Dear Folks, I know that I've posted every story that I want to include in my book, but this evening when I was editing the one I posted back in 2001, I just HAD to share it with you again. It was one of my special glory moments when I was in the Navy back in the 1950s. I hope you'll enjoy that moment that I'm sharing with you again. vee You've Got a Guest on the Quarterdeck October 27, 2001 When I was earlier stationed at NAS Oakland in 1955 I had dated our Personnel Officer, a pilot. Of course that was a no-no (officers don't fraternize with enlisted) but our dates were always outside the base and no one was the wiser. At the same time that I was sent to NATTC Memphis, he was transferred to NAS Glenview, Illinois, near Chicago. He promised that he would fly down to see me in Memphis as soon as he could. We corresponded with each other and within a month or so he let me know that he was flying down, when and what time. Oh Happy Day! The evening of his arrival I got all dolled up in my most glamorous dress with bouffant petticoat, high heels, hair done just right, slightly perfumed, and I sat in the smoking lounge in the barracks breathlessly waiting for him to arrive. Note: I hadn't told any of the girls about my date; only that I had one. Then the moment arrived. As was the custom, whenever anyone came to the barracks to visit one of the WAVES, the girl on watch on the quarterdeck announced the arrival through the PA system. On that evening, she announced, "Lauer [my last name at the time], you have a guest on the quarterdeck." Oh be still my heart, he had finally arrived! Not one to just dash out to the quarterdeck, I took my time to butt my cigarette out and gather up my things. But within seconds of the announcement, one of the girls dashed into the smoking lounge. She had been standing out on the quarterdeck and had seen my date standing there in uniform waiting for me. In utter disbelief she said to me, "Lauer, but he's a LIEUTENANT COMMANDER!" I replied softly, "Yes, I know." Oh my goodness, I felt so sophisticated at that moment. I knew that most of the younger students in the barracks had barely come face to face with an officer, let alone a lieutenant commander, and here there was one on our quarter deck who was picking me up to go out on a date. I walked serenely out to the quarterdeck feeling like Bette Davis, smiled up at Ben who was looking so handsome in his officer aviation khakis and I could see by the look in his eyes that he approved of how I looked that evening Even more so I remember the girls who had gathered on the quarterdeck who just stood there with open mouths witnessing the moment. They just couldn't believe it. A LIEUTENANT COMMANDER! Ah yes, "You've got a guest on the quarterdeck!" What beautiful words and what a beautiful memory. Not only that but it sure knocked the socks off the girls in the barracks! J Oh, to be 24 years old again and to feel so sophisticated!

Vee, I loved reading that memory of your Mother! Thanks for sharing it. :) Lorraine In a message dated 04/21/2005 5:23:03 PM Pacific Daylight Time, housman@adelphia.net writes: Isn't it wonderful what we can recall about our mothers long after they're gone? Mother died in 1974.

Dear Folks, I was editing my Navy stories this evening and when I read through the one about going through Instructor Training School, I remembered a leason I learned from our instructor that I've never forgotten. It had to do with how to pass a test. It consisted of remembering nine diferent images and a matter of association with the subject you're studying. The nine images are: 1. Alarm clock--the first thing you see when you wake up. 2. Putting on your two-legged pair of pants. 3. Sitting on a three-legged stool while you put your shoes and socks on. 4. Sitting at a four-legged table in the kitchen. 5. Reading the five-cent morning newspaper. 6. Getting into your six-cylinder car and driving to work. 7. The figure the traffic cop makes when he holds out his right arm to guide you through a crossing. 8. The figure eight that the revolving doors to your office building make. 9. The shape of the door knob to your office. Keeping that sequence of images in mind ask someone to write down nine different objects on a piece of paper and assign numbers to each one. Then have him read them off to you in random order. With each numbered object picture the object and the number assigned. After you've committed them to memory in a matter of seconds, surprise him with repeating them in numerical order. For instance: 1. grasshopper (picture a grasshopper sitting on top of your alarm clock) 2. car (draping your pants across the roof of your car) 3. garage (storing your three-legged stool in your garage) 4. basket (sitting a basket on your kitchen table) 5. broom (sweeping up the newspaper from your floor) 6. mother-in-law (driving your mother-in-law to the store--or over a clif!!) 7. stapler (the traffic cop using a stapler to point you in the right direction) 8. computer (trying to haul your desk top computer through the revolving door) 9. tennis racket (trying to hang your tennis racket on your door knob) I got through many a test by using that method and it was so easy. I taught it to my niece Deb and she even used it to get her truck driving license. Such as a possible question: What are the three most important things to keep in mind when coming to a stop? Let's say that the answer was (1) take your foot off the gas pedal, (2) apply the brakes and (3) let the truck come to a complete stop. In that case Deb was have those three things memorized as (1) picturing a gas pedal on top of her alarm clock, (2) discovering the brakes in her pair of pants and (3) picturing her truck on top of her stool. It worked for Deb who was born in 1956 while I was attending Instructor Training School and as you can tell, I still remember it. Actually it's a fun thing to try out on your friends. vee

