Bobbing For Apples

Bobbing for Apples

8.5" x 11"

pencil

Thinking of Halloween of the past, I recalled the time when we had a Halloween party at Sneed Memorial Methodist Church. Inside, in the basement area of the big, brick, castle-like church, Mrs. Wyser played the piano and we sang songs, enjoyed some treats of sandwiches, cookies, cake, and Grapette soda water, courtesey of the Grapette Bottling Company below the Masonic Lodge on Main Street. But, anxiety was high and the restless youngsters all wanted to hurry and get this party over with and go out trick or treating, and, hopefully, to find a little mischief to get into.

(To be honest, I can't remember if the Grapettes happened at this same party. But, when the bottling company was in Calvert, the family who operated it attended our church and donated Grapette to our socials. )

There were games and time to chase each other on the sidewalk and the lawn in the light from the street lights and from the church. Joe Bill and "Possum" and the other men, brought out a big metal tub and placed it in the side street near the downstairs door. They filled the tub with water and, teasingly, told us that we would be bobbing for apples. We didn't believe that this would actually happen. I guess that we were to an age where we thought that we were too old for such a childish thing.

Fragrant, bright red apples were dropped into the cool water. These were probably donated by Mr. Ford. He was a Baptist, but at special times, like Christmas, Mr. Ford always donated apples and oranges from his grocery store, Ford Grocery, to the Methodist Church as well as to the Baptist Church.

"Come on and get an apple!" the adults urged.

We hung back until the more advenurous of the children moved up to the tub. We watched as they knelt on the street, put hands behind their backs, faces into the water, and shoved apples around until they finally came up with one in their teeth. As they caught their apple, the children moved back to the lawn, happily chomping on their apples.

Then a game of "Apple core. Baltimore." ensued and apple cores went flying around to hit others who were running and trying to dodge a direct, juicy hit. The adults shouted out stern warnings, but it was necessary for each child to try to hit someone with their apple core. The game stopped when an adult was almost hit.

Then, the children were ready to go on to trick or treating or to go home.

I hung back by the adults and at least one more reluctant child, who didn't want to kneel in the street, and risk not being able to catch one of the slippery apples in my teeth. Eventually, though, I did as I was urged to do, caught my apple, and went on to join the other trick or treaters.

I just thought that the church made a really good background for a Halloween party. Even in daylight, and days other than Halloween, I always thought it was a dark and scarey place. Pretty, but so much like a castle.

I was sad to see, the last time we drove by the church, that they have dug out the sidewalk and the quaint little concrete bridges that crossed the ditch, and made new flat white concrete sidewalks to enter the church.

I know, it's hard for us older folks to make it up all those steep steps. They talked, for as long as I can remember, about putting in an elevator so older folks could make it up to the second floor. But it was never done and many people just had to quit going to church over the years. I guess it is for the best, but it makes such a change in the church. The new concrete sort of stands out like a sore thumb. Maybe it will not be so stark, when the concrete ages a little bit.

We have so many memories of that church and its people.

I remember where cracks were in sidewalks in various places, where rocks or gravel were, where the sticker burrs were, where each bush was, where Indian Paintbrushes grew between cracks in the curbing, etc. and it's hard to think that those things are no longer there.

I thought I would put these memories on as a sort of a Birthday gift to two of my best and oldest friends, Edie and Kathryn. I missed Kathryn's birthday last week. I just had not paid attention to the date! Sorry about that, Kathryn! And Edie's is tomorrow. So, a big Happy Birthday to both of you. I hope you had a wonderful day, Kathryn, and that tomorrow will be very special for you, too, Edie. And, of course, I have to wish you many more to grow on!

*****************

I'm so excited! I actually won something!

No, not an art competition, or the lottery, or anything like that. But, I got word today that Diana Moses Botkin did a drawing for a copy of her new book last night, and I won. I can't wait to see her book! I'm sure that it is very nice. She has some excellent work on her website. Very sensitive and beautiful.

Check out her blog at http://dianamosesbotkin.blogspot.com/

Thank you so much, Diana! I know that I will treasure your work!

