Poem?

When Martha, Nr 3, arrived, she carried two folders of papers that I had written long ago at her request, thinking it might help me remember situations from my past, which would then help me with my blog. I have not had time to read all of it but this attempt at poetry amused me. Hope it will do the same for you. I think I have mentioned the event before. It is written in the form of a letter. It was called Dear Jeffrey, but if I were truthful it would have been called Dear Marcus.

FRANKLY MY DEAR, I DO GIVE A DAMN

Dear Jeffrey

Watching GONE WITH THE WIND last night made me remember.
Remember the night of August 1, 1943, the night before Sam and I were married.
It was Georgia hot. Sticky and hot.
I sat on the floor by the fireplace, a carton filled with papers by my side.

One by one the papers burned. Letters from Sweden.
Letters from young men in the Armed forces. Some with proposals of marriage.
Newspaper clippings and photographs
And then - all my Clark Gable pictures.

As more papers burned, the hotter the room became. I read and agonized.
Should I, or should I not. Burn this or save that.
Should I marry Sam, or should I not.
I cried silently, feeling so alone.

Did I really want to marry Sam?
I hardly knew him. He was infantry bound for unknown destinations.
If I let him go, I might never see him again.
That was the worst of all possible scenarios.

I never regretted marrying Sam

But why did I think I had to burn my past? Who knows?
After watching Clark Gable, I suddenly regretted that nights absurdity.
Had I not burned those papers,
I could now better share my past with our four children and our grandchildren.

And I would still have all your letters.

daughters, daughters

For the last week I have been surrounded by three of the most wonderful people in the world. You have heard about each one before, usually by a numbers. Today they will have names and vague homeports.



In this picture you will see all of them. Anna is at the west end of the photo. She lives on Bainbridge Island and I see her more often than the other two, who live in the San Francisco area. Jane in Mill Valley and Martha in Santa Cruz. We spent a lot of time with Gilbert, their brother and a fabulous fisherman. We had many meals with him at our old house. Cracked Crab and Salmon. It has been five wonderful days and I am utterly thankful for us, having been all together.

We celebrated two birthdays. Gilbert's belatedly and Jane's a few days early. Each celebration meant overeating and over laughing. The latter a fine sort of exercise which made overeating less noticeable. Gilbert took his three sisters fishing a couple of times and the picture shown here shows all of them starting out. One day they pulled up seven Crab and another day Gilbert caught two salmon. I have three meals in my freezer, two of crab meat and one of crab soup. I am so lucky that he wants to share his catch.

Filled with gratitude.

When I wrote my last blog I had no idea it would bring such healing remarks from my blogging family. Your remarks were so loving and so constructive. Thank you one and all. I will read that book, the first chapter any way, and then give it up. I have to admit, I have been such a snob about grammar. When someone uses the wrong word in speaking, the wrong tense, I smugly feel superior. It serves me right that I should have discovered how ignorant I am.

I spent the day working on a project and suddenly realized that I was starving. I had to get some vitamins for my macular degeneration and since they are cheeper at Walmart I drove to the other end of town and then felt maybe Gilbert might be as hungry as I was and maybe he would come eat an early dinner in a Mexican restaurant. When I got to his house he was deciding where to plant some flowers he had just acquired. He said he was starving and so the two of us had a great dinner at 3.30 p.m. And I have enough food in a little box for my lunch tomorrow.

It is now time to get to my most pressing occupation, watching the Mariners p;ay baseball. The game began at seven and I will just be able to catch the end of the game. Wish them Good Luck with me, please.

Family re-union

My son has moved into his house on the beach and since many parts of his family were there for extended times, I was invited for dinner. These were lovely times and I enjoyed both the food and the company. Gilbert gave me whole crabs to take home with me, and I can say, never have I had so much crab in such a short period of time. Whenever there are crab left over I am urged to take them home and so I have had crab sandwiches and crab omelets and crab tacos. I feel so lucky to have a son who can fish for crab.

