Dear Charles, Ain't that the truth! :-) vee ----- Original Message ----- From: "Dragon Farm" <matheson@texas.net> To: "Vee L. Housman" <housman@adelphia.net>; <NYNIAGAR-FOLKS-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Thursday, April 28, 2005 5:34 AM Subject: Re: [FOLKS] An elderly lady >I agree with you, Vee. > > In my mine I am still the young man, able to do all the things I have done > in the past but when I try to do some of those things, my body tells me I > am not what I think I am. And that hurts. > > The fact that I had my right knee replaced just about 6 months ago only > adds to my problems. That leg will not bend as it once did and it still > remains swollen from the foot up past the knee. Now I wish I had never > had it replaced as I have more pain then before. At least before the > replacement I could ride my mower and tractor, I could also clime into my > hay loft and toss out bales of hay, not now. Just another sign that I to > am elderly. >

I agree with you, Vee. In my mine I am still the young man, able to do all the things I have done in the past but when I try to do some of those things, my body tells me I am not what I think I am. And that hurts. The fact that I had my right knee replaced just about 6 months ago only adds to my problems. That leg will not bend as it once did and it still remains swollen from the foot up past the knee. Now I wish I had never had it replaced as I have more pain then before. At least before the replacement I could ride my mower and tractor, I could also clime into my hay loft and toss out bales of hay, not now. Just another sign that I to am elderly. Charles ----- Original Message ----- From: "Vee L. Housman" <housman@adelphia.net> To: <NYNIAGAR-FOLKS-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Thursday, April 28, 2005 12:12 AM Subject: [FOLKS] An elderly lady

Dear Folks, It's very late tonight but I haven't wound down yet after the conversation Dawn and I had this evening. It got to the point that I had to find just one more thing to do before I go to bed. And I found the perfect job for me to do. That was washing off my eyeglasses. On a daily basis I wear two pairs of eyeglasses. One for reading and distance viewing and one for reading and computer viewing. Periodically I dust them off but tonight I knew that just dusting wouldn't help much. Both pair were foggy and grimy and only soap and water would clean them. I took both pair to the bathroom sink, lathered up my hands with soap and gave them a thorough bath. I dried them nicely with my hand towel and now I can see again! I know that it wasn't the highlight of my day but now I can see through my glasses and not have to squint. Oh joy, Oh joy! vee

Dear Folks, This evening my neighbor Dawn faithfully came over to take my recycle bin and my garbage out to the curb for tomorrow's pickup. As usual she stayed and talked my ear off about her family problems. I never mind when she does that because I know that she needs to download on someone who might be able to understand her problems and help her sort things out in her mind. Tonight she told me about talking with a close friend or relative and telling her that she had been talking to an elderly lady lately about her problems and that she was helping her. Of course she meant me. At first mention that I was an elderly lady, I took humorous offense and told Dawn that she could have just described me as an old broad instead! But when you think about it, how could she have described me any other way. I'm 73 years old. Describing me as a "Senior Citizen" wouldn't have even come close. Nowadays, anyone over the age of 55 is eligible to join AARP. So what am I? To me, being elderly is somewhere in the vicinity of being over 80. However, I have an idea that when I'm in my 80s, I'll still object to being described as elderly. OK, yes I'm of the elder generation of my family but who knows but what it will take me into my 90s to admit I'm elderly. After all my dear Aunt Edna who is 95 will freely admit to being elderly. I guess if she can so can I. It's just that I don't want to. vee

Deb said, > Awww, I liked this story, Vee. You have a lovely way of adding "details" > that make your stories so vivid and real that we think "we" met up with > that little girl and her dad! A real talent, Vee! Dear Deb, Thanks for saying that. You all might realize that my life now is no bowl of cherries but I try not to feel self pity. Instead I try to observe life around me and find the bright side of it. Frankly I'm pleased with myself that I can find such joy in the smallest of encounters. vee

