building was one of the original buildings and was the children’s hospital – until they no longer needed all the space for children.

      Now they have many buildings and this one contains an orthopedics ward, rehabilitation, dermatology, and a children’s ward.

      I am in the dermatology department and if someone comes in with skin problems, he is put here, regardless of age, and we have all ages. As far as I know, I am the grandmother of them all, with a case of herpes zoster (shingles to you – how unromantic) which at this writing, features plain old fashioned agony, seasoned with new fashioned pain relief, thank God.

      This, of course, is complicated with other problems, which has sent me to other departments for diagnosis and treatment – but this is not a clinical report – just the Diary so I won’t go into all that.

      Anyway, that is why my address is Children’s Hospital, because they have never abandoned the name.

√

      They had two little boys – under two years old – with allergies here, to help us live up to the name. One was Christopher, a little curly haired, blue eyed one, who was the pet of the ward, nurses, patients and all, until he left the other day. He giggled and flirted and cavorted, and sat in his high chair in the hallway, timing the approaches of all the sundry to push his toys off the tray with a wicked chuckle. He knew they would be picked up by someone!

      When he left, I asked his mother if she was sure they had to take him home, because we all loved him.

      “Oh, yes, “she said, “we need him at home.”

      Strange woman.

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      Then dark little Robbie arrived just before Chris left, and he followed the orderlies around, helping with the regular dispensation of ice water and juices and thermometers with great seriousness and aplomb.

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      I have been greatly pleased and astonished by the volume of mail and visitors that have come by way for the past three weeks. I was not too surprised when I was in Fort Dodge and at home, but after all – Iowa City!

      And I have been delighted with reports of events like United Church Confirmation, Bible School (did you know I was the director?), program, Circle meeting, Fellowship meeting, Library board meeting, potluck supper, the baccalaureate service, graduation festivities, and hardest of all to miss a visit from my parents after so many years. But they have merely postponed that, I hope.

      My mother exercised admirable restraint by not acidly writing, “Well, of all times!”

      She was all sympathy and concern and just wished she could come and take care of me!

Hah!

Mother’s Diary – June 7, 1967

                               by Martha and Becky  Jones

      Dear Mom in Iowa City,

      We have decided that you may have your old job back anytime you want it. Please hurry home!

√

      Becky is doing the cooking. She has been fairly successful except she didn’t boil the eggs long enough for the egg salad sandwiches so the yolks were still bright yellow. She also burned the grilled cheese sandwiches. We had meat loaf this noon and it was very good…you couldn’t even tell she put in ¼ cup of instant onion which equals 2 or 3 real onions! But it was good.

√

      Martha is still her old swift self. She drove to Pocahontas to take some pictures for Hudek but left the camera in Manson!

√

      About umpteen million people have been asking us how you are. What’s wrong really, mom? We’re tired of saying, “she’s sleeping a lot and taking a lot of tests.” They want to know how you feel. Fill us in on the details, o.k.?

√

      We went grocery shopping to night. Was that ever fun? We strolled through the store about as slow as molasses, not knowing what we were looking for, because we didn’t know what we needed or wanted. (Just like you, huh?). When Becky had gone with you before, you always picked out 90,000 different cans of pineapple – mushed, crushed, tidbits, rings, and others, so we picked up a few cans. We also picked out some fattening goodies so it wouldn’t look like any of us were losing weight! Don’t worry, Mom, we didn’t go to extremes.

√

      You know, Mom, with you being away, we realize what a blessing you are to us; and we now know we’ve taken for granted the little odd jobs you do around the house, like taking the garbage down to the basement to be burned in the incinerator. You see, Mom, the kitchen SMELLS because we’ve neglected to take it down. Again, don’t worry, Mom, we’ll get it down before the smell reaches the living room.

√

      Martha came home Friday afternoon and entered the hall, “Hmmm…this looks nice,” entered the dining room and found Becky working and thought, “Hmmm…this is looking better.” Then she entered the kitchen, turned around and walked out and she said to Becky, “Well, beck, you haven’t reached this room, have you?” It was a sight to behold!