Dear Folks, While editing the stories I want to include in my book I came across one that I hadn't sent to you at the time. Now that 5 years have gone by, I thought you might enjoy my "boring" day. vee "Boring" Day March 24, 2000 It's late tonight and I've spent more than just a few moments going over the events of my day and as usual, I'm awed over the events. I received a phone call from Earl all the way from Oregon early this afternoon and we discussed the best way for him to send me the Gedcom of his Pearson family that ties into our local Pearson family and discussed his arrangements to come here to New York in May to meet his local cousins. I no sooner hung up when I got a call from "Ange" Angevine from nearby Lockport who wanted to touch base with me on his family and ask me questions about a distant cousin who was coming here for further research on her/their family (his cousin contacted me about the family) and he wanted to know just how they were related. I managed to tell him. It was then getting well into the afternoon and it was only then that I had the chance to get out of my door to head up to the Niagara Falls Library where they have a Local History Dept. I had called them yesterday and asked if they had any information regarding the 1867 Hotchkiss Murder(s) here in Youngstown. The girl that I had talked with, Linda, eventually let me know that she had dug up some newspaper articles on the subject (herself!) and so rather than have her mailing them to me I told her I would drive the distance and pick them up myself. When I got to the library this afternoon, all the photocopied newspaper articles were there, ready for me with my name on the envelope. I couldn't wait to read them. Then I realized that while I was there, there was other research I could do and I asked Mary, a staff member, if she would help me with a roll of census records. She did. While I was going over the 1850 census I had to ask another staff member if she could help. We looked at each other and I guess she recognized me only because of my request yesterday that had my name on it today. She let me know that she was Maureen-she's the head librarian of the History Dept. there. We've had many, many conversations on the phone over the past five or six years but have never met. Oh wow! Maureen! We finally got to meet each other! We had so much to talk about. But here's where it gets to be a bit involved. I mentioned to Maureen that the History Dept. actually contains the book I wrote on the history of the Town of Porter. Sure enough, she found that there were two copies there. Two copies? I had donated only one copy! She checked them out and sure enough there was an extra copy that obviously must have been purchased by the library! She insisted I sign the other copy. I sat down to the table and tried to figure out just what I should write into a copy of the book that I had published myself back in 1993, seven years ago. As I was trying to figure out just what words to write as author of the book, Mary approached me. You know Mary; she was the one who helped me with the roll of census records. She told me that I looked familiar to her and told me that she remembered me from when she worked as a librarian in Buffalo-she was the one in charge of the stacks where one needed a pass to even get see to the precious historical records down there! Oh my goodness! That was over 15 years ago! She remembered me! Oh, what a marvelous conversation we had about back in the olden days when you were privileged to have a pass to the stacks and then when the stacks were closed. Now the stacks are up in the grand new genealogy section of the Buffalo Library where there are volunteers from the Western New York Genealogical Society to help researchers on a daily basis! It was getting late in the afternoon, I had to go back home, and I had to let Maureen know how much I had appreciated all the help I had received today. At the same time I left her the book that I had written and had just autographed. Now wasn't that a boring day? :-)