Vee: > After they checked out their books, I checked out mine. On the way home I still thought of the little girl and her father. Our encounter wasn't an exciting one but it was definitely a nice one. -->> Awww, I liked this story, Vee. You have a lovely way of adding "details" that make your stories so vivid and real that we think "we" met up with that little girl and her dad! A real talent, Vee! We've talked of "life stories" before - of our own - of our ancestors. Imagine that little girl - one day in her future - looking back on her own life - and remembering her "trips to the library with her dad". My oh my - how nice that will be for her! (And for us now - "looking in on them") :) Thanks, Vee! Deb

Dear Folks, I guess it's obvious that I can't shut up my brain tonight and therefore I have to write another simple story. It's about my can of peas. Early this evening I had planned the basics of my dinner. There was my tender Swiss steak I've been storing in my freezer along with its tomato gravy and then there was a nice helping of frozen mashed potatoes. All that I needed was a vegetable to go along with them. Nothing really appealed me until I remembered my can of peas. Frankly, all my life I've thought canned peas were the dullest of vegetables. But this evening I looked forward to them as real comfort food. I opened up the can, dished out a nice quantity onto my plate, heated everything up and I was back home again. Swiss steak and tomato gravy, mashed potatoes and canned peas. You sure can't beat a menu like that! vee

Dear Folks, I just had to write down my vague memories of pay day in the Navy before I forget them. When I first joined the Naval Reserves in 1953, my pay check was mailed to me. When I went on active duty at Naval Air Station Oakland in 1955 all of us went to the Disbursing Office and picked up our pay checks there. But when it came to going to Navy school in Memphis, it was a completely new ball game. At NATTC Memphis they were still going by the old Navy school of paying the troops. What that means is that prior to pay day, a list was posted on all of the bulletin boards that listed everybody's name and the amount of pay they were entitled to on pay day. With that information at hand, everyone filled out a Pay Chit stating the amount of pay they were entitled to, signing it including their service number. Come pay day, now that was really a new experience for me. There were hundreds and hundreds of students at the training center and we all had to stand in line alphabetically before the pay master or the disbursing clerk would hand over our pay in cash. That also meant that we would have to show our military ID card, show our ID tags (I think) and then sign our name on the pay record. We pocketed the money and then dashed off on liberty or to the Enlisted Men's Club. But there was one thing about the awful long alphabetical line. Some of us had stood in the line in the pouring rain for hours before and then figured out how to beat it somehow. While I and a couple of my student friends sipped on our Cokes in the base cafeteria, we kept checking our watches and then one of us would be the runner to check how far down the alphabet the pay line had progressed. When it was getting close to one our names, we abandoned our Coke and slipped into the pay line. Those who waited too long found that they had to go to the end of the line reserved for stragglers. That was a fate worse than death. It was a unique Navy experience for me but I still have some fond memories of it. Not only standing in the pay line in the pouring rain but hearing the bugle call "Pay Call!" I never heard it after I left Memphis. Somehow I missed hearing it. vee

Dear Folks, Today wasn't any big exciting day but it was nice. It didn't start out that way. I woke up to the sound of high winds that reminded me of the middle of winter. It took me a while to finally focus on the outdoor thermometer. Although it read 70 degrees, I just couldn't picture it being the slightest bit warm outside. After all, yesterday I had to bundle myself up in my winter jacket and "fur" hat to keep me warm. Since I needed to go to the library to borrow more books, I decided to face the sunny day with only my light jacket on and my Retired Navy baseball cap to cover my bad hair day. I got into my car that had been sitting out in the sun and I was toasty warm all the way to the library. As I approached the outside door of the Red Brick Schoolhouse a nice young man opened the door for me and both he and his little daughter headed up the stairs to the library. I lagged behind because I had to use the elevator to get up to the first floor. By the time I got up there I could hear the little girl making lively exciting comments about their "shopping" for books she'd like to read or see. While they did their shopping so did I. I was so pleased to find books I had never read. Books by James Grippando, Sydney Sheldon, Sue Grafton and Catherine Coulter. What a treasure trove. When I went to the desk to check my books out, the man and his daughter had beat me to it and were checking their books out. I couldn't help but read a couple of their titles that had to do with identifying birds and flowers and animals. I was so impressed. I couldn't help but ask how old the girl was. Her father told me that she was four. What a sweetheart she was with her pink safety helmet on (she had pedaled up to the library on her pink tricycle). But any time I tried to talk to her, she turned very shy and hid behind her father. After they checked out their books, I checked out mine. On the way home I still thought of the little girl and her father. Our encounter wasn't an exciting one but it was definitely a nice one. vee

