The Joy of Rocks

February 7, 2016 by Jaci Dawn

We affectionately call this rock, “The Sadie Rock”. It bears a small resemblance to the English Pointer we had at the time we found the rock. Sadie is long gone now. Don and I held her head and paws when she crossed the Rainbow Bridge ~ she was truly the dumbest dog we ever owned, but she was our dumb dog.

I sat down tonight to write about the things I want to change in my life and I ended up taking photos of a couple of rocks I have picked up over the years. I – we – have way too many rocks. The last time we moved, we left quite a collection behind, but we quickly amassed a new one.

Many are just the right size to slip into a pocket, which is probably how they came to be added to our rock collection. Others, like Sadie Rock, took some effort to bring home. Sadie Rock weighs around 3-5 pounds. She’s metamorphic rock from the high desert above the Alvord playa. She makes a great book end, and since we have a plethora of books as well as rocks – that is a good thing. There’s not enough shelving for all of our books. Or rocks.

Or antique bottles and jars.

I am on a major decluttering binge, combined with deep=cleaning the house. Arthritis, a full-time job, and other duties interfere, but I have made good progress: I’ve washed down the entire kitchen (still need to clean the refrigerator inside), cleaned out the pantry, tossed out stale herbs and spices, cut my canning supplies in half, and even de-greased the top of the refrigerator. (Who puts in a stove and doesn’t include a hood with fan? The people who remodeled our house before we bought it. Ugh.)

I cleaned out and washed the walls in the laundry room – who knew I had so many duplicate cleaning supplies? A small bag of out-dated medicines and vitamins was delivered to our pharmacy for disposal. It was a small bag because I managed to haul off a LARGE bag of said items to the pharmacist last year.

I am half-way through the bathroom.

I keep finding rocks and instead of tossing them outside, I carefully haul them up the stairs to the loft, which is the last area I will be cleaning. I will have to make some hard decisions about rocks when I get to the loft. I am hoping it will be so much closer to spring and I will have a good idea where to put my “special” rock garden. I’ll have to toss all the agates. It’s not like we can’t drive a couple of hours to the coast and pick up more. I may have to admit to myself that I will never use the obsidian shards, though. Those were harder to come by.

The project, which is basically Stage 1 of my New Year’s Resolution “to change my life for the better (how’s that for a vague resolution?) so I can create and finish projects without feeling guilty about the household demands (yeah, now we’re getting specific: get rid of the excuses so I can’t fall back on them)” is slowly taking shape. One idea I had was to collect all the jars, bottles, and jugs – mostly vintage, but some antique, and all worth less than $10/a piece – into one spot. I can’t part with them! But presently, they aren’t even on display. And that is a travesty. (Saves on dusting, but…)

The idea of displaying all those glass items is troubling in a house with few open walls. I had an idea – confirmed by visiting Pinterest – that I could take an old wooden ladder and hang it sideways on the wall to create shelving. They call this style of decorating “shabby chic” and it’s perfect for my tastes. But to find a ladder! Wood ladders are not easy to come by.

I coerced a girlfriend to go with me. We hit every antique store in Oregon City (I wasn’t willing to expand my search: the Aurora antique shops and the Sellwood neighborhood antique shops attract more tourists and are pricier). My friend, it turned out, isn’t so much in to antiques as I am. But she was a good sport. And at the last place – an antique mall I didn’t know was an antique mall – we found The Ladder.

Wandering through that old barn structure, going from antique vendor to vendor, I was struck by how “this could be my house if I keep collecting things…” Yes, I live in an antique mall. I can’t keep up on the dusting.

And I want more.

Back to the ladder – it isn’t a bunch of funky paint colors, which I was sort of hoping for, but it is unique with the round rungs (and the warped bottom rung – or top rung, if your turn it over). My husband asked what I paid for it and guessed $30. Diane and I high-fived as we said (together), “CLOSE!” I paid $45. Ouch.

It needs to be painted. And hung. it’s perfect.

So far, I have been working around my obsession with old things (who am I kidding: OUR obsession). I need a vintage hutch for the kitchen (found one I like, but it’s $495 and I don’t have that kind of money right now). In May, I will travel to Reno to bring the remnant of my inheritance home which includes three chime clocks (two wall & one mantel) and a Star thread case. The Star thread case is full of Lions’ Club memorabilia which I will try to sell on eBay.

I think mine has six drawers. Stole this from Pinterest, there was no photographer credit. Each drawer pulls out with loads of room for items to be displayed (theoretically, spools of thread). If I was a seamstress, this would be a real treasure for thread keeping. I’m not a seamstress, but I think I have enough odd, little, things of vintage and antique status that I can use it well. It is currently full of Lions’ Club memorabilia of undetermined value. I will be doing a lot of research when I get it home.