*****************

I'm looking out my window at the bird bath and Oak tree, and have been amazed that, overnight, it seems, the Crepe Myrtle bush in front of my window now has red, brown, and orange leaves! Usually, if the leaves around here actually do change, a norther hits and knocks them off right away. It looks like some of the Oak leaves have changed, too. But, of course, I can't see them very well. I'll have to go outside and take a closer look. It 's very unusual to have fall colors in the landscape, at least for very long.

*****************

We're counting down the time to time to go vote. I haven't been able to figure out why we are bring urged to vote early. Or how they can know who has how many electoral votes each candidate has, when we haven't even voted yet.

Election day has always seemed like a very special event. It is good to go out and participate with others who are doing their patriotic duty. It's a good feeling to think that your voice is being heard and your vote counted. I guess that, if you go to a place where there are really long lines, or if you have to line up in bad weather, that might not feel quite as good.

I always thought that the only reason why you should vote early would be if you were going to be in the hospital, or out of town on Election Day. But, now, I've heard of so much voting early, and I've even received e-mails, urging me to vote early (before that ended here). I wouldn't want to miss participating on that special day, though, and I don't feel like there is a reason to vote early. So, I didn't.

Maybe, the fact that I didn't get to vote when I was first old enough, due to the Poll Tax, and thinking of how it hasn't been all that long that women could vote in this country, has made Election Day all that more special to me.

It is disturbing to think that some of our votes won't count as much, or count at all, and that some people are taking advantage and voting illegally. I am much more concerned about this election than I ever have been before.

I didn't intend to get political on my blog, but this is the way that I see things. It is "Through My Eyes". I just had to state my opinion when I saw others put the oppostion on their blogs. So, it became a matter of, "if you can, I can too!"

I hope that you share my view, but, if your opinion differs, that's okay. That's the way you see things, and this is the way that I see things. We can still be friends!

Whatever you believe, let's all follow the rules and have a good, clean, election.

And pray for our country, our leaders, and our people.

*******************

Little Brown Church

Little Brown Church in the Wildwood

(sketch)

8.5" x 11"

pencil

"Now, open your hymnals and let's all sing, 'The Little Brown Church in the Wildwood'." The preacher announced the page number as Mama started playing the introduction on the organ. The congregation seemed to swish in unison as everyone stood up in the pews and the pages rustled as pages were turned all over the church.

I looked for the songs in the bulletin and on the board in the front of the church, and turned the pages back and forth until I finally found the song. I was a little sweaty with panic, worrying that I wouldn't be able to find the right page before the song was over. I could read, but not as fast as the grownups, or so I thought.

There. I found the page as everyone started to sing.

"Oh, come, come, come, come." The repitition reminded me of a march, with the drums drumming.

I could hear Daddy's deep voice coming from the back pews of the church, along with Herman in the choir near Mama and the organ. I could hear "Toot" beside me, with her deep voice, and Miss Mildred who stood in front of us, but toward the center aisle. And, of course, Joe Bill's distinctive voice as he usually led us at Sunday School. Over everyone, Miss Imogine's operatic soprano voice soared through the building. Everyone else blended in, and even harmonized appropriately.

This day, I picked "Toot" and "Honey" to sit with during church. Barbara was probably sitting with "Pappy" and Uncle Tom". We rotated who we sat with while Mama played the organ. We couldn't sit together or we would soon be squirming, pushing, pinching, squabbling, and had to be separated. Grandma had quit coming to church since she was deaf and couldn't hear anymore. They tried all sorts of hearing aids for her, but none really worked. The shrill noise as she tried to adjust it was earsplitting to everyone around her, but she couldn't hear it. So, she stayed at home.

If church was really crowded, or if some of the family was not at church that day, I might sit with Daddy on one of the two back pews. This was where a group of men sat. Usually, Grandpa and Irvin were also there, and sometimes, Uncle Tom, if "Pappy" were not at church for some reason. Mr. McMillan sat there, and several others. The men took up the collection and were ushers. But, when the sermon started, it become the snoring section. The men fell asleep and had a nice nap until Mama started playing the organ and woke them.