Dear Folks, This is another one of my late-night stories that I have to write down before I can go to sleep. It has to do with my "Blue Chief" Jazzy electric wheelchair and handicapped accessibility to buildings. Ever since the VA issued me my wheelchair, I knew at the same time that they would foot the bill for an access ramp onto my house and also a wheelchair lift for my car. That thought really intrigued me. I checked with the wheelchair company to see if my 10-year-old station wagon could accommodate the lift and the wheelchair and he said no. That meant going out and buying a mini-van. I checked on prices and even though I thought I might be able to handle the monthly payments, I didn't know whether I could even step high enough into one or actually be able to drive one. That aside, I thought about just how much use I'd get out of my being able to use my wheelchair outside the house. After I'd manage to wheel myself down the ramp (and somehow close the door behind me), I'd wheel it up to my car and push a button or push a lever and the lift would come down. Then I'd drive the wheelchair into the van and somehow get out of it, get the lift back up and get myself behind the steering wheel. OK, so there we go off to do some shopping. I have an idea, though, you know just about how much shopping I do and where I do it. Most of it is done in the village of Youngstown. OK, picture this. I drive to the library to borrow more books, I get out of the car, lower the lift, drive the wheelchair out, manage to get the lift back up and then wheel myself to the outside door. Then what? I get out of my wheelchair and open the door so I can get in. OK, the door is open and now what? I know that the minute I let go of the door it'll swing shut again. That means I have to sit there until someone goes in or comes out who will hold the door open for me. From there there's little problem. After all the building is handicapped accessible and I wheel myself to the elevator, wheel into it and the next thing you know I'm on the first floor where the library is. I wheel myself to the library door and I'm back to square one. I can't open it from my wheelchair. I knock on the door and the librarian opens it for me. I'm free to wheel all around the library but there's one catch. Even though the aisles between the shelves are JUST wide enough for me and my wheelchair, I'd have to make sharp turns to get to the other aisles. It would take mega maneuvering for me to manage that without tipping over the entire floor-to-ceiling shelf. Not only that but the wide middle aisle has a nice long table and chairs for people to sit at and read books; therefore, there's no possible way to maneuver myself in that aisle. I think you can guess that I would just leave my wheelchair in my car and with the use of my cane go up the library and browse around it like I always do. Regarding going to the little local grocery store. Once again I'd be faced with trying to open the outside door. So someone opens it for me. There is me and my wheelchair in a grocery stores that has sufficient space in the aisles to accommodate us. But there's one catch to it. Every aisle has displays sticking out and with my wheelchair I couldn't help but knock them all down on a good day! From there I go to the post office, do the same and wheel myself the few feet to the door. Now THAT door is almost impossible for me to open even when I'm steadily up on my feet so I knock on it until someone comes to let me in, I wheel myself the few feet into the post office, do my thing and someone opens the door for me again. Same thing goes with the bank. Now, we're talking only about my simple shopping in the village. But let's say that I really want to do some high-class shopping and go to the mall (which I've been in only once in the past 15 years or so). Same routine of unloading the wheelchair, getting the lift to close and into the mall I go. By now I have an idea that you realize that the whole routine is more than I'd care to go through. Just give me my cane, my trusty old station wagon and I'll shop my own way, thank you.

Dear Folks, Something popped into my head this evening. It had to do with hippies. All of a sudden I remembered a story I had written back in 2001 about Mother and hippies and I realized I hadn't printed it out for myself. I searched our archives and by George I actually was able to retrieve it. I know I posted it to the list before, but I thought you'd like to read it again. Note: I think it's really cool! vee Mother and Hippies September 17, 2001 By 1970 in Oakland, California, I was the proud owner of a small house on Grande Vista Avenue there and by then I was well aware that the small cul de sac neighborhood of about a block long had a very fascinating population. I was a white single woman, my next door neighbor on one side was a gay black man, my neighbors on the other side were a black couple who I grew to love dearly, there were oriental families on the short block who entertained us with fireworks on New Year's Eve and then there was the magnificent old Victorian mansion that was across the street from me. It was obvious to me that the old house was in need of repair and had been empty for some time but I was pleased when I saw evidence of people moving into it. However, it wasn't long before that I realized that there were a number of people moving into it. Shortly after that, I noticed several of the residents there walking around outside as if in prayerful thought. Now we're talking about 1970 here and from the way they were dressed and from my view of the situation, what I'm talking about was a bunch of peaceful hippies who had moved into the house across the street from me. My mother was living with me briefly at the time and there Mother and I were living across the street from hippies. One day we found a flyer in our mailbox that announced they were having an open house across the street and we were invited. Not knowing what to expect, Mother and I talked it over and decided to attend, out of curiosity. We were impressed with the effort they were making to renovate the old house but this is what I remember most about our visit there. First it was when Mother and I were in the kitchen and watching a girl prepare a potato salad. I can still hear Mother telling her that Hellman's mayonnaise is the only one to use! Oh well, Mother couldn't help being a mother! But more importantly, later Mother and I were persuaded to join in with their group to sit down cross-legged on the bare wooden living room floor across from each other and share our feelings with each other. Both Mother and I held hands with the persons across from each of us and I was surprised that Mother really opened up to the young person holding hands with her on the floor across from her. Mother was 66 years old at the time. Oh, dear, I'm still amazed that in spite of my mother being straight-laced and with her hard-bound beliefs, she was still absolutely open minded enough to venture forth into the realm of "Hippidom" in 1970, sit down on a hard floor and talk very openly with the young hippie across from her. To join in with me in such an experience still boggles my mind. Yes, she preached the Hellman's mayonnaise sermon to the girl who was making the potato salad, but I still remember how comfortable she was when she was asked to sit down on the floor, hold hands with a stranger and talk to him. Isn't it wonderful what we can recall about our mothers long after they're gone? Mother died in 1974.