I want to hang more photos of my grand children around the house. I need to update my photo albums. I have an entire photography update needed, which include scrapping some of the genealogy stuff. Yeah. Just start me on this project. I was pretty good about albums until about 1990. That means I have 26 years of photos that need to be converted to albums. I have the albums and the photos.

And then there’s grand kids. I want them to be in photo frames and hanging around my house. I have very little wall space in this 1150SF bungalow. Open floor plan = no wall space for photos. I think some people hang them all the way down to the floor. Wouldn’t that be cool? Not with dogs, though. Or cats.

This isn’t really a good conclusion to my post. This is a rock I found in the northern Cascades, in a remote stream that we had to bush-whack to get to. I won’t be putting this baby outside – ever.

It is yellow jasper.

Don and I were hiking up about a spot that has a couple names (to us): “It’s-just-a-quarter-mile-from-the-read-lake-honey” and “Mossy Rock”. The lake is actually unnamed and the quarter mile from the road was up sheer cliffs, only to discover there was a spur logging road that came down within a hundred yards of it. Mossy Rock refers to the deep moss covering of a rock slide another fifty feet to the north of the lake.

We were hiking and playing in the shadows of the fir trees when I spotted the rock in the water of the creek flowing down the hill. Pulled it out, looked for more (there were no more) and hauled it home. Took me forever to figure out that it was jasper. I need to label it so my kids know what it is when I am gone – and the story behind it.

Everything has a story. Every rock picked up. Every moment memorialized. I am loathe to toss rocks outside to weather and age because I fear their stories will get lost. So many human stories are lost. No one will know why we kept Sadie Rock when we die. They may not even recognize that it resembles a dog’s head. It’s “Just A Rock.”

It’s never just a rock. It’s a wonderful discovery. A treasure. A monument to a moment passed in our life. A cairn on the path of life, showing the next pilgrim the way.

God help them if they follow me…

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged deep cleaning, rock hounding, rocks | 2 Comments »

2016, Work, Life, and the Blog

January 26, 2016 by Jaci Dawn

I mean to keep up this blog and post about my family history, but I haven’t been very good about it since the first of the year. I did manage to scan and save an entire folder of family history as it relates to the paternal side, but I haven’t pursued any of the leads or transcribed many of the stories to this blog. I have a 40-page “General Family History” that someone transcribed, typed, and carbon copied to my father. I suspect my Uncle Mike wrote it from letter he has in his possession, but I have not called him to verify that. Most of it deals with letters written during the Civil War – originals that I do not own.

Personally, I have been dealing with whatever it is that cripples me – that undiagnosed, but very real, autoimmune condition that causes some very obvious (even to the medical field) symptoms. I should go to a doctor, but I am so over that right now. they can’t find what is causing this, so why go? Yeah, yeah, I get that the symptoms are on the “do not ignore these symptoms” list, but doctors can never find the root cause – so why not ignore the symptoms? It’s not like you get a magical remedy just because you checked in to a doctor’s office. you get a bill, insurance shaves a small portion off, and you pay for a shrug of the shoulders. Last visit? $143 for “Gee, I have no idea, but go to the ER if it gets worse.”

I crawled into bed last week and stayed there for three days. Cheaper than a doctor’s visit, and a modicum more of relief. It could be worse: I could have something they could identify that is actually very deadly and rapid in advance, or I could have Fibromyalgia. Whatever it is, it only cripples the body once in awhile and the rest of the time I just have weird (but obvious & measurable, even to doctors) symptoms.

I’ve also been working hard on starting an at-home business (now that I am finished whinging about my body aches and pains). I have a portfolio of mini paintings and several books on building my own Word Press website (not this blog, but my art site). It’s slow going on the web design because I feel intimidated by technology and I think I’m going to just have to bite the bullet and start from scratch with the web site. Now that I have made that decision, it should be easier (see, you didn’t even know I was making a decision, did you? Neither did I).

Meanwhile – I still love my job that is just three miles from home. I’ve had a bit of a bad attitude this week, but if I think about it – this is just where I am supposed to be. it’s just that it is *not* my career. My career is what happens in the evenings, when I have a pencil or paintbrush in my hand. My career doesn’t pay the bills; my job does.

I’m on a major deep cleaning and decluttering binge – my 2016 winter goal is to get through the entire house. My 2016 Spring goal is to bring the rest of my inheritance home and clutter up the space all over again, but this time with meaningful antiques. Oy vey. Let me just get the house in order, first. I’ve made it through the laundry room and most of the kitchen. The problem is the weather… It’s been NICE and the garden is beckoning. I can’t neglect my garden!!

I did manage to get out and prune my grapevine back, but the annual dead-heading and getting ready for blooms hasn’t happened yet, and the air has been so warm… I noted that my forsythia has blooms on it. Haven’t seen anything on the Camellia – yet.