√

      Speaking of the kitchen…after supper there’s no one here to nag us to do the dishes, or to stamp her feet and do them herself, so the dishes get to sit around for awhile. But, don’t worry, mom, they’re usually done by, oh say, – 10, 10:30 or 11 o’clock. (Not really!)

√

      By the way, did you know you left your hairbrush home? It’s in on the dresser in your bedroom.

√

      We’ve had several offers from various people to call whenever we need any help. However, when we mention that they could come and clean the upstairs, they back out and say that isn’t exactly what they had in mind. Wonder what they do have in mind? To clean the upstairs would really be a help!

√

      Actually, mother, we’ve exaggerated a little bit here. The house isn’t really that messy, we are getting good meals, but we do miss you terribly. Please hurry home!

                                         Love, Martha and Becky.

Mother’s Diary – June 1, 1967

             

                        I had been looking at Mother’s Day warnings and ads for days and hoping no one would give me a “dress of aluminum shingles,” lately pictured in the newspaper.

    Then it got to be Thursday evening and I didn’t have a card or letter or gift sent to my mother. Somehow or other, I had been under the impression that Mother’s Day was weeks away, along about the middle of May – or so my calendar had said, when last I checked it.

    It’s a terrible thing when days and weeks melt away without your noticing; or knowing what happened to them.

√

    Well – let’s see – we left Nancy on the good ship, Delos, leaving the island Mykonos, eating and wending her was toward the island Rhodes.

    “Tuesday morning,” she wrote, “I was ready before the breakfast bell, and since there wasn’t enough room in our cabin for four people to be up at once, I went up on deck. It was a beautiful morning and I watched as our boat pulled into the harbor of Rhodes.

    After breakfast, we boarded buses and sent to Lindos, one of the island’s three principal ancient cities. The Acropolis of this city was high on a hill, and the view was fantastic. It overlooked a tiny harbor where St. Paul is said to have landed.

    On the way to the top we passed through the fortifications built by the Crusaders. We went by mules but still had to climb a long was on foot. I rode a mule named George who was the fastest mule in the train, according to his owner. He proved it, too, by having us pass up every mule on the path!

    After out return from the Acropolis, we swam and shopped and sat in the square. I watched ladies bring their jugs to fill up at the water hole – actually, a spring tap – and men were loading their donkeys with cans of water.

    Some of the homes in Lindos date from the time of the Crusaders, and we were told it is illegal to repair or modernize them.

√

    At the city of Rhodes were evidences of the long ago occupation of the Knights of Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem who made the island their base after they had to leave the Holy Land. We visited the Hospital of the Knights, now, a museum, the Ramparts, the Palace of the Grand Masters, and the Street of the Knights, which is lined with the inns of the various countries.

√

    Wednesday morning, we were in Crete and spent the morning wandering about (still feeling the rocking motion of the boat) through the excavated Minoan palace at Knossos. The Minoan architecture is colorful and unique, and the complicated arrangements of passages, anterooms, and storerooms which lay below the principal palace chambers, were fascinating.

    That afternoon we had a very rough trip to Santorini. Some passengers began getting sick, but I was fine since I was full of my preventive pills. The approach to the island was lovely. On one side was a volcano and the Santorini rose up on the other side – and I mean ‘rose’ because the whole island was a steep hill.

    About 600 wide steps wind up the side to the village at the top, and a mule ride is the only transportation available. We strolled through the shops and up and down the narrow streets until time to go back down. For some crazy reason, I elected to walk – all 600 steps, which took 20 minutes – and I don’t recommend it! As out ship departed, the island was illuminated with torches – a breath-taking sight!

√

    Dinner that evening was an event as it was our last night aboard ship. Unfortunately, about half the passengers were sick in bed, but I was in excellent shape and praised my pills. The dinner ended with waiters marching around the darkened dining room with trays of flaming baked Alaska.

√

    Thursday we were glad to get back to still waters, and even gladder to be on dry stable land again. However, I continued to rock for two or three days.