Anna and Steve and Kate, the navy pilot, and friend, Gilbert and Chris and I had Gilbert's birthday dinner there. Gilbert made Carnitas and they were delicious. Anna had made Tosca and shaped it into cake shape and served it with one candle. It was a wonderful evening with many "Do you remembers" I loved the banter between the siblings and next week the two sisters from the San Francisco Area will be here with Anna again and I look forward to more of the same fun dinner conversation. The three girls will be staying here at my place.

The reason for the long delay again is that I went to shop at Costco and I spied a book on the sale's table with the title SPEND 20 MINUTES A DAY AND LEARN HOW TO WRITE. I read the first chapter which was about punctuation and capitals. I discovered that I knew nothing about the subjects and it totally threw me for a loop. How can I have nerve enough to write this blog showing my ignorance. Then I thought it is too late to worry about that now. Everybody knows my lack of grammar skills. If I were writing in Swedish I would be showing the same lack. But I am spending twenty minutes a day reading that book and maybe you will gradually observe an improvement in my writing.

Dear Abby

Reading this morning's Dear Abby was quite a revelation for me. It was all about people who were told by one or two of their parents that they were never wanted. There were four answers to a previous letter which I do not remember having read. Wounded Heart, One Who Knows, Deeply Wounded and Wish I Never Knew were the names of the responders. I wish I had known that many people felt the way I did. When you are little you don't know that something is eating away at your feeling of security. I had problems with friendships in school, for if someone made overtures in my direction, I did not want to get along with a person who had such poor taste. Its like the joke about the man who did not want to join the club that was stupid enough to let him in.

Why did I never go to a counselor who could have saved me from feeling inferior all these years. And why does a nearly ninety year old person worry about cruel things told to her eighty years earlier? Someone who knows, tell me that.

The heat wave is abating and I just had to put on a white cotton sweater. I had breakfast with a good friend this morning. Then I went to the garage to have freon put into my air conditioning. And three pounds of air into a tire that made my car seem to turn to the right even when I wanted to go straight. And I filled up the gas tank. All preparations for going for a ride in the afternoon if the heat wave continued. I made the heat wave go else where.

Heat

We live in the perfect part of the country. Weather-wise that is. It rains sometimes, but we need moisture. Occasionally we have a little snow flurry but it is usually enjoyable and brings back memories of times when snow was fun. And never do we get a heat wave. Until now. It is difficult knowing what to do to avoid the heat. Especially at my age. I can;t go down to the beach and sit with my feet in the water. The reason....... I can't get up again. And so we are in a record breaking heat wave here in Port Angeles. The temperature is record breaking and the length of the problem is also record breaking.

My getting along with this non 'air conditioning' is sitting in one place, working on a project that totally absorbs me. I am working on Christmas presents. And I am not knitting socks.

The reason for no blog is that I have run out of memories. Maybe when the weather gets normal, my brain will return to normal. I will try to be more reliable in the future.Thank you for the caring comments.

Another Bus Trip

A lunch trip to Lake Crescent was promised this Thursday. I think the bus has the capacity of eighteen passengers and I was number seventeen. One person had cancelled that morning. Which warned me to decide earlier and sign up if I really want to go. The weather could not have been more ideal. It was warm and sunny with no wind. The place was crowded with live in visitors. And as time passed more and more people arrived, some to eat their pic-nic lunches by the edge of the water, others to eat in the restaurant. One smart couple who were told there was a waiting period before they could be seated, ordered food to go and and the male part of the couple went out to secure a seat for two on a bench in the shade of a tree near the water. There were children galore playing in the water and It was a glorious day.