And birds. I haven’t posted about birds, or even taken many winter photos of them. We have a resident Bewick’s wren that has moved to the front yard and has figured out the suet cages. The Brown Creeper has been a steady visitor, too. I can’t keep enough nectar in the Hummer feeders because the Townsend’s Warbler has figured out how to raid them.

So – my promise – to start transcribing the “General Family History” beginning in February. Then, Great Aunt Gert’s letters. And Newton Brown’s letters. Great-great Uncle Newton ought to be interesting. Great Aunt Gert was just funny. And, in between, I’ll post on gardening and decluttering. I’ll strive to post once a week, at least – just to practice my writing skills.

Besides – you all need to know how I got to Oregon from Jarbidge, right? It wasn’t a very direct route… But nothing in my life is.

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Folklore, Historical Fact, and Benedict Arnold

January 12, 2016 by Jaci Dawn

The difference between folklore and fact is that one can be irrefutably proven and the other is usually a bit of an embellishment of truth that is handed down until the retelling of it becomes known as fact. An example would be the Ballad of Jesse James in which the writer wrote that Jesse robbed from the rich and gave to the poor, and that he had a wife and three children. The facts were very different: James was a thief with a vendetta against the railroad and he did not spread his wealth to the poor. He also only had two children, not three.

So what has this to do with Benedict Arnold?

I was leafing through some of my Grandfather Wilcox’s letters (Gramps, as I knew him) and I stumbled onto this gem of a story about my ancestry. I’d read it before but remembered few of the details. Here is the story (ancestral names in bold)(and complete in grammatical error):

<snippet> “Then there was another cousin, William Meade, his father & my great grandmother were brother & sister so I am told. That is the branch that had ancestor that was around Cedar Hill, N.Y. when he was very, very old. Along with two other lads they deserted the Continental Army thinking the cause about lost. On the outside they learned and observed different and were looking for a ticket back in to good graces of the Federal Forces when oneXXX Major Andre walked into a bar, then called a tavern, and they took him in tow and found the famous message from Benedict Arnold. They had their ticket and used it. Ancestor Williams was rewarded with a very nice piece of land that kept him in drinking liquor until he was still well preserved into the memory of future generations.” <end>

That makes you say “Hmmmm”, doesn’t it? Given Gramps’ penchant for spinning a tale and embellishing it, I thought it prudent to see how much of that narrative actually matches the historical record. I was surprised to find that enough of the record matches to make a connection, and the historical record differs a little in every version of the telling. However, not one single, verifiable, item in the record points to the three young men as AWOL from the Continental Army (which was not, no matter how much Gramps wanted it to be, a “Federal” Force as the Nation had not yet been born).

This much is true: three militiamen by the names of John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams did make the discovery and did arrest Major John Andre. (Another version gives the second man’s name as Van Wert.) (A “skinner” would be a Militiaman). Paulding was the only one of the three who could read and soon realized the man they were robbing was actually a British agent.

This little gem of Gramps’ use of folklore is full of fact and falsehood, but it makes for a great fireside story in much the same way as the Ballad of Jesse James makes for a moving ballad. Sprinkle the truth with a little spice – that would have been Gramps’ motto. There are obvious holes: Gramps skipped from William Meade, the very, very old man to a story about an ancestor named Williams.

This fellow, Williams, would be a distant relative, not a direct ancestor – if we are even related. I haven’t gotten that far on my search because I’m trying to stick with the straight lines of the family first (which includes the matriarchal lines as well as patriarchal).

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Benedict Arnold, folklore, possible relation, tall tale | Leave a Comment »

A Short History Transcribed

January 11, 2016 by Jaci Dawn

Thomas Force Palmer 1787-1865

I found a hand-written “history” of the Palmer clan in my file cabinet that I have reserved solely for genealogy. This is where I stuffed everything my father sent me: all my mother’s notes on her side of the family, and anything my dad had on his side of the family. My father was the grandson of John and Irene Wilcox. Joseph Snow Palmer was my great-great-great grandfather.

I have not researched the hand-written history, but I am going to transcribe it below (verbatim). It was written in pencil on faded note-paper, but is still legible. I’d like to capture it before it fades completely.

Here goes:

Coat of Arms was granted to Ralph Palmer in 14 century and brought (?) to the coming of the clan to America.

Ralph Palmer was of great note in the South of England and resided at Sussex. Sir Edward who was a descendant in the 8th generation was our ancestor. he (sic) married a daughter of Sir Richard Clement. She had three sons (think of it3) (sic) triplets and they were born on three successive Sundays, the first one on Palm Sunday*. Some Record (see coat of arms)**

The first of Palmers of our line in America: William. He came from Sommersetshire, England in 1621 on the good ship Fortune. He had a son, William. The second Wm. was a lieutenant under Capt. Miles Standish and has been designated as Lieutenant William Palmer. he was a man of large affairs and held many positions of trust. He married Judith Feake and had five sons & one daughter. One of his sons Ephraim married Sarah Messenger & they had seven children. One of whom was John, who married Sarah Close and had five children, one being Justus who married Amy Lockwood and had six children, all sons & the third of these was Ephraim our Revolutionary ancestor.