    We began our tour of classical Greece. We drove through the Sacred Road past Daphni, along the coast past Thebes, and stopped at St. Luke’s Monastery to view the Mosaics of the Byzantine Church. We saw many women hoeing in the fields, donkeys were everywhere, and we even passed a gypsy camp.

    In the afternoon we toured the temple of Apollo in Delphi, and visited the museum which has the figure of the Charioteer. We saw the Castalia Spring, the theatre, and the stadium which I just looked up to instead of climbing.

√

    I took Friday afternoon off to rest at Olympia, but saw the stadium where the Olympic Games began, and as we left Saturday morning so I didn’t feel as if I had missed too much.

    Saturday was a long day. We drove over some very winding roads with extreme hairpin curves. Our bus driver firmly believed that a horn is to be used, often and for long durations. I’m sure I’ll always think of Greece when I hear a bus horn. In Germany, they don’t use horns – how peaceful it was to return to.

√

    By noon, we had reached Nauplia where we ate lunch outdoors by the sea. It was here that I had an interesting encounter with a handsome Greek. (Most Greek men are very good looking.) However, since his English was limited and my Greek non-existent, it was a short live experience!

    In the afternoon, we visited the Theatre at Epidaurus with its astonishing acoustics, a beehive Tomb, Mycenae, and the Lionesses’ Gate. At Corinth, there was another temple of Apollo and shopping. The night was spent in Loutraki in a room overlooking the sea, and the next day we flew from Athens back to Germany.”

√

    Since Nancy got back to Germany, she went on a weekend trip that took them into Switzerland, Austria, Liechtenstein, a tiny country in between the countries, and back through Garmisch, Germany, the American Forces recreation center.

    She can hardly wait for this summer when she can do more traveling. She plans to spend a couple of weeks in a workshop on a Child Study program in Heidelberg, a city she loves – and then travel the rest of the time.

Mother’s Diary – May 11, 1967

                

                                           We finally got a report from Nancy about her Easter trip to Greece and it occurred to me that she got out of Greece just in time. I wonder what would have happened if the tour had still been in Athens when the military took over. I found no word in the news stories about what happened to tourists, except that a good share of their economy depends on the tourist trade.

      I could see why, because Nancy reported that some prices were high and photographers were everywhere snapping and selling pictures.

√

      However, had Nancy still been there, I’m sure she’d have been in no trouble. She doesn’t wear mini-skirts, anyway!

      She spent ten days there and only one day was cloudy. She said the country was just as she had imagined it would be – rocky, green, and hilly, and the islands were especially gorgeous, with all the homes freshly white washed.

      The people in the country were mostly in native dress, but the city people were modern and fashionable.

√

      “We flew to Athens Thursday evening, March 23,” she wrote, “arriving at 3 a.m. We went straight to the Hilton Hotel and luckily were given rooms immediately. At 7 a.m. we were up and getting ready to go!

      Our first stop was on a hill directly across from the Acropolis (which means city on a hill). The view was excellent. Flowers were blooming, birds were singing, the sun was warm and it was great to be alive!

      We visited the Acropolis and the Parthenon, too. In the afternoon, we took a much needed nap. We planned to go shopping, but the stores close every noon in Mediterranean countries and don’t open again until 4 o’clock when they stay open until 7 or 8.”

√

      (I wonder how the store keepers in Manson would like that schedule?)

      “We ate supper at a nearby restaurant and had an unfriendly waiter, but the food was good, so we tipped well, and were pleasant. We have seen evidence that many of the people have had unhappy experiences with Americans, and we don’t want them to feel that all Americans are ‘ugly.’

      So he did smile, finally, and even asked us to come again!”

√

      “Saturday was a national holiday, so everything was closed and they had a big parade. We walked toward Constitution Square and saw the King and Queen go by and the soldiers in the national dress.

      Sunday we visited the National Museum which has a good Mycenaean collection. Four of us got off the tour bus near Constitution Square to do some exploring on foot. We went into a very old, 11^th century, tiny Byzantine church which stands right beside a hug modern Catholic Church.