There were a few flies in the ointment. The waiting for us at the table for seventeen was endless. It is a great way to meet and get to know people you have never been in touch with before. The man sitting next to me had never been told by his mother that you have to keep your elbows close to your own ribs when you sit next to someone. His elbow was dangerously close to my plate. Then I found out that his mother died when he was four and that his father had brought up him and his four siblings. Then the poor college age student working for the summer had a difficult time with so many orders at one table. My bill was $16.44 and I handed him a twenty dollar bill and when I got my change, I got $16.44. I hope he came out OK at the end of the day. He seemed relieved when I gave him back $11.00. His tip was already figured in, in the ticket. I met a very nice woman named Virginia. She sat directly across from me, and at first I was hesitant to talk to her. She turned out to have a great sense of humor and a keen sense of what was going on.

Our bus driver, beloved by all, stopped by the soft ice cream place out near the Lake and ordered us all a dessert. It is a time consuming deal and I am sure delays him miserably, but he does it willingly and we all love it. He is great asset here, and if the powers were aware of how much we appreciate him, he would be written up in the sale's pitch for the place.

Some one asked me to enter my name to become a board member of the Friends of the Port Angeles Library. We need to get in touch.

Margaret's pitcher

Many years ago, before we had our new library, we had a member of the Friends of the Library who had become a 'bearing wall' of the group. Once or twice a year we had a book sale out in the garage of the place which now is the County site of the workings of the place. The garage was there because of the tall trucks that used to deliver books to shut ins in the out-lying areas of avid readers. The name of this elderly woman was Margaret Coffey.

She once told me her age and I think at the time she was in her middle seventies. I wondered how she could work so hard at her age. She could lift heavy boxes of books and she could stand on her feet for hours, sorting books for a future sale. The garage was a cold drafty place and her feet were usually in high heeled shoes. She was great to work with, for no one could say he or she was tired as long as Margaret persevered.

One day Margaret called and asked Sam and me for lunch the following week end. I said Sorry, but we have two grand daughters here from Denver. She said bring them along. She lived on the family farm which was out in the direction of Joyce. Many years earlier the family home had burned down and Margaret lived in a trailer where the house had stood. There were many buildings remaining and many of her belongings could be found in what was once the barn.

We had a delightful lunch and when we settled down with coffee and desert the children asked if they were allowed to go out to discover things. Margaret said they could, if they promised not to go into any of the buildings, for she did not know how safe they were. When the girls came back, they said, Grandma, come out and see what we saw. It was time for us to leave, so we said our Thank You. As we walked to our car, Kate said come and see what we found. It was some colorful old fashioned thing they had never seen before and they asked if they could ask Margaret if they might have it. I said, go and ask. Margaret came to investigate and at once said, Of course you may have it. It was some price given out at a county fair. My eyes spied a dirty pitcher lying on its side in the dirt on the floor. I asked if I might have that one. She said 'What on earth for?' I said It has such an unusual shape and I may use it in a painting. She said 'Take it.' And so we went home with our treasures.

The following Friends of the Library Board meeting was going to be held at Margaret's home. It was scheduled for one o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. We drove out there in two cars and when we got there, there was a note on the the door. It said 'please enter' We sat down and waited and after a few moments George Stratton, the head of the Library arrived. He sat down and said, Margaret died yesterday. Her daughter found her, sitting in her favorite chair. She was dead.

The discussion on the agenda had been, how can we help raise money for the bond issue. None of us wanted to remain. We were all too shocked and saddened by the news. So we scheduled another meeting and left. When we met later in the week I had a plan for raising money for the election. I would paint one painting each month named Margaret's Pitcher. It would be displayed in the North Light Gallery and people who saw it could bid on it and the highest bidder would get it. Many people who came across from Canada on the Ferry saw them and bid. I think only two remained in Port Angeles. Apparently enough money was raised that the names of my husband and me were put on the wall as donors. Unknown to us, until it was too late to remove them.