Dear Folks, When I woke up today I knew it was a beautiful day in spite of overcast skies and chilly drizzling rain. Why was it beautiful? Well actually it started being beautiful last night. For quite some time it really bothered me that my bed linens were in desperate need of changing and washing. Last week I had asked my neighbor Dawn if she'd help me with it the next time she came over to take my recycle bin out to the curb. She had no problem with that. Last night I thought I'd get started. It wasn't all that difficult for me to remove the bedspread but I did have a problem in stuffing it into my washer. It's a queen sized Bate's heavy cotton one and stuffing it in took some effort. Sure I could have just stuffed it but I knew it had to be distributed just right in the washer or it would have made it hop around the floor during the spin cycle. By the time I had gotten it loaded just right, I was exhausted and it was too late to gather up enough courage to actually turn the machine on. Nonetheless, I had gotten that far. When I got up today I was anxious to see if I be able to strip the bed by myself. The biggest problem was that with my antique sleigh bed and with my antique cotton mattress on top of a regular mattress and box springs, it, it's a tight fit against the footboard. I wondered if I had the strength to loosen up the bed clothes from the end of it. I had already managed to remove the heavy bedspread and when I tried the wool blanket and the two sheets, I found that I didn't have the problem I thought I'd have. By that time I had already gotten up the nerve to turn on the washer with the bedspread in it. I had to hold my breath that the washer wouldn't just give up in the spin cycle. Note: I was so relieved that it didn't have a problem at all. Now that I had gotten that far, I thought I'd give Dawn a break and at least spread out a clean fitted bottom sheet on the bed so that all she had to do was tuck it in. A bit later I tried to do it myself and was pleased that I actually could. In the meantime the washer had finished the cycle with the bedspread and all I had to do was put it in the dryer. No problem except when I started to pull it out. Good grief, the wet cotton bedspread was so heavy it's a wonder that I could even lift it out. Not only that but I had to make certain that I didn't toss the whole ball into the dryer or it would never have dried. With my arthritis screaming at me, it finally made its way into the dryer. After that was accomplished, I sunk into my living room chair and picked up my newest murder mystery. After I had rested sufficiently I thought I'd give another try at making up the bed. The bottom sheet managed to get tucked in and made taut and then the top sheet, the wool blanket and then another bedspread that I managed to retrieve from my blanket trunk upstairs. By this evening I had actually made up the bed all by myself, the bedspread got dried and with great effort I managed to get the huge thing folded to put up in the blanket trunk and now my bed is already turned down for me to climb into. The reason for this long-winded message is to let you know how proud I am that I could actually accomplish something that I thought I wasn't physically capable of doing any more. Maybe there's hope for me after all. vee