He was born in 1760, married Margaret Force in 1786 and had 11 children, seven sons and four daughters. The eldest of these was Thomas Force Palmer born in 1787. Married Rebecca Snow 1813 and then had six children, four girls & 2 boys.

Joseph Snow Palmer, b. 1819

*I’m trying to verify that story. Sounds like a tall tale: giving birth to triplets, but each one a week apart, beginning on Palm Sunday?? I can verify the boys were triplets, but not the story. That link also hints at the tragic death of my ancestor, Sir Thomas Palmer. (Cause of death: beheaded after the Lady Jane Grey conspiracy.) That bears a lot more research!

** Coat of Arms

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged ancestry, kimmey ancestry, palmer ancestry, wilcox ancestry | Leave a Comment »

Organizing – Bwahahahahahahahahahaha

January 3, 2016 by Jaci Dawn

Yeah. right. I itemized only those items we have purchased from Christmas at the Zoo. And the outside lights – I lost 5 strands last year (2015). Yay for cheap LED strands: what is up with five of them going “kaput”???

Not like it was a big deal: I did the outside lights AND lit up the company tree with my lights and didn’t even miss the five strands that died. That should tell me something.

Sometime in the next five days, I will get this all pushed into our 12×6′ attic space. Hopefully, I will d o this without hurting my knees.

Why? I don’t know. I really don’t know. But it’s fun. 🙂

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged christmas decorations | Leave a Comment »

Christmas Ramblings

December 26, 2015 by Jaci Dawn

I had a lot of failures the last couple of days, and the photo of the full Christmas moon is – technically – one of them. Like the other failures in the past 48 hours, this one is one I can live and work with. So there’s no detail on the moon, but I did capture it perfectly round as the fog parted – and I did it without a tripod. I balanced my camera (with the 300mm lens) on the stair post. One lucky shot.

I wasn’t going to do a Christmas post, but… here I am. Blogging at 11:20PM on Christmas Day. It was very nearly a disaster. Let me list my mistakes:

I seriously mis-judged the popularity of Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Of course, I remember the opening of the very first Star Wars movie, right down to who I went to the movie with and what theatre. It was epic. I never dreamed I would give birth to children who would love that movie as much as I did. And I certainly never imagined a SOLD OUT Christmas matinee. When does that ever happen? Oh, yeah – Star Wars: The Force Awakens.
I made my first-ever pecan pie. I made certain I had all the ingredients, and I had them all out on the counter when I started. Karo syrup, sugar, vanilla, eggs, chopped walnuts (OK, it was a walnut pie! Picky, picky!). I followed the instructions to a “T” and was a little surprised when the filling didn’t seem to fill the crust as expected. Oh, well. Put it in to bake and 60 minutes later realized I had forgotten to add the one cup of sugar to the syrup-vanilla-egg mix. OOPS.
The oven would not light. I pre-lit it at 10:50AM so I could put the ham in at 11:00 and we could dine at 2:00. I’d used the oven a couple of hours earlier when I put it on “warm” to heat up the ceramic bowl I mix my sourdough bread dough in. I had no reason to believe the sucker wouldn’t light. It didn’t just not light – there was no gas flowing to it AT ALL. No gas = no danger of huge explosion. Checked the burners. They all lit. Turned off oven, turned on oven. NOTHING, not even a faint rotten egg odor. Called in the husband. He mentions that this has happened to him, but not on a scale like this.
I broke one of my Spode Christmas glasses. Darn. Actually #4 was the moon pic, but since I broke the glass and I already mentioned the moon… Yeah. So I only have 3 pretty Spode Christmas glasses now.

I can’t repair #1. At least, not for the four of us. But I did hear a rumor that if I had looked a few miles south of home, I would have discovered that the nearby small town theaters are not sold out. And – get this – no passes, which means no internet pre-sales! Guess where my husband and I are going on Saturday? If I can reach my kid & her fiancé and they want to drive over here… I will have redeemed myself.

#2 wasn’t so bad. The pie is merely not as fluffy as it should be, and maybe not quite as sweet as it should be, but it is entirely palatable. Tillamook vanilla ice cream complimented the pie quite well.

#3. I made preparations to rewrap the ham and call a restaurant for reservations while my husband said a short prayer. God answered his prayer and the oven lit! Ta da! And then it over-cooked the ham. Seriously? I need a new gas range. It behaved when I put the rolls in, so at least those baked properly.