Dear Folks, A couple of days ago Earl from Oregon got in touch with me again by email regarding an offshoot of his Pearson family from around here. A number of years ago the two of us had an exciting genealogy time when he came here and I introduced him to two of our town natives who are distant relatives of his. In his message he asked me how Ramona and Ruth were doing. When he mentioned Ruth (Myers) I remembered her married relationship to Bessie Pearson. I really wanted to tell him good news about her; however, the same day I received his message I had read in the newspaper that she had just died this past Saturday at the age of 89. Before I gave him that sad news I thought it was time to talk to Ramona again. It's been years since we had a conversation. When she answered the phone and realized I was on the other end, she was so glad to hear from me and from there we caught each other up on what we've been doing and of course comparing notes on health problems. Ramona is now 83. In the end I was able to give Earl an honest report about both Ruth and Ramona. The bad news and the good news. He responded by thanking me. Note: both of us still remember the excitement of his genealogy visit here a number of years ago. They're such nice memories. vee

Dear Barbara, You have no idea how you pleased me with your comment about my writing down my simple day yesterday. Because of such praise and encouragement in the past, I continue to feel the need to write down more of my memories and even to post silly stories just for the fun of it. Thanks. vee ----- Original Message ----- From: <Mollbar@aol.com> To: <housman@adelphia.net>; <NYNIAGAR-FOLKS-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Tuesday, April 26, 2005 12:22 PM Subject: Re: [FOLKS] My "exciting" day today > Vee, > I don't know one other person who can write about someone mowing the lawn > and > bringing in your groceries and make it as interesting as you do. You are > blessed with a talent for sharing the ordinary with flair. > > As for the 5 & 10; I was walking the aisles as you related the wonders of > that store. There is nothing comparable in today's shopping. At > Christmas time > my father would take me there to buy a gift for my mother. He would say, > "Mother could use a new paring knife." I would be so pleased to offer my > meager > savings for such a super gift. Oh those memories! > > Barbara >

In a message dated 4/26/05 8:58:36 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time, ebcooper@copper.net writes: Vividly remember one year doing Christmas shopping in Grants. Thank you! I was going crazy last night trying to remember the name of the store I used to go Christmas shopping in when I was little. Grants! I will forever wonder what my poor mother did with all the bath salts and Evening in Paris! There were four of us kids shopping at Grants, and Dad never gave us any ideas. Just handed us our dollars, and waited in the front of the store. Kathy

Vee, I don't know one other person who can write about someone mowing the lawn and bringing in your groceries and make it as interesting as you do. You are blessed with a talent for sharing the ordinary with flair. As for the 5 & 10; I was walking the aisles as you related the wonders of that store. There is nothing comparable in today's shopping. At Christmas time my father would take me there to buy a gift for my mother. He would say, "Mother could use a new paring knife." I would be so pleased to offer my meager savings for such a super gift. Oh those memories! Barbara

Oh Vee, how cute this stories are, and what memories they bring to us "older folks" who know what a 5 and 50 cent store was. I, too, got lost in one. I mean they were B-I-G stores for a little country girl. Vividly remember one year doing Christmas shopping in Grants. I had a whole dollar I'd earned and with it bought gifts for my whole family, though it was especially hard shopping for my next older sister cause it seems she was constantly "hanging around" watching me. I probably kept telling her to "quit it" and "get out of here", as I know she loved to tease me back then. My, my what great, fun memories. Ones that bring a big smile to me this morning. Thanks Vee !!!