Dear Folks, Genealogy and Jigsaw Puzzles For those of you who have been subscribers to mailing lists with a primary genealogy focus, you may have run across someone who got furious that some of the members weren't concentrating solely on genealogy. As a result he made his anger known to the list and of course a fight broke out on the list. I have an idea that I sent the following message to the list that was getting out of hand with shouting and downright threats in late 1997. I had had enough and so this what I posted to the list. The minute after it was posted, I unsubscribed. * * * I feel that we have all been intrigued by the co-relationship between genealogy and jigsaw puzzles. You put the picture together one piece at a time and many times you can't find the missing piece. During the 1930s putting together jigsaw puzzles was the main source of family entertainment. The family would gather around the kitchen table or dining room table or card table and enjoy the challenge together. Sometimes it would generate exciting comments over finding an elusive piece that everyone was looking for or sometimes the family would just chit chat about the day's events while continuing to concentrate on the puzzle. The only rule in our family regarding the puzzles was that the outside border would be put together before anyone started filling in the picture. We all knew that, in spite of idle chit chat, the picture was still being put together and because of that, no one was ever brought even close to coming to the point of actually shouting at someone in obvious anger because of lack of exclusive attention to putting the puzzle together. We didn't have a rule that demanded such focused attention. In fact, if there had been such a rule that you couldn't talk about anything else but the puzzle, it would cease to be fun and the only person left to work on it would be the angry complainer. Everyone would just up and leave. With this list the rules have been set down and well-spelled out from the moment a person subscribes to it, rather similar to the above. Well, we continue to have a chronic angry shouter and complainer on the list and as a result, I'm pushing my chair away from this dear family table and I'm getting up and leaving. Unsubscribe vee

My Mother and Dad moved to Florida for their retirment years. Mother told about the time she was visiting in someone's home there. Seeing a very large spider in the corner, Mother pointed it out to the owner expecting to have it stepped on or killed by some means. Instead the response was, " Just leave it; that spider eats a lot of bugs." I don't think Mother ever came around to that way thinking about spiders inside the house. Barbara

Forwarding from an e-mail from the Southern California Genealogical Society. :) Celebrate Patriots' Day with Free Access to a Premium DB at NewEnglandAncestors.Org In recognition of Patriot's Day on April 18, the New England Historic Genealogical Society will offer three days of free access to one of our major databases at NewEnglandAncestors.Org. The name of the database and access details will appear in the April 20, 2005, issue of the NEHGS eNews. The complimentary open access period begins Wednesday afternoon, April 20, and ends seventy-two hours later on Saturday afternoon, April 23. If you are not yet a member of NEHGS, but want to spend some time researching in one of our premium databases, this is your chance. Now that tax season is behind us, we invite you to spend some of your free time researching your early New England ancestors. Patriots' Day is a unique holiday in Massachusetts, home of NEHGS. It commemorates the battles of Lexington and Concord which took place on April 19, 1775. It is a state holiday in Massachusetts, Maine, and Wisconsin. In addition to its great historical significance, it is now known to many as the day of the running of the Boston Marathon. NEHGS will tie the holiday to this special database promotion and link genealogists everywhere to a piece of their New England heritage. The easiest way to learn which database will be offered, and how to link to it, is to subscribe to the NEHGS eNews at http://tinyurl.com/akvfk. As soon as the eNews is sent next Wednesday afternoon, we will also place a link on our homepage at www.NewEnglandAncestors.org. We invite you to forward this offer to a friend.

Actually I think it all has to do with background. When my mother was a little girl, she had a really pretty spider in a jar (pretty spider? :-). She showed it to one of her brothers and he grabbed it and threw it on the ground and stepped on it. He pointed out this greenish goop, and said, "How would you like all that inside you? They bite and have poison in them!" She was always afraid of spiders after that. Both my sister and I are. On the other hand, my aunt, her sister, is very much a gardener. She always carefully removed spiders from her house, and all of her daughters are the same way. My sister is scared to death of them, and will scream and jump away if she sees one. My cousins are somewhat amused. I read about the ladybugs everyone seems to have in their house, the last couple of years. They aren't "our" ladybugs, they are some imported to take care of another pest.. (this was the "be careful what you wish for" type of answer). From what I read, they are all over most of the US and Canada, now. They are called Asia Lady beetles, and they have been said to bite. I've never been bitten by any of mine, that I know of. The poor things get into the ceiling light shades, and then die. I don't know if they die because they are so near the heat of the bulb, or if they just are at that point in their lives. Most of the ones I find in my house are dead. I only see one or two still alive every winter. Kathy

> " Just leave it; that spider eats a lot of bugs." I don't think Mother > ever came around to that way thinking about spiders inside the house. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Me either, Barbara. And, I definitely never will. I spent a week in the hospital due to a spider bite that required surgery. Leslie