I’m going to confess something here. If you’re a fan of Pioneer Woman, don’t read any further. But, in all honesty, I nearly killed myself a few years back, stressing over a holiday dinner. My BP hit heart attack levels. I think it got up to something like 166/110. Yeah, it was Very.Scary. I didn’t go to the hospital or anything, but it was a real wake-up call to me to 1) always take my BP meds and 2) stressing isn’t worth it.

That said, we had instant mashed potatoes with instant gravy. Tasted like instant, but no blood pressure spikes. Choose your battles. At least the pie was palatable.

Presents were awesome. We’d barely poured ourselves cups of coffee before the dogs began to beg to open their presents. No, really. Murphy got excited the minute we put up the tree and he’s been scanning the window for stockings every day since. I finally hung the stockings and he got really excited. Last night, he caught Santa filling them and he nearly came unglued with excitement. He climbed on the chairs and he tried to scale the wall. He was beside himself.

Harvey is a lot more like me – he can handle delayed gratification – but he was obviously hyped for the event as well.

The “indestructible” dog toys were destroyed by Murphy within the half hour. That includes Harvey’s toy. Harvey doesn’t care – he doesn’t play. He just wanted the pleasure of opening his gift, and he got that. But the BIG hit was the homemade dog treats I made for them.

Homemade dog treats are SO simple. These were made from the remnants of a quinoa and kale soup with a chicken stock base. I tossed in a cooked yam and a gift of “bacon jelly’ that someone gave to me (don’t ask. I don’t know why, either, but it was very handy when I needed to make dog treats). Pureé. Add flour until you can roll it our without a big sticky mess. Bake at 350 for half an hour and then at 250 until hard. Turn once.

The dogs love this particular recipe. LOVE. LOVE. LOVE.

A Bigfoot ornament. I actually squealed when I opened this. Don and I shop for ornaments at this wonderful store – Christmas at the Zoo – and I found this ornament there the day I picked out Don’s ornament. I almost cried. I couldn’t possibly tell him about it because then he would know where I bought his ornament and would possibly guess what it was (a moose). So when I opened this and saw it – I squealed. I knew exactly where he found it (down to the tree and limb).

He said the girl who boxed it for him was dubious when he said it was for his wife. Silly girl! She should spend more time believing.

This was another squeal. These t-shirts kept popping up in my news feed on Facebook. I get that it’s about algorithms, but… This is so ME. The three women in my life that I call “daughter” conspired to do this for me. I love this!

This is what I gave my husband (not all that I gave him, but his stocking stuffer). Christmas Murphy. It is gouache on canvas, 3×3″.

I have an entire project lined up that is posted on my other blog, Two Crow Feather Woman. 3×3″ canvases of animals for an art show. I’ve been selling them as a sideline ($30). It’s just fun. For the main part, I’ve stuck with animal portraits, but I am adding a little anthropomorphism to the mix as well.

That said, I leave you with this last offering and an invite to like my page on Facebook as well: Two Crow Feather Woman (Link will only work if you are on Facebook)

Merry Christmas from me & Happy Penguin with a Christmas Vest!

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The Harvemeister

December 21, 2015 by Jaci Dawn

I love dogs. I never thought I would say that. I mean, I have always *liked* dogs, but they were never the first animal I would choose. Horses, cats, birds, then dogs. Maybe reptiles would be in between birds and dogs.

That isn’t to say I haven’t had a number of wonderful family dogs – but that was what they were: family dogs. Not *my* dog. There was a dog that came close to changing my heart – a Dalmatian by the name of Mandy – but my husband and life came between us and I let Mandy down. Mandy was the closest thing to dog of my own that I loved and trusted unconditionally.

I’ve loved all the family dogs, but dogs always come with a caveat for me: I am afraid of dogs. Not so much dogs I know, but strange dogs. I need time to make friends with dogs. I don’t trust them. They can smell fear. They read people. I am afraid of dogs.

Then came the Harvemeister. Harvey Albert Presley. The gentleman of dog breeds. My best non-human friend. He is the epitomy of a non-working English Setter. I can only imagine what a hunting Setter would be like – rather intense, I think. Harvey is very intense when he is hunting something in the yard. Patient.

Harvey turned 6 this year. He’s not showing his age yet. His joints hurt a little, but they’ve always given him problems. He has rotten teeth and we’ll have to look into dealing with that next year. He’s finally accepted us as his Forever Home and he barks to be let in.

Do you know that adopted dogs do not bark for things until they are certain of their Forever home? Happy dogs bark. I didn’t actually understand that, but after my mom’s rescued Standard Schnauzer and Harvey, I understand that. Mom’s dog didn’t bark (or howl) for nearly a year. But once he understood that Mom was his Forever Parent, he started demanding things. Barking. Howling to be let in. Biting strangers who stepped into his territory (he even bit my dad).

It has taken Harvey five years to decide that we mean him no harm. Five years! But now he stands at the back door and lets out a single bark that means, “I’m ready. Let me in, please.” He will never bite anyone (he’s not a Schnauzer, after all!), but he is comfortable enough to let me know when my grooming pulls at him too hard. No nip, just a jerk.