A columnist

We had a columnist in our local newspaper, Helsingborgs Dagblad, who was a woman. My mother and this columnist were good friends. I can imagine a conversation between these two women, probably in the afternoon, having coffee at Hogvakten Konditory. The conversation went like this. Mother: I am not looking forward to this summer. Gertrud will be out of school in June and she is so difficult to live with. Friend: Oh maybe I can help you out. George (not his name) doesn't like that I live here in the south. Can we send her up to Dalarna to help him out with cleaning and washing and fixing his meals? Mother: What a wonderful idea.

This happened in 1938 and before I knew it I was ensconced in a taxi, with mother's friend. She was going to show me what had to be done and how it was going to be done. Nobody had asked me if I wanted to do this. Mother just informed me that I was going to do it. I was 18 and it was time for me to live elsewhere. It was a lucky break for me, but I did not know it at the time. Our news papers were full of stories about Greta Garbo traveling around Europe with a Symphony director from Philadelphia. They had just crossed into Sweden from Denmark that morning, according to Dagbladet. I crept into the corner of the taxi hoping I could fool my fellow citizens that it was Garbo lurching in the cab.

We reached our destination in the afternoon. Mother's friend quickly showed me the guest room where I was to sleep. And also were I was to spend the evenings, For husband didn't want to socialize with hired help. He was a professor and needed his quiet time. She introduced me to the kitchen and told me what George wanted for breakfast and dinner. She also introduced me to the vacuum cleaner and when George arrived home, after a very cool greeting, she introduced me to him, who did not seem thrilled to have a person foisted on him. And then she said Good bye and escaped in the taxi she had asked to wait and returned to Skane.

They lived in an apartment near the college or university. I met some people who were like a substitute family for me. The work was easy. I had not yet heard what I was going to get paid for this adventure. It could have gone on and on but I made a mistake. One day I decided I should probably make an effort to do more of a cleaning than just dusting around the edges. I took down pictures and rolled up rugs and worked really hard. That was the day his highness decided to come home for lunch. He was met by a room totally messed up. He could not tolerate such a shock and phoned his better half in the south. She hired the same taxi and came the next day to take me back to Skane.

It was a quiet trip back and when I saw we had a visit by my favorite Aunt I was happy I had not missed her. She had asked my sister if she would like to go to America. She said no, she had health issues. So she asked me, and I said YES, and within a couple of weeks I had reservations and a permanent visa and off I went, and all of you know the rest of the story.

More faces

After my grandfather died, around 1930, an elderly woman moved into his house. It was such a cute little house and the garden was well kept when Grandfather lived there. Soon after she moved in it became evident that the garden was the least of her interests. We, his grand children, had been employed to see to it that there no weeds in his garden. One year there was a severe influx of some kind of worm in the Reseda that edged the walk way from the gate in his fence to his front door. We got a swedish penny for each worm we pulled out of the flowers. You may think this was slave labor, but we got so many pennies my mother insisted we had to save ten percent and then we could go to the Candy store. So how does this come in under the heading of More Faces? Sorry, this new face didn't care about the Reseda or anything in the garden.

We soon discovered that she was an alcoholic. At night, sometimes after midnight she would walk down the lane to our house. She had lost her way to her out-house and my mother would have to turn her around and steer her back up the lane. And sometime it was too late. She would relieve herself on the way home.

If you met her during the day, in one of the shops, she was a good looking woman, with good clothes and a happy outlook on life. She was the first person I had met who drank too much. Except for the drunks you'd see on the ferry between Helsingborg, Sweden and Helsinor Denmark. Mostly Swedes took advantage of the drinks you could buy. Twenty minutes on the way over and twenty minutes on the way back. Looking back now, it seems the drinks must have been expensive, what with having to buy two ferry rides.

Farmor, meaning our paternal grandmother, had a lovely face. She was very wrinkled but she had the happiest face. Her eyes sparkled. She had a hunch back which was probably caused by lack of calcium when she carried her eight children. They were very poor at some times in their marriage. Grandmother was a perfect grandmother who would pick us up (one at a time ) and spend a forenoon reading to us. She would also let us play with the skin on her hands. We would lightly pinch her skin, and when we let go, the skin would stand up all by itself. We learned how to count that way. We would begin counting when we first pinched and when her hand was flat again we stopped. Such sport !!!