Hi Vee and Kathy Sometimes they seem to leave us no choice, though if at all possible I rescue and release any bugs found in the house. There is a tower on this (my daughter's house) and the other day we were up there and noticed many lady bugs on the windows, saying to each other "we have to get them and put them outside before they all die". Yesterday morning (I was up but not fully awake) I noticed my daughter stepping out the back door in her pjs. She told me she had rescued a lady bug. This prompted her to leave the ladder to the tower down so I could rescue any still up there. Thankfully I made it up and down safely, gathered about a dozen of them, placing them in a plastic container with a lid, then set it outside. Later I noticed they had all made their way to "better living". Some how my daughters see Lady Bugs as worthy of rescuing, while spiders get squashed. This morning I hear screaming because there's a mouse in the house. It reminded me of Vee's mouse in the house saga. Communing with nature - outdoors or in - we each see it differently. Here's to bug-free, mouse-free homes. Evelyn

Vee - I have a deal I made with spiders. If they stay out of my house, they are safe. I wont kill a spider outside. Having lived in Florida for a while, with spiders the size of your fist, I just can't bring myself to let them live in the house. If I know one is there, I spend too much time wondering exactly where it is! Kathy

Dear Folks, All evening long I've been haunted by what I had to do today. It was right before I started to put together my evening meal and I wanted to rinse out my soup mug and soup spoon I had left in the kitchen sink. Before I even turned on the faucet, I noticed that there was something else in the sink. A large black spider (large by household standards) was feebly trying to climb up the slippery sides of my sink. Oh great, another bug in my sink that I had to rescue. As usual I found a piece of cardboard to scoop him up and if nothing else dump him on my kitchen floor where I'd let him alone as long as he didn't slide into my sink any more. However, he wasn't as feeble as he appeared to be. No matter how hard I tried to encourage him to climb up on my cardboard he avoided it by running around every inch of the sink. When I saw him crawling under my sink strainer, I thought OK buddy that was your choice and I went back to rinsing out my soup mug and letting the water go down the drain. Of course, that isn't the end of the story. I no more than looked back down at the sink strainer and there he was again, on his last legs trying his best to get out of the strainer. I considered calling 911 but by that time I figured I had given him a chance far and beyond what any human would do and (close your eyes here) I turned on the faucet full blast! I hated myself for doing that and it's been haunting me all evening long. I killed him but then I really had to. I've had a long-standing code in my house. If you can't climb out of my kitchen sink, stay out of my kitchen. Fair enough? vee

Dear Deb, You certainly touched my heart when you told us about you and your grandfather when he was terminally ill. Somehow, it reminded me of what I remember about my mother not wanting to show tears in front of anyone. Back in 1958, my father died when he was 54. Mother was the same age. I had flown from California to where they were living in Houston to be there for his final days in the hospital. Since the family had been alerted that Daddy had only a few days to live, Mother decided to make the necessary plans before hand. She took his best suit to the cleaners and the two of us went shopping for a somber dress for her to wear at the funeral. She showed no emotion whatsoever. After his death and his viewing in Houston, his body was shipped to nearby Harrisburg, PA, for burial. Our family drove the long long drive from Houston to Harrisburg. During the drive I was puzzled at her lack of showing any emotions and at one point I had to test her on the subject. The radio was on and the song "Among My Souvenirs" was playing. I asked her if the song reminded her of her own "souvenirs." No it didn't. She never shed a tear. In the 1960s when she had moved back to New York to live with my sister Norma, Mother and I would get on the phone together and have great chats. I remember one time that she told me what had been bothering her lately. She said that the slightest thing would bring her to tears. I laughed and said, "Welcome to the club!" I had become the same way too. By 1974 she had had several strokes that left her bedridden and also without the ability to talk. A few months before she died that year both my brother and I flew to New York to see just what her condition was. We realized it wasn't good. We all tried to cheer her up and sometimes we even managed to. One night my brother and sister and I got in a giggly mood in another room. I left the giggling for a few minutes and went to Mother's bedside. I told her that I knew that what I had to say would bring tears to her eyes that she wouldn't like for me to see but I didn't care. I was going to say it anyway. I told her that she had raised three great kids and that the three of us loved her very much. As hard as she tried she couldn't let at least a few tears show in her eyes. Yes she loved us too and we knew it. It's just that she just couldn't tell us or show us just how much she did. Mother died at the age of 70 (1903-1974). vee