Harvey has never chewed up anything except his annual Christmas present. He is second to eat (unless it is gravy, and then he has done Murphy harm). (Or a captured critter in the back yard, and then he steals from Murphy and commandeers the killing.) He has his quirks. There have been face-offs where Murphy has tried to exert his utter dominance and Harvey has refused to completely bow before the Alpha. Harvey is first through the door when it is time to go out or come in. Yet, he still has the grace to let Murphy think he is the Alpha.

We have to hold Murphy back while Harvey eats his morning beefstick or a dog biscuit. Murphy has perfect teeth (all of our previous dogs have had good teeth), but Harvey has to work around those cavities.

I never thought I’d give my heart so completely to a dog, but God brought me this incredible English Setter (next to a Dalmatian, I’ve always wanted an English Setter or a Gordon Setter). Harvey has been one of the best gifts ever.

So here are a few photos of The Harvemeister that I’ve taken in the past few days. Because he is my best non-human buddy.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Dog is my best friend, english setters, Harvey Albert Presley | 1 Comment »

Go Out of Your Way

November 19, 2015 by Jaci Dawn

I’m taking a break from historical posts to just write from the heart. There are a lot of troubling things in the world right now, with a lot of finger-pointing and name-calling. I really need to bury my head in the sand like the proverbial ostrich: Make It All Go Away!

It won’t, and I know it.

On top of all the discussions over terror attacks in Paris, Beirut, Israel, and parts of Africa; on top of the political phone calls (every morning, right at 8:13AM!)(we don’t answer); on top of the polarization of candidates running for office (Donald Trump? Really? The man is a egotistical narcissistic bigot) – on top of this all, life goes on. People die of natural causes. Friends lose siblings. Just this week, two close friends lost a sibling.

That is just the setting.

The next layer is my own personality. I am an introvert. I can be an out-going introvert, but I am an introvert. I am also a highly sensitive soul who often buries my sensitivities so deep that even I forget that is why I wake up crying after an intense evening like last Friday the 13th. I’d sooner stay home than put myself out there, even for friends.

This is also my birthday month. I love my birthday month. It is the beginning of the holiday season – all the singing, decorating, lights, and magic. Angels get their wings with regularity during this time of year (every time a bell rings). Match girls get their wishes (even if it means dying, because her only wish was to be loved and her grandmother comes to carry her off to Heaven). It is my most social month of the year – and it is exhausting.

It is exhausting as only an introvert can find a social month to be.

I celebrated my birthday with dinner out with my husband. I spent a day with girlfriends – shopping and dinner and holding hands on the banks of the Sandy River to pray. I am planning Christmas parties. Thanksgiving is next week. People, people, people everywhere.

This morning, I woke up to rain. That’s not unusual considering where I live. Rain, rain, and more rain. One look at the freeway system and one would think we don’t know how to drive in the rain here (we don’t, so one would be right): wrecks everywhere. People hit that puddle of standing water and stand on the brakes and the wonder when the steering wheel takes on a life of its own – and the car goes flipping over and over and over when the wheels hit dry pavement again. It is the least lovely time of year to be driving.

That is the foundation.

Once a month, a group of my dear friends gets together. This is a different group from the group that gets together twice a year to celebrate “our” birthdays – that group that I met along the banks of the Sandy River to celebrate my birthday (among other fall ones). The monthly group consists of ex-coworkers. We worked together for the past 15 years at a small company that had a family feel to it (until a big corporation took over). What binds us together is the small business we used to work for, our former jobs, and the senior member of our group, my dear friend Lola Mae.

Lola is pushing 80. She was forced to retire because of her age. She had to sign some clause that she wouldn’t go after the company. Other members of my group had the same thing happen to them. Others took notice and chose their own way out: early retirement, marriage and relocation, finding another job. I took the latter out.

That is the back story.

Last week, Lola’s sister died. I don’t know how suddenly it was and I learned about it from a mutual friend. Lola didn’t mention it when I called her to make certain we were on for a November gathering. November and December are bad months to try to get together and nearly everyone bailed except Lola, one other person, and myself. I’m determined to be there for Lola as much as she will allow me to be there for her. She’s pretty independent.

I bought a card and signed it for everyone.

Then Lola called me and left a voice mail on my cell phone: she was sick and was going back to bed. She wasn’t coming tonight. The words between the lines were easy enough to hear. She’s hurting. Her sister died. She’s depressed. She wants to hide from the world. I know enough about depression to allow her this one day – I’ll call her tomorrow and give her something to laugh about. Today was not the time.

But I had this dinner date. One other person was planning on going. What to do? The easy answer was to cancel it: weather is bad, traffic has been horrific, I’m tired from all that has already gone on in November. She was noncommittal: “It’s up to you. You’re the one who has to drive…”

So easy.