Dear Folks, I promised myself that I wouldn't bore you with the mundane things I did today but I guess I lied to myself. So read and yawn. I had watched the clock carefully this afternoon and when little hand was on 2 and the big hand was on the 12, I knew I had to get into my car and drive myself to the Niagara Falls VA clinic for my monthly shot and a blood pressure reading. Note, I can't remember when my blood pressure had been as low as it was today. I went on my merry way afterward under the gray sky with a threat of rain and did some exciting grocery shopping on the way home. I shuffled my way into the store, grabbed the nearest motorized shopping cart and started shopping in the produce section. I gasped at the price of the head of lettuce I needed ($1.69) but when you need lettuce, you need lettuce. From there I headed for the fresh corn which was on sale for 6/$2.00. Granted it's certainly not locally grown but at that price at this time of year I don't care if it's imported from Argentina. While I was inspecting each ear of corn and husking each one of them, an older gentleman wheeled his cart up and started to do his own husking. Well, you know me, I couldn't just stand there and not say something to him. We were both having difficulty stripping the husks off to throw them into the handy dandy trash bin right there and I let him know that I felt it was a sad thing that it was so difficult for me to do such a simple thing at my young age. He agreed with me. He said that his fingers ached and I told him my fingers didn't have much strength left in them. He agreed. Before we parted from our corn rendezvous, the gentleman husked a very choice ear of corn and handed it over to me. From there I wheeled myself into the reduced produce section hoping I'd find some cheap day-old tomatoes or cucumbers for my salads and as I was wheeling myself out of the section I passed the doughnut section. It was there that I met one happy man, maybe 10 years younger than I. It was obvious he wanted to draw someone into conversation and when he mentioned out loud to himself that he knew doughnuts were loaded with cholesterol, I reassured him that cholesterol was good for his health. He went on happy with his shopping feeling reassured. Although I didn't buy that much at the store today, I still had a problem dragging it into my house. I picked up the lightest bag and just left my trunk wide open in the driveway hoping that my next door neighbor would notice it and drag the rest of it into the house. I had no more than settled myself back down in my easy chair with my book when I heard the loud humming of lawn mowers right outside my window. Oh my goodness, my lawn was being mowed for the first time this year! I went to my door and greeted them/him ((I knew "him"), they continued with their mowing and in a few minutes later I heard a knock on my door. The owner of the lawn mower service knocked and just walked inside carrying all of my groceries. He yoo-hooed to me and I could have just hugged him for being so considerate! So that's all I have to report about my exciting day. But do you know what? With just those moments, I'm quite content with the pleasure I've received from almost total strangers today. Tomorrow's another day and who knows what will happen tomorrow? vee

Dear Folks, Thinking about the 5 and 10, I just remembered a more embarassing childhood incident. I was probably only about 5 years old at the time and this time both my mother and father took me along with them to the 5 & 10 while they shopped. As usual I dawdled along behind them only this time I completely lost sight of both my parents. I ran up one aisle and down the aisle looking for them and when I realized that I was all alone in the world without them, I started to cry. The more I cried, the louder I cried. Finally my parents found me, hugged me and were able to eventually convince me that there wasn't anything to cry about any more. The three of us went home together, I was happy and that's the end of the story, right? WRONG! Apparently I had looked so pathetic when they found me, my father teased me for years by calling my "Losty in the 5 and 10." Sheesh, don't parents know that their kids have sensitive feelings? However, there's a bright side to the story. Even though Daddy continued to embarrass me, I eventually figured out that when he teased me, he was remembering a sweet moment in my young life.