Dear Folks, Over a month ago I figured that if I'd put together a Chex mix late evening snack, that would taste pretty darned good. Eventually I bought a box of Chex cereal, selected a store brand ranch dressing envelope (same ingredients as Hidden Valley, much cheaper price), and a box of store brand small cheese crackers (cheaper than Cheese-its). I ignored the small pretzels inasmuch as my teeth don't like them. When I got home, I put them all together according to the recipe on the Chex box. I take that back, I barely followed the recipe but nonetheless the end result tasted just great to me. Tonight I realized that I was all out of the snack and I had to really wing it on my own. I still had the Chex cereal and the cheese crackers but I didn't have an envelope of ranch dressing. Nonetheless, I had saved the empty envelope and made note of the main flavor ingredients. I came to the conclusion that if I sprinkled just the right amount of garlic and onion powder and dried parsley, that would be close enough for government work. And it was! Now if I could only find a box of store brand Chex! vee

> 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 --> Hi to everyone, Have really been amazed and delighted seeing all the messages about hugging and degree of being "comfortable" with it. You folks are the "best" - sharing as you do - and yes, you too Vee for starting all this with your mother story! :) I remember when my grandfather was dying of cancer - we had him in a hospital bed in the den at our house. This was the early 1960s. (He died in 1963). I was 12 and had enjoyed a very close relationship with him. But, he wasn't a "touchy feely" sort of man. He had been a carpenter all his life - a fisherman - a fireman - a "quiet" man. But, there were so many "close moments" earlier on - sometimes just "sitting together" or digging up worms together! (smile). Well, in the days he was in that bed, not in the best of moods always, I would sit beside him. My "job" was to "fold kleenex" for him. Now looking back - we all know he no more needed that to be done than the man in the moon. But then? It made us BOTH feel good, you know? No big HUGS or anything - but I'll never forget the times sitting there - folding away - then just sitting - his big rough hand over the top of mine. Deb (Who has in turn led a life where touching, showing emotions and yes, lots of hugs, are not only "there" - but valued as ever so IMPORTANT in this life. Interesting how these things change. What's INSIDE hasn't changed much I'd imagine over all the decades - just what we show on the "outside".)

Dear Folks, This evening I received a phone call. She identified herself as Dorothy Hammer. Although I certainly remember knowing someone by that name, I couldn't remember who she was for the life of me. But when she said she was calling from Cheektowaga (south of Buffalo) I knew exactly who she was. She works for the Cheektowaga City Council and she's in charge of keeping up a special list of addresses. It has to do with Cheektowaga's annual memorial service at the small 1812 Cemetery located there. Oh my goodness, I haven't heard from her in YEARS! She said she was calling to make certain that my address was still current. I just love Dorothy but she tends to stay on the phone talking for hours. I really had to cut her a bit short inasmuch as I was about to sit down to my dinner. She understood but said that she was hoping I'd attend the June 1812 memorial service this year. I told her it was physically impossible for me and she understood because we've had similar conversations over the past few years. Now here's what all of that was about. Back in 1988 my sister Norma and I had become very interested in the men who had died in the War of 1812. It was because of that interest that we became aware of the memorial ceremony in the 1812 cemetery in Cheektowaga. We attended a meeting that was preparing for the ceremony that year and I raised my hand to let them know that even though we didn't have an ancestor buried there we definitely had a neighbor of our gr-gr-gr-grandfather who was buried there. The neighbor was George Myers and he lived in the same township in Adams Co., PA, as our ancestor William Clark did. In fact they had served in the same company of PA Militia together. That perked up the ears of the Town Councilman and out of a clear blue sky he asked me if I would give a brief speech at the ceremony in June. I thought it over briefly and agreed to give a short talk. From 1988 to 1994 I gave a speech at the ceremony pointing out that my family who was also in attendance was there to represent all of the other families of the soldiers buried in the cemetery who never had the chance to mourn over their loved one's graves. At the end of my speech I (and my sister and my brother) laid a wreath of mourning. After six years I found that the ceremony was just too overwhelmingly emotional for me and I begged off in 1995 and ever since. I knew that I couldn't bear hearing a lone bagpiper play "Amazing Grace" again. For the past seventeen years Dorothy has sent me notices of the upcoming ceremonies but of course I couldn't attend. But by George, Dorothy just won't give up. She knows why I can't attend but that doesn't stop her from wanting to keep in touch with me. Dear Dorothy. vee

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