Swedish older people

When we had a festive dinner when I was growing up, festive because of company or someone's birthday, we always served a drink with the meal. It was called Dricka. That word also means 'to drink'. It was non alcoholic and it looked like beer. It was delicious. We had to walk from one end of our village to the other. The place had large wooden gates and it was almost impossible to open them if you were under ten years old. The buildings inside the gate were old and arranged the way farms were arranged in the olden days. To the right was the family building, opposite was the building for the animals, horses and cows and such and between these was the barn here hay and equipment was kept. Then the farmer owned ground outside of the village for grazing. There were several of these old farms inside the village and the reason for the heavy gates was protection from the Danes when the Swedes and the Danes decided to have WAR.

The woman who owned this farm and who lived on the income from the Dricka never changed in the years when I had to go to buy her wares. She was dressed in boots and men's work pants and a long apron which was more stained as the years went on.She had arranged to sell her dricka in the building across from he home. We had to bring a pail to carry it home. She had a counter and she would put her hands on the counter (they were as red as beets ),bend over slightly and say "What will it be today?" I don't know what else she sold but probably something that had become alcoholic. Her nose was always running and she had no tissue and she did not use her hand but her tongue was busy. I don't know what her name was but we called her Froken something.

The teacher in the last two years of standard education paid for by the government lived next door to this dricka person. There was no space between the teacher's house and the farm and the other side of the farm had a house up tight next door. I don't remember who lived there but it must have been difficult to live so close to the fly inspiring place so close by.

If you continued in the direction you were going, only a few more houses, and where the road bent, there was Niagara Cafe and a few feet from that you could bend over a wall and see Niagara Falls. I would always sneak over and try to see how much water was passing over the falls as high as about two bricks on top of each other. In summer time sometimes you could not see the trickle. And then I would return and do my errand.

Wonderful faces

Our bus left at 11.30 for our lunch tour to Blackberry Cafe in Joyce. There were fourteen of us going for this new adventure. And our driver whom you have heard about before, an absolute saint, with an invisible tiara. The average age, not counting our driver, was probably around 87. It was fun observing this group. Two of them were men.

There were two women who have been on every bus tour I've been involved in. They are not related, but this is probably a strong friendship which probably began after arriving here. At least five times I have heard one of them tell the other that she had a truck before she moved, but she sold it for she knew she would not need it here in the west. Her friend is about the same age came here from Florida where she also was involved in a farm.

The smallest woman there is a representative of God's. The first time I rode the bus, she tried to introduce me to her God. I must have been dismissive for she has never brought up the subject with me again. But I heard her tell that one of the people who died last week had refused to listen to her talking about God and now she feels so sorry for her for now it is too late. She actually grew up in Joyce, a tiny little community that doesn't have even one traffic light.

And one of the people weighs maybe less than the afore mentioned one, for she is soo thin. I knew her before moving here. Sam and I used to play bridge with her and her husband. She is so elegant and so proper, she looks as if she could go to tea with the queen any moment. Her husband was involved with logging and was a tall man and could have been a logger in a play.

One of the women, one who has a beautoful face and beautiful white hair is a walker. I think her group is called Klehanne. She seems very vital.

Then there was one woman that I have never been close to. The reason is that she is always sitting on a piano stool and she plays and plays. It is said that she doesn't know how to read music but she knows every tune that was ever popular. She can go on for hours. She is 94 or 97.

One of the men looked as if he had just stepped off the tractor, washed his hands, and ready for lunch. He wore a checkered flannel shirt and braces. The two men sat together and were totally different from each other. They sat across from Keith, the driver and could carry on a masculine discussion. Keith was meanwhile playing nanny to our piano player.