Dear Folks, Here's a story I wrote seven years ago that I thought you'd like to read again. vee The 5 and 10 Cent Store March 1, 1998 This evening I remembered an embarrassing thing that happened to me in the 5 and 10-cent store when I was just a little kid. It happened around 1937 when I was six years old. My mother took me with her when she went shopping that day-she didn't have any other alternative-and she had some shopping to do at the 5 and 10. As most kids do, I was dawdling along behind her and eventually she walked off a little ways without my noticing it. I guess I was a bit scared when I realized she was gone but when I turned around, there she was, standing with her back to me at the opposite counter. I was so happy to see her that I wrapped my arms around her legs in a hug. She turned around, a bit startled, and looked down at me with my arms still holding her legs tight. I looked up at her with a smile on my face and that's when I realized she wasn't my mother! But, hey, when you're that small and short, a pair of pudgy legs in stockings all look the same! I remember that I felt like I was gonna die from embarrassment but, in looking back on it, I can well imagine that I really made that woman's day! You don't get hugged by a strange little kid in the 5 and 10 just every day, you know! I can remember the magic of the 5 and 10 when I was so small that I had to stand on tiptoes to see what was displayed on the counters. I guess that before you got even that tall, the only way to know what was up there was to reach up high enough to where you could pick up whatever your little hand could find and bring it down to where you could look at it. I wonder how many times I got my fingers smacked for doing that! But as the years went by you got taller and taller and eventually you could even go to the 5 and 10 all by yourself or with Betty or Evelyn or with your sister. That's when you discovered all the wonderful things that were there. Lipstick, face powder and perfume-ah, the scent of Evening in Paris or Blue Waltz. The jewelry counter, the kitchenware counter, the underwear counter, the school supplies counter and the notions counter-you know, where they sold needles and thread and thimbles and stamped linen kitchen towels to embroider. And at each counter there was always a clerk ready to help you. You could buy anything in the world at the 5 and 10. A goldfish, a skate key, a game of jacks, a pair of silk stockings, a yard of muslin or a "cut glass" sugar bowl and cream pitcher. And you could stand for hours if you wanted to, watching the donut machine make donuts. You watched the dough being squeezed out of the tube with a ready-made hole in it, it dropped into the hot oil, then was slowly pushed along with a paddlewheel contraption for just the right length of time and then it was lifted out of the oil and deposited on a rack to drain and cool off. I don't know at what point it got covered all over with cinnamon sugar, but I sure can remember the mouthwatering aroma of that donut machine. Yes, the 5 and 10 was where you bought your woolen mittens in the winter, your marshmallow yellow chicks at Easter, your bathing cap in the summer, your Halloween costume and your Christmas tree ornaments. And if you had 15 cents left over, you could sit up at the counter in the luncheonette and order a black and white sundae or a Mexican sundae or, if you were REALLY rich, a banana split! Somehow, K-Mart just doesn't cut it the way the Kresges 5 and 10 did.

Dear Folks, Early this evening as I was curled up with my book and my cup of after-dinner coffee I heard a knock on my door. I didn't have a clue who it could possibly be. Me and my walker made our way to the side door and even though I could see two of them plainly I still didn't have a clue who they were. The closer I got to the door I realized that it was my grand-nephew Mike and his girlfriend Sabrina. Oh what a joyous hug Mike and I exchanged! We hadn't seen each other in about two years. (He's my niece Deb's son.) I invited both of them into my kitchen and we sat down at the table and talked our heads off. They had just come from a weekend touring the wine country of New York and when Mike presented me with a bottle of Bully Hill red wine, I recognized the vineyard right off the bat. It was from the Finger Lakes region. I never thought that Mike and I would ever have a discussion about wines and oak barrels and such, but he and Sabrina and I had a great discussion. I must admit it took me time to mentally adjust to the fact that Mike is now 25 years old and is now an adult. But it seems that during the time the two of us sat at my table, Mike and I covered a lot of territory about his growing up years and even to the trouble he had gotten into. Mike really opened up to me as he had never done before. He now smokes cigarettes and he knows that I've given the one and only lecture about it being hazardous to your health. Now that I've lectured him I allowed him and Sabrina to feel free to use my ashtray. We got into the subject of his being brought up Mormon and his anti feelings about the religion. I knew where he was coming from and I didn't lecture him on the subject. At the same time Sabrina was curious about what the restraints were of the religion. Both Mike and I tried to tell her as simply as we could. By the same token Sabrina told us about her Catholic upbringing and from there we had a marvelous intellectual discussion about the different forms of baptism and christenings and taking Communion in church. The three of us agreed that even though we worshipped in different ways, in the long run no matter what our religion was we respected all religions. Sabrina is such a soft spoken girl but she had a lot to say that surprised me. Along with her soft voice, she has a brain that just won't quit. She and Mike have been together for over a year and I hope it eventually becomes permanent. I have to tell you this part of our visit this evening. I brought up the subject of the book I'm putting together about my stories and the first thing that popped into Mike's mind was the book I had written about the history of the Town of Porter back in 1993. He told me he read it and treasures it and keeps it safe and sound at Deb's house along with his high school diploma. When I continued on about my new book, I told them a couple of the stories, especially about Mother and the hippies. It took awhile for us to figure out what relationship he has with my mother and after both of us pondered over the subject we came to the conclusion that Mother was his great-grandmother. Early on I told him that when my book was finished I'd be happy to give him a copy. At that point he didn't seem to be interested at all; however, when we gave each a big hug when they were leaving, he let me know that he'd like to have a copy. That earned him an extra big hug. I'm looking forward to their returning and toward the three of us having another meaningful conversation. Our conversation this evening was so refreshing and exciting. vee