To make us behave, when we had to sit with the men, Daddy or Uncle Tom would provide us with Smith Brothers cough drops. Daddy would occupy himself with counting. He used the bulletin to write down the number of people present for Sunday School and for church, counted those there, wrote down the collection amounts. And he kept all of those, for years.

"Toot" was kind of a "cut up". She would show us how to make things out of the tin foil gum wrappers. (Of course, we couldn't chew gum in church, but we could find a wrapper saved in a purse, just for such occasions.) A goblet was the favorite thing to create with the foil.

She also showed us how to do "Here's the church, here's the steeple." And then we would pass that on to the younger kids near us. Something we could do without saying anything.

"Toot's" gold bracelet and compact, and her purse, often entertained me through church services.

Eventually, I learned to read the back of the hymnal. And, after I was grown, they added a Bible at each place along with the Sunday School and Church hymnals. I would read the announcements in the bulletin several times, but there usually were not that many. Also the devotional on the back of the bulletin was sometimes of interest. But too much reading, and I would be asleep like the men in the back.

I wish that I had thought of drawing but it wasn't a good thing to have a pencil or pen out in church. People would expect that you were going to damage the wooden pews or mark in a hymnal. So, I drew with my eyes! I outlined around the stained glass windows, the pews, the box by the door that held the speakers for the organ, the pulpit, the altar, the posts.

One day, I had been doing that, while sitting with the choir, and, after church, a lady came up to compliment us on the music. She told me that my eyes just danced while I was in the choir. I thought that, maybe, I would have to tone down my drawing with my eyes, and try to look at the preacher or my music. But, if I did that, I would surely fall asleep too!

As we grew older, we would sit with our friends from school and Sunday School class, or sit in the choir, where everyone could watch us.

This particular Sunday, as we sang "Little Brown Church in the Wildwood", I tugged on "Toot's dress.

"Toot", is that our church that we are singing about?" I whispered.

"Toot" kept singing and nodded at me to be quiet and sing.

I sang a little and imagined a small church, out in the woods, painted brown.

But, that didn't make sense to me. We were in a brown church, so did someone in our congregation, or maybe a long ago member, write that song about our church? If not, who did? And why? What was the church that they were writing about? What did it look like? Where was it? Was it a church that people went to before this one was built? Or was it just an imaginary church?

Why were we singing about a little church when we were in a big church, Sneed Memorial Methodist Church in Calvert? One that was brown, but brown brick. One that looked like a castle, not a cozy, small country church.

Maybe, if they were writing about our church, the author thought that this was a small church compared to those in large cities.

Were they writing about a tiny church, like the ones that we made with our hands? Or maybe a church made of logs?

So many questions and no answers, I thought. I just kept imagining that church and the woods, and wondered about it every time we sang the song.

The drawing above is a sketch of my memories of the times that I sat with "Toot" and "Honey" at church. I haven't added in other church members as it is kind of small, and I didn't want to cover my primary subjects. The little brown church that I envisioned is floating in the front of us, much the way that I saw it.

Interestingly, the little church I imagined, looks a lot like the one where one set of great-grandparents went in Tennessee. A place that I never saw until I started corresponding with the author of "Mechanicsville". She has some wonderful pictures in her book! One difference is that pictures I have seen of the Short Mountain Methodist Church do not show woods around it.

********

At the top of the page, I have added a link to SHIFT, that will let you hear some of their music. They will be at Texas Scottish Festival next weekend. Hope you enjoy their music and be able to go to Arlington for the big Festival.

*********

Also, under MUSIC in my sidebar, you will see links to Ruthie Foster, who is from this area. And another link to Big Otis, who will be appearing at the Texas Reds Festival June 21. You can hear some of their music on their links. Enjoy!

**********

Please sign my Guest Book at the bottom of the page.

I cannot respond to you through the Guest Book, so please send me your e-mail address if you would like a reply.

***********

Let me know if you see something of interest.