Life is short. It is far too short. I messaged her back: “Let’s do it.”

So I had dinner with one friend tonight, Patty. We talked, we laughed, we got caught up on our kids and spouses and what we’re doing with our lives now. Then we hugged and agreed to skip December and meet in January.

This sort of thing doesn’t come easily to me. I’m not social. It’s easier to stay home. But I kept thinking: “What if something happens and I never have the opportunity to see Patty again?”

That would be tragic.

So – go out of your way. Keep that coffee/wine/dinner date. Time is precious.

(Lola & I upon her “retirement”)

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged time is precious | Leave a Comment »

Postscript: the Woman Left Behind

November 16, 2015 by Jaci Dawn

27 years have passed since that awful December of 1917. A lot of things have changed in the little Melrose family: Dale’s father, Philip G. Melrose, died in 1934. Little brother John grew up and got married to Emma Ada Robinson, and together they have three little girls: Phyllis, Donna, and Mary Lou (my mother). There are no letters relating back to Dale between 1918 and 1944 – and then…

The script is large and precise, with a flair for the artistic. A photograph is tucked into the envelope, carefully wrapped in the stationery.

It is a letter from Norma Harvey, that girl from Newberg oh-so-long ago. It is this letter that makes me sit up and say, “oh!” Dale’s death broke more than the hearts of his immediate family – it forever changed Norma’s life.

Newberg, Oreg.

Sept. 24, 1944

My dear dear Mrs. Melrose,

I can not begin to tell you how moved I was at the sight of your writing or how touched that you remembered after all these years. I can not forget your beautiful script; – an envelope that you addressed to me early in 1918 is here in my dresser with a lock of Dale’s hair and his baby picture.

As you see, I never married. Twice I almost decided to, but thoughts of Dale’s ways:- his cleverness, ambition, kindness, and devotion made other men dull and uninteresting, – yet, was I wise?

We still live in Newberg but since 1925 ( have taught in Portland coming home for holidays and week-ends.

One Friday evening <on the bus to Newberg> some years ago, I fell into conversation with a man who used to know you in Perryville.* He had lost touch, he said, but he believed that you had moved to Eau Claire. I do not know the man’s name.

Newberg has not altered greatly with the years. Many of the Presbyterians who were active in the church while you were there, are still functioning.

Miss Jessie Britt – you remember her? – is as active and indispensible as a person can be.

Mrs. Maggie Patterson, (very deaf, even in 1912) celebrated her eighty-ninth birthday yesterday and taught her Sunday School class today.

Mr. and Mrs. Craw <and Violet> are both dead, but the younger daughter Nellie teaches in Newberg.

The Sandermans continue active or were until this spring when Mrs. S. broke her hip.

Ethel Andrews is working in Portland, – has a civil services job and her own apartment. She will be glad to hear of you.

My parents are living, but Dad aged 87 is not well. He, until last year, was brisk and hearty in every way but early in June he had a slight stroke and hasn’t been like himself since. His memory is so poor. Right now I am greatly worried over the problem of finding a woman to help Mother.

I am very sorry about Mr. Melrose. Was he ill for long?

How strange to think that little John has a family!

Write me again, won’t you? A week from Tuesday is Dale’s birthday**, isn’t it?

Very lovingly, Norma

*Perryville? I think she means Caryville. ** Not a question – Norma knew Dale’s birthday: October 3.

July 1944 This is Ella Best (white hair) and I, taken at Jessie Britt’s Home. Ella was in the group to which Dale and I belonged. She now teaches in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

The following is a long thank you list to all who helped me put these letters together:

My brother, Terry, who researched Whitman College, Dale’s theater professor, and more. He also hunted down information on Norma Harvey:

Her photo upon graduation from Pacific College (now George Fox University) and upon being crowned May Queen in 1917.

The Coronation News. Remember that she asked Dale not to congratulate her at the time.

Location of her grave in the Friend’s Cemetery in Newberg. She died on November 9, 1970. I snatched a photo of her headstone from Find A Grave. 1893-1970.

Terry also found the military photo on Ancestry.com. It was attached to a ‘steenth cousin’s family tree – I need to go back and email the gentleman who posted it to let him know we are related. He has a more comprehensive tree than I do.

Thank you to my Aunt Donna, the middle daughter of Grandpa John Melrose. She pointed out to me that photos were not common “in those days” and it was “unlikely” that there were any of Dale. I didn’t think about that. We forget so much of how our ancestors lived just a century ago!

A shout out to my cousin, Wendy, one of Aunt Donna’s six children. Wendy shared her online photo albums with me and I was able to find the same photos in my collection (unnamed) to match hers (named). Because of Wendy, I know I have a photo of Dale as a baby, quite possibly the same photo that Norma Harvey alluded to as kept in her dresser with a lock of his hair.