Dear Folks, While editing my Navy stories this afternoon I was reminded of a memory I never wrote down and frankly almost forgot. It happened in 1956 while I was stationed at Naval Air Station, Oakland, CA. Being an air station, all of us who were involved in aviation had been taught well about aircraft and the dangers involved in their flight, especially on takeoffs and landings. One weekend when our Reservists were aboard for weekend training, the pilots were either flying our planes or up in our Link Shack where we/I put them through their paces in flight simulators. All of us were absorbed in what we were doing that afternoon when we heard the sudden urgent blare from the PA system, "Crash on runway, Crash on runway! Crash crew man your stations!" I no longer can remember if those were the exact words but I'm certain you get the point. Within a minute or two we could hear the sirens of the fire truck racing toward the plane. It was such terrible thing to hear. One of our aircraft had crashed on the runway and from where the black smoke was billowing up, we knew it was a crash on takeoff. We could also see the outline of the plane and knew it was a large P2V Neptune patrol bomber with two propeller-driven engines. We all wanted to dash down the runway to help but we knew the crash crew knew what they were doing and a mob of us wouldn't be welcome. However, we knew most of the pilots and crew members and we didn't know whether there were any casualities. It was a tough afternoon to get through not knowing. When we were finally given the report that there were no injuries, it was such a relief knowing that they all had been able to evaculate the aircraft before the fire had gotten out of hand. The crash crew had certainly done their job well. Actually this was a painful memory for me to write down this evening. It brought back what we all knew could eventually happen. We never wanted to face such an eventuality but that one afternoon we came face to face with it on a personal level. We could see the billowing black smoke. vee

Evelyn, I'm like your daughter, I don't like to be hugged. My husband's sister is always hugging me when she comes to visit and I am very uncomfortable with this. I can't help it, it's the way I was raised, my Mom was not a hugger either. I remember one time going out to lunch at a restaurant with some cousins of my grandmother's. I was about 12 at the time. I reached out and touched one of these ladies on the arm and my grandmother immediately pulled my hand away saying, "We don't touch other people, it's not polite." This was NOT my Mother's mother, so I got it from both sides of the family. Both of these fine ladies came from a long line of restrained, stoic New England stock and hugging and touching just wasn't done. As for crying, my grandmother never really cried in my presence but, sometimes, when the subject of my grandfather was brought up she would shed a tear or two. My Mother did cry at my uncle's funeral and I was so embarrassed. I just can't help it. Ruth At 9:47 AM -0400 4/19/05, evelyn wrote: >My dear family of folks - > >Not everyone is comfortable with showing emotions even today. I know >because my second daughter is that way, and now that the subject has been >brought up, she's getting a hug when she gets home tonight. >I had done this when I first moved here and some how got away from this. I >remember giving her a hug many years ago (when she was an adult) and it was >like hugging a telephone pole. That can change, no that must change. > >You know where I learned about hugs and how healing they are? Alanon. That >was back in the late 1980s. I went there to understand my mom better as she >had married and lived with my dad (an alcoholic) until 1956. Eventually I >learned I really went there for myself and one thing was to learn about >"hugs". > >Thank you Leslie and Barbara for sharing such personal memories. Isn't it >wonderful what Vee is doing for us. > >Sending ((hugs )) out to each of you. > >Evelyn in sunny, Spring like Maine -- Ruth Barton mrgjb@sover.net Dummerston, VT