The two women sitting on either side of me are younger and seem very nice. I suggested to one of them that we share a bacon burger and luckily she was elated. It was the worst hamburger I have ever tasted. The bacon as underdone, the beef was either absent or so thin that you could not see it. And they must have cooked them an hour before we got there. They were cold.

Then we visited a couple of beautiful beaches on our way home. I heard one voice from the back of the bus saying: This is better than staring at four walls. That remark made me sad. There is much to do here and nobody should stare at four walls.
Next blog will be about some people this same age I remember from growing up in Sweden.

Another Midsummer

Such problems. I won't bore you with what happened but I am getting tired of Mid summer and of my computer. Martha, my plot daugher helped me ovecome some of my computer problems and now it is full seed ahead. Or full speed back again.

Just the word Midsummer promised so much. Special food, the first new potatoes dug up out of the garden that morning. For the first time that year. Then the promise that maybe we could go swimming if the temperature was above 50*. Wearing new clothes. Probably the dress that was made for our last day of school. Probably out of town visitors for dinner. The potatoes were the best part of that meal but the fish or the meat would be special too. And a fabulous cake for desert. And then the dance around the Maj Stong ( May Pole ) Why was it called the May Pole when midsummer was in June?

There was a lot of work to be done that day. We had to help get the house ready for celebrating. Some important member had to dig up the potatoes. Maybe that's why I had a great collection of pitchforks that were sold when we moved from our Diablo house. And that's why I have said I am going to be a potato farmer in my next life. I was never important enough to dig up the spuds. ( I never put this together before ) Then around ten we had to gather in the park to get the May Pole dressed and put together.

Teenagers and adults would gather the greenery. There were tools too big for the smaller children. We had to go out on the heath to gather white Daisies, blue Bachelor Buttons and Red Clover. And then there was a group of grown ups who would raid the gardens of big red Peonies. Some years the May Pole would be a truly magnificent work of art. Depending on who was in charge. I wish I had pictures of the good ones.

The pole consisted of what looked like a telephone pole with a shorter thinner cross bar, two rings that looked like the wheels
without spokes from a bicycle. The main pole was the first to be dressed. Then grownups would raise it in the middle of a big circle in the middle of the park.The cross piece was dressed and in stalled about 31/4 of the way up the pole. The Swedish flag flew from the top. The rings attached to the crosspiece were the most colorful parts of our labor.It was a beautiful sight standing in the center of a green lawn.

And when that was done there would be dinner and an hour later swimming in the Sound between Sweden and Denmark, Oresund. And then the dance. There was an adult who played the accordion. Only ring dances were offered and we all knew all the words to all the songs and there were some that were more fun than others. The words to one for example said.. I step so close to you, I take you in my arms, And so we circle away... well what a thrill.

There was a morning after. We would go to see the pole again and there it stood in a circle of dirt. Not a blade of grass was left. All danced away. One thing that was true then. There were no candy wrappers and nothing but a dead lawn.

correction

Please hang on for a while Something's wrong with the computer In the middle of a sentence it flicks to this message 'your post was successfully published. As soon as I can trust this machine I will tell you about Midsummer in Sweden when I was growingg up.

Midsummer night

A house

Our Washington house by the beach has been sitting empty for more than a year. It has been difficult to go there and feel the house crying for attention. We had many happy years of retirement, and made many good friends while living there. And then ten sad years, with Sam gone. Before Sam died we sold the house to our son with the proviso that we would live there till we died. Last year I moved away because it was too much work to maintain and too much money to maintain, and I felt the neighborhood was suffering because of the obvious neglect.