      Then, of course, we ate chocolate cake at an outdoor café on the Square, which is supposed to be the thing to do! There were news booths every few feet that sold all sorts of things – these are common all over Greece. I bought some worry beads at one of them.”

√

      Nancy, you keep saying things like “worry beads” and Mycenaean collections” without explaining them! You’re going to have to write a personal letter of explanation to your poor old mother who is not a world traveler!

      Well, anyway – back to Athens.

√

      “Men were wandering everywhere selling lottery tickets and sponges,” she went on. “On our way back to the hotel, we walked through a beautiful park, past the royal palace where guards in native costumes were on duty.”

√

      “Monday morning, we left the port of Piracus on the SS Delos for a tour of the Aegean Islands. I bunked in a tiny cabin for four as far down as we could go. A three hour trip brought us to Delos where we rode to shore in small boats. Delos is supposed to have been the birthplace of Apollo and Artemis. In ancient times, the island was a sacred place where it was forbidden anyone to die or be born. And to this day no one is allowed on the island after sunset. The most famous ruin there is the row of Naxian Lions.

      From there, we went to the island Mykonos which had no ruins, a fact that we didn’t fully appreciate at the time! However, the pretty town had 365 churches, several windmills, and 2 pelicans.

      (Nancy – are you sure you got the number of churches right??)

      “Anyway,” she wrote, “we just walked around, looked in the shops and returned to the boat. We were surprised to find we were ready to eat again. All of our meals aboard ship were fabulous, and at least five courses long!

      I waddled off when we disembarked!”

√

      And I’ve been feeling guilty because I haven’t sent her cookies or other goodies since Christmas! I don’t need to, I guess. This is going to have to be continued in the next issue. So we’re going to have to leave her on board ship eating all those meals for a whole week!

Mother’s Diary – May 4, 1967

          

      The new little leaves and tender pastel buds on trees and bushes are unfolding into a harsh cruel world this spring. They are being whipped by cold winds, blackened with frost, lashed with stinging dirt, and have not been soothed and nurtured with much warm rain.

      And yet the trees are determinedly getting green, the tulips have insisted on growing tall and lovely and the plum and crabapple blossoms are making a brave attempt at their customary spring beauty. Perhaps they’ve heard about all the waste created by tornadoes in other areas and are just grateful to be alive and growing in the midst of so much adversity.

√

      I had my first glimpse of Belmond since the tornado last fall when we drove to the music contest a couple weeks ago. Much has been done to restore and rebuild and there is still evidence of the destruction, but the most disheartening sight was the mutilated vegetation.

      It is possible to reconstruct a home or store but how do you mend an uprooted tree, or a broken and battered lilac bush?

√

      We began last week with children in the house and ended it the same way.

      Colors, color books, tiny dolls, and their clothes, picture books, puzzles, and little bottles have been under and on top of everything all week and have come to be a way of life around here again.

      Sunday, it was little girls in the middle of the week it was Angie and Jennifer, and Saturday, it was little boys. It’s like old home week when I have a houseful of youngsters here, but I have to confess that I am glad it is only for limited periods.

      For sheer entertainment value, it is good to have children around often, but it is with great relief that I turn them back over to their parents for the day in and day out routine care.

√

      I have been all through that and besides, I still have Becky and Martha. And though, I no more have to wipe their noses, put them to bed, or tie their shoes, I do pick up after them. I also have to tolerate a certain amount of disorder as they sew, study, and make spasmodic forays on the kitchen, leaving toast crumbs and milk glasses and soft drink bottles in their wake.

√

      When a close partnership is broken, there are always funny little memories of a shared life to recall, with a chuckle. They don’t have to be high emotional moments or turning point occasions to bring satisfaction in the remembering, and the little incident that Mary told me about many months ago is not all that earthshaking. It simply illustrates what kind of life Mary and Art had together, and I hope she can recall it without pain.

      The two of them had come home from church and Art discarded his suit coat and settled himself in a chair with the papers, while Mary put on an apron and bustled about preparing Sunday dinner.