I am going to take a short break from the blog in order to answer another pressing genealogy question. A gentleman emailed me from Ancestry.com regarding the Palmer side (up my father’s grandmother’s side) and I need to answer his questions – and ask him some!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Dale Melrose History, Melrose Family History, Newberg history, Norma Harvey class of 1917, Norma Harvey school teach portland | 3 Comments »

Letters of Condolence – 1917 & 1918

November 14, 2015 by Jaci Dawn

I believe that one of the hardest things to do is to write a letter of condolence. What do you say? What if the death happened a month ago and you just now heard? What do you write?

There are snippets of letters in Great Grandmother’s collection, but I have chosen to share only two of them. The other items are almost irrelevant in nature, or clipped to omit much of the rest of the letter. What follows below are the most complete letters, and the ones that somehow resonate more deeply as to his character and person.

The Western Union Telegram came from the President of the University of Oregon immediately upon the news. It is incorrectly addressed to D.G. Melrose (Philip G. Melrose was Dale’s father). It is dated Dec 20- 1917.

HAVE JUST RECEIVED THROUGH DR EBERLY KUYKENDALL OF CAMP LEWIS SAID (sic)NEWS YOUR GREAT LOSS IN DEATH OF YOUR SON UNIVERSITY EXTENDS HEARTFELT SYMPATHY AND SHARES YOUR SORROW YOUR SON MADE MANY WARM FRIENDS WAS UNIVERSALLY RESPECTED PLEASE WIRE IS WE CAN BE OF ANY SERVICE

P.L. CAMPBELL

PRES UNIVERSITY OF OREGON

740A

Newberg Oreg. ~~Jan~~ Dec 27 – 1917

Dear Mrs. Melrose

It was with great surprise and the deepest sorrow that we learned of Dale’s death last week and I am writing this to convey the most heartfelt sympathy both from myself and the young people of the church and Sunday school. I was proud to count Dale as one of my friends and as I was for some time his Sunday school teacher, I felt a particular attachment and interest in him. I thought possibly it might be some consolation to your in your great sorrow and gried to know how much Dale was loved and respected here in Newberg. I have heard so many tributes to his splendid character, and his unusually high standard as a student both here and at Eugene. You, as his mother, can certainly feel proud of his record, And especially of his last service as a volunteer when he gave his life for his country. –With deepest sympathy to your self and Mr. Melrose. I am Very sincerely yours – Jessie E Britt.

Penciled on the back of the envelope of this letter are these words: Mildred Brown’s letter after hearing of Dale’s letter.

Mildred was the daughter of “Uncle Harry”, one of Mary Brown Melrose’s four brothers (“Aunt Anne” was Mary’s sister)

Mildred, as you may recall, was attending the University of Oregon with Dale.

The letter is postmarked January 10, 1918:

Dear Aunt Mary and Uncle Phil,

Please forgive my long delay in writing to you. I have been so shaken that it has taken me a long time to regain a normal composure.

But I want you to know a little of how much Dale was admired and respected here on the campus. He won for himself a place in the hearts of his comrades and fellows much to be envied by those less fortunate. His instructors held him in highest esteem. It is no small matter to have gained the marks in one’s work that Dale won. He was a shark in everything and was taking honors in four different subjects. After having had six weeks of French he was teaching it at Camp Lewis.

You should be very proud of having been able to give such a sou. That he should have been compelled to make the greatest sacrifice but adds to the splendor of what he has achieved. Had he been unwilling to make the sacrifice, had he hesitated an instant (?) his duty, then you might feel differently. But he was ready, eager to do his best and give his all if need be. I think that nothing has ever shown us what splendour there is in the soulds of men as this war has done. Had it never been we should have missed one of the finestspectacles it has ever been the privilege of mankind to see. I do not say that it isn’t awful and full of the most heartrending pain as well – but never before have men revealed the heights to which their sould can attain. In the manner in which men are giving up their lives for an ideal, there could be nothing more magnificent. One English boy who died in the eastern campaign phrased his feeling thus:

“If I should die think only this of we

That there’s some corner in a foreign field

That is forever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed-

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware.

Gave once her ~~ways to roam~~ flowers to love, her ways to roam

A body of England’s breathing English air,

Washed by rivers, blessed by — of home.”

There is more to it but I don’t remember it.

~~~~~~

She ends her letter there, unsigned.

The full poem follows this last image of Dale’s headstone.

The Soldier

Rupert Brooke, 1887 – 1915

If I should die, think only this of me:
   That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England.  There shall be
   In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
   Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England’s, breathing English air,
   Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
   A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
     Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
   And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
     In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged 1917 War Deaths, Dale Melrose History, Letters of Condolence, Melrose Family History, The Soldier by Rupert Brooke | Leave a Comment »

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Jaci Dawn

I change themes often. Currently: Gardening in the Pacific Northwest