Now the house is being re-vitalized and it will be great to see it lived in again and maintained. The one thing that never could be spoiled is the view. And the spectacle of all the cruise ships passing by on the week-ends continues as before. The ships enter the Strait of Juan de Fuca early in the morning for the trip to Seattle and return in the evening, ablaze with lights. They stop directly in front of the house to let the pilot leave the ship, as it continues on its way to the Pacific Ocean. It is great theater and we would try each week-end evening to plan our entertaining with dinner around the the time the cruise ships passed by. Last night I brought spare-rib dinner to my son and Chris, his wife, and Sam, their son, who were exhausted from moving in. I quickly grabbed the seat with the view., instead of my usual, 'nearest to the kitchen' seat. Sadly it was thursday and no 'theater' night.

It was nice to see the family again. And we had 'theater' of a different sort. Cap's father, Rusty, was there and a new little nine week old puppy whose name I forget, entertained us all evening with their shenanigans. It was a happy evening.

A great day

Yesterday a good friend who moved away from here a couple of years ago, called and said she had to sell a book she co-wrote with Helen Radke at the local Historical Museum and could they come by to say hello. She and her husband came and stayed for half an hour. It was great seeing them. I decided to go to the museum and if there were any moments when she was not busy with her public we could continue our reminiscing. As we were saying good bye again, she said have you read THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PEEL PIE SOCIETY book be sure you get it . it is wonderful reading. I stopped at the local book store, bought it and also the first of the twilight books. The first one I mentioned is a Dial Press Paperback. I came home, sat down to read and except for taking care of my animals and making my bed , I have done nothing but read.

The book is amusing, and historically educational. Written by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. If you have read it or if you do in the near future let me know how you feel about this book.

A Book

I just finished reading a book by Mary Higgins Clark. In Acknowledgments she said "Perhaps the question I am most frequently asked is," Where do you get your ideas?" she answered that "She may read a short article in the news paper or magazine, and for some reason it sticks in my mind." And when I read that while looking for something to read while waiting in the Dr.'s waiting room, I bought the book WHERE ARE YOU NOW? It sounded as if there might be a serious lesson in that book. If there was, it eluded me. But I was transported into another world that held me tightly for several hours.

My daughter number three has asked me repeatedly to get my act together and to make a PLOT CHART and to seriously plan to write a book about my past. This Blog is probably the most serious attempt so far. What I found while reading Mary Higgins Book is that I do not like to read a book that has too many jumps from one season to another. I like books that have a beginning and a middle and an end. I like people to appear as they happen to fit into the time schedule. If they need to be introduced, do it there. I you need to tell why they are important to the story, let it develop. (Blockbuster Plots)

Now, why have I jumped from 1938 to 1970 and back to 1945 ? And why have I gone back historically to my relatives lives. Because I run out of memories of my own? Or because there are times I can not talk about because they are too difficult to get into.

I will ask my Plot Daughter what my problem is. And I will tell you exactly what she answers. And maybe we will all learn together how to do it. See what happens next.

And then the kitchen

What a horrible surprise. Ugly floor with holes through to the under-flooring. The walls were lath and plaster and many places you could see this material. The ceiling was lath and plaster also and there were spots where it was also evident. Immediately to the left of entering there stood an old Wedgwood range. It had a section on the left where you could burn your trash. It was connected to a flue into what must be a way into a chimney. That made me happy for this had been used, obviously for years,, I could take the stove out and replace it with a small fire place land we could have breakfast in the cold mornings with a comforting small fire. We would have school-age children before long. ( You can tell I jump into impossible situations without too much thought )

Back to reality, the sink was under the windows sitting in a horrible counter to the right. At the end of the counter was a door and when you opened it you found a small room with one item, the refrigerator. Open the door and you found yourself in the laundry room and that was the outer limit in that direction. I went out the door onto a rickety wooden porch, to the left was a slanting cellar door.

So back to the kitchen. In the opposite corner from the door I already mentioned was a little breakfast nook with built in benches. What made this so tight and cluttered was the fact that there was the door leading out to a large beautiful back-porch About three stairs down and if you walked this route to the left you would find yourself in the garage.