      When, flushed and ready, she called him to eat. He gave her a look of barely concealed amusement and started for the other room.

      “Well,” he said, solemnly, “if it’s going to be a formal occasion, I guess I’d better put on my coat.”

      It was then that she discovered that she had prepared the meal and was about to sit down at the table – still in her Sunday-go-to-meeting hat!

Mother’s Diary – April 27, 1967

                 

      We have two very interesting photos of Nancy taken astride a donkey on an island in Greece. She looks very pleased with herself in both pictures and why shouldn’t she. The guide is shown in one of them and he is a very handsome and charming appearing fellow indeed!

      On the back of that picture Nancy had written, “The mule’s name is George.”

      “We don’t care about the mule’s name,” fretted Martha and Becky as they gazed in fascination at the picture, “How about that guide?”

√

      Nancy had sent a postcard one evening of her Easter vacation stating that they had ridden donkeys for climbing to places on the islands inaccessible to cars that day.

      “And tomorrow,” she wrote, “I am going to wear slacks!”

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      You will notice that I appear to be somewhat confused about the type steed that Nancy rode. She wrote ‘mule’ on that picture, and the guide book that she sent us says that ‘donkeys’ would do the climbing for them.

      So I don’t know which it was. Maybe both! The dictionary says a mule is the offspring of a donkey and a horse, and that was no help as I viewed the pictures again. I couldn’t tell by looking at the animal who its father and mother was. However, this will give you an idea of the agonizing research that goes into this column.

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      We got a letter from my mother Friday and as I read it, I was just glad that I had spent two days scouring and vacuuming and scrubbing so I wouldn’t felt guilty and useless. I might not have been doing it if it hadn’t been for another dust storm Monday. I tend to ignore ordinary dust and just let it sit there on the tables and chairs and floors, while I tend to more important matters. But it is not easy to ignore the black, grimy, greasy dirt that sifts in through closed windows, and doors during dust storms.

      And if you have a window open all night – as I did – well!!

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      But I was still breathless after reading Mother’s letter. I am going to share parts of it with you and as you read, kindly take note that my Mother will be 79 years old next month and that my Dad will be 88 in August and is very nearly blind.

      “We have our yard and garden all cleaned up. The perennials are coming along fine, but I have not planted any flower seeds yet,” she wrote. “We have our house cleaning all done except Carole’s room and the hall upstairs. We are going to have new linoleum laid in the hall, so decided not to do her room until that was done.

      Yesterday, Dad and I had quite a day. We put linoleum down on the floor of the front porch. We had to take everything out, but that was easy compared to measuring and cutting the linoleum. Dad, of course, had to depend on me for the measuring and as I am not very good at that, it was a bit hard on him! But we got it done and it looks good.”

√

      She did say they were waiting for a weekend visit from my sister Blanche and her husband, Red, so he could lay the linoleum in the upstairs hall. I can’t figure out why they don’t do that themselves, too!

Mother’s Diary – April 20, 1967

                 

      I broke my coffee cup last Tuesday morning and it almost ruined my day. It was sitting there peacefully on the counter, filled to the brim with the first fresh hot coffee of the morning – which as any coffee lover knows, is the best cupful of the whole day – and I was doing something with the pliers and my hand slipped and I knocked the cup, coffee and all to the floor.

      It crashed into 79 pieces that scattered clear over under the table, in front of the refrigerator and around the corner into the bathroom. And the kitchen was afloat in coffee.

      It is possible for eight ounces of coffee to do this – and for three ounces of milk to do this. It is something I have never been able to understand. A pitcher of water spilled on the floor is nothing much, but a few drops of any other liquid can spread and bounce and splash into the far corners of any size kitchen.

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      Well – anyway – I stood there for a full minute, mournfully surveying the wreckage.

      “I wish I hadn’t done that,” I said to the kitchen.

      It was not only that I had to clean up the mess, but it was my coffee cup laying there in ruins. We have other cups. We have eight crystal cups that match dessert plates. We have seven tea cups and ten saucers that match. We have eight colored mugs. We have four matched mugs with the word ‘coffee’ engraved on each. And we have eight outsize cups that go with a whole set of dishes.

So it was not that I lacked for cups to pour myself another cup of coffee. It was my special cup that I had broken – this one I have used for years as other sets of cups have come and gone. I was attached to it, in spite of my husband’s vigorous assertion that it was nonsense.

√

      I have a bowl that I feel that same way about. The only thing practically that I use it for is mixing pancakes, and I have, in the last few years, treated it with special loving care, because it has a crack in it from the rim to bottom.

      When it finally falls apart, as I’m sure it will (probably full of batter), I am half convinced that I will never be able to make pancakes the same again. I am never very careful about measurements when making pancakes. I just dump flour and baking powder and a scoop of sugar and the number of eggs I have on hand and pour milk in right from the carton – but I can tell in that bowl when I have the right amount. And no other bowl I own is just that size. It will be a sad day when it splits down the middle.

√

      I splashed about the kitchen picking up pieces of cup, and got out the mop, and didn’t answer the phone when it rang. Martha did and came into the kitchen with the news that Lu would pick me up at a quarter of ten to go to the preview of the movie we were to see that morning.

      I told Martha about breaking my cup and that’s why I was mopping the floor, and it finally dawned on me that she was waiting for an answer.

      “Oh,” I said, “Is Lu still on the phone? Tell her I’ll be ready.”

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      I think I will. I added to myself. Here I was, mopping the kitchen floor, and I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet! It was no way, I thought, for a leader in the community to be treated.

      Well, that’s what Steve had said when he had called me earlier. They were having this preview of ‘The Restless Ones,’ and they wanted some ‘leaders in the community to see it. That’s a terrible thing, really, to have tossed at you first thing in the morning, when you’re barely awake and you haven’t had your first cup of coffee yet.

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      But I’m sure I must have been a substitute for a real leader because the ministers were there, and the mayor, and the councilmen, and I don’t know to this day who couldn’t make it so I got the call to go instead. And I also don’t know to this day what my original plans were for that fateful Tuesday morning. Whatever they were, they never got done and I have a sneaking suspicion they included the ironing!

Mother’s Diary – August 10, 1944

           

    When my six year old daughter acts like she does, I close my eyes and count, “one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten – it’s her age, I hope.” I tell my friends that right now she’s going through a difficult period and they are courteous enough not to remind me that I’ve been saying that for the last six years.

    And the mothers of adolescent daughters laugh raucously, “Just wait til she’s 13.” So I wonder where turmoil ends and calm begins. It seems to me that there must be some delicious interval where behavior is civilized and worry is nil. However, if my observations are correct, I believe all three of mine have already passed that interval.

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    If you discount diapers and formulas, I rather think the first year is the ideal period. Perhaps I will truly realize this with my sixth and won’t say to myself, “When I no longer have to wash diapers, I can really enjoy my young.”

   For in the second year is learning to walk, and broken lamps and falling down stairs; the third year is calling the police to locate a wandering child five or six blocks away and the first swear word spoken innocently, but oh so aptly, in front of dinner guests; the fourth year is discontent, too young to do the things they want to do and too old to do the things they can do; the fifth year is kindergarten, concern over clothes, a sudden alarming independence wherein mothers and fathers are merely obstacles to fun, and an intensified aversion to rest in the afternoons; the sixth year – but this is where I came in. Who brought this up anyway?    

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    Either I’m lazy or I estimate beyond my strength. I always have such plans. I avidly read all fascinating magazines and newspaper recipes and dream of the herbs and flavors which will make meals “different.” But somehow the same old meat, vegetable, salad routine finds its way to my table. With an apple pie thrown in occasionally for variety.

   And when the grocery boy delivered the crate of peaches, I could see in my mind’s eye the peach pies, peach cobblers, broiled peach halves and upside down cake. I was going to make – and a little jam, too, maybe. The last peach is gone now and we ate every last one, sliced with sugar and cream. Either I’m lazy or I estimate beyond my strength.