But we have not seen any bed rooms yet. Back to the dining-room. Walking away from the windows you left the dining-room and entered a LARGE hall. Again beautiful hardwood floors and big arched windows. One bedroom on the left with no window except the little one that we talked about in the first room. The next was a much smaller hall leading to one small bedroom to the right, and one large bathroom to the left. It was very old-fashioned but regal sort of. Small porcelain tiles in the shower and with a huge built in wooden chest of drawers between two windows facing out unto the driveway. We return to the large hall and continue to the end. One door on each side. To the left the master bed-room. Long wooden counter to the right and a sink at the end. Windows in the opposite corner. Back to the large hall and then into the last bedroom Big enough to hold the three girls provided we could have a bunk-bed at one end. In the closet that was ample there was a small built in sink. Big enough to brush teeth. It might keep the mornings less phrenetic.

The house with all its faults oozed of summer happiness and with lots of guests. And we had noticed all the out-buildings which probably were there as guesthouses. All of them had water in them, we discovered later, and in the olden days there was a lake connected to the settlement. More news about the history of Diablo later.

The place cost $24.000 and we made an offer of $22.000 and it really was more than we could afford. And we were too stupid to ask about termites and about the condition of the roof. And we and the termites lived together in peace and happiness until the time came to sell the place and the buyers were smart enough to ask about silly thinks that we tried to ignore.

More about the house

Most of you remember how we happened to buy the house in Diablo. I had gone with Sam across the Bay, to Danville, where he had to deliver a sample of some kind to a furniture store. There were so many interruptions at home, four to be exact, that it was a treat to be alone with Sam even if it was only a business trip. We had taken this route before on our way to a Big Game at Berkley. The San Mateo Bridge, through Hayward and then through San Ramon Canyon to Danville. I remembered the well kept, orderly Walnut groves before we came into Danville.

The Diablo road was the way to Mount Diablo. It went through farm land and passed Twin Pine Nursery half way to Diablo. From down town Danville I think it was about twelve miles to Diablo. There was a US Post Office and a Country Club and a long history of people using this beautiful spot for summer homes. The trees, mostly elms, lining the road into Diablo were huge and stately, with branches meeting overhead, making you think you were driving through a tunnel. The houses along the way were modest and intriguing. When we came to the first fork in the road, we stopped. Mr Imrey, our realtor, drove across the bridge to the Hockenbeamer's house, which quickly became the Stockton house but was never called that until we left twenty years later. I remember how the boards on the bridge made a loud click-y-clack sound when a car drove over the creek. That was a wonderful sound later in our lives because it meant that Sam was home.

Renee asked me if I had pictures to show the house. When I moved here a year ago I gave all the photo albums to one of my children. So I will try to describe it. When you crossed the bridge the driveway was long and curvy and ended up in the two car tandem garage. So now we will imagine we stopped in front of the house and go in the front door. There were two large Holly trees on either side of the stairs going up up to the front deck. And if you were observant, you would see to totem poles in the greenery. The house was gray with white trim. Three windows, the middle one larger than the two flanking it. If you peered in you could see the fire place in the living room.

When the front door was opened you walked into a strange room We realized later that it had at one time been an outdoor porch. It had beautiful arched windows and its non square corners made it unique. One other oddity in that room. There was a little window into the adjacent bedroom. The hardwood floor was perfectly beautiful. We turned to our right and there was the living-room with the big fireplace. the three window design was repeated on the far wall and you could easily see the neighbor's house. Again beautiful floor, but you could see children had been playing there for there were cigarette buts and slide marks in the dust.

When you walked past the fire place and turned left you were in the dining room. Same three window plan. On the opposite wall was a built in china cabinet. Glassed doors above and drawers and cupboards below. All woodwork was painted white. I think there was ugly wallpaper above the dado. It had such a classical peaceful architecture. I did not have to see any more. I had fallen in love with the house. But there was so much more to see. And this is getting too long. This house and its setting will have to follow. Next room will be the kitchen.