Click on the contact address in my sidebar.

**********

Happy Mother's Day

Hibiscus

5" x 7"

watercolors

Here is a flower for all of you mothers on your special day.

For several years, I had huge red Hibiscus growing in my front flower bed. The blossoms were the size of dinner plates. They died out when cold weather came, but returned even larger each spring.

One summer morning, I went outside, expecting to see the gorgeous flowers. I was shocked to see an empty flower bed! There wasn't even a leaf or stem left, to show that there had ever been flowers there. I guess something ate them during the night. There wasn't even a sign of a hole or a root left.

But, I had a few photos and several paintings that I had done to remember them by.

I don't remember actually celebrating Mothers Day very much when I was growing up in Calvert. It seemed like a sad day, to me.

We went to Sneed Memorial Methodist Church, as we did every Sunday. Mama played the organ and I either sat in the choir or with great aunts in the congregation. People who had mothers who were living wore a flower of one color, while others, whose mothers had died, wore a flower of another color. Sometimes, we got our flowers from "Toot's" rose bushes across the street at her house. Some men would buy corsages for their wives. But, times were hard, as they say, and money was not spent on a lot of extra things like flowers. Although the women in my family seemed to really like flowers and their yards.

I just thought that the men were not very romantic or thoughtful of their wives. Especially when we got to church and saw that some ladies had corsages from the flower shop.

We always had our usual Sunday dinner, at some family member's home, with red roast and red gravy as the main dish. The women had to cook, as they always did, so it didn't seem like anything all that special. We did it almost every Sunday. The women worked, the men rested, ate, read the paper, went out to check the cows while the women cooked, served the meal, and cleaned up. Then there was nap time, and our Sunday ride to the country or to A&M.

The only difference seemed to be in those flowers, and some special music and things about mothers at church.

In later years, when my children were little, I got the usual gifts made by tiny hands at school. But one of my most memorable gifts was that one which seems typical of little boys. I was sleeping late, that particular Mother's Day, tired from a week of teaching. My children got up ahead of me, and I could hear them plotting a surprise. And, boy, was I surprised!

They came in from the back yard, tip toed into my bedroom, and I knew that they had brought me something. I thought it must be a handful of wild flowers or something that they had made.

My son put the suprise into my hand and all I could do was to jump up in bed and scream! I quickly dropped his gift as I screamed.

I saw the disappointed look in his face, and I was sorry that I was such a scaredy-cat girl.

I gave them both a hug, and took the flowers to put in some water.

But, I told them, "Take that frog outside!"

My gift was a handful of wild flowers, and a nice fat green frog!

But, you know, that is probably the Mothers Day that I remember the most.

This year, we are going to have red roast and red gravy. I keep telling my family that dinner is at noon, lunch is in the afternoon, about tea time, and supper is at night. So, when I say Sunday dinner, I mean that to be 12 noon! I guess they are getting citified ways. We've been talking about having red roast and red gravy for Mother's Day dinner. I was disappointed that it wasn't started until noon to be ready for tonight. To me, if you say dinner at night, that means a fancy meal with candles and the good china, silver, and crystal.

So, I guess we will have our Mother's Day Sunday red roast and red gravy tonight. Maybe I should get out the good dishes for that. One grandson has to work, so it will be supper by the tv, I'm sure. They made themselves a sandwich for dinner, and I had some potato chips. Sure doesn't feel very special. (Of course, I tell myself , when I eat a potato chip, "Isn't that a delicious baked potato!" And I feel like I have eaten a nice baked potato. I got used to doing that when I worked and didn't have time to eat during the day. )

We will have a trip to visit at the nursing home, then work on supper, dinner, or whatever you want to call it.

Hope you have a memorable Mother's Day, filled with good memories.

Please sign my Guest Book at the bottom of the page, if you haven't already.

Thanks for reading and sharing. Let me know if you see anything of interest. I do appreciate your comments and your support.

Christmas Angel

Mock Stained Glass Window

Angel

Construction Paper and Tissue Paper

8.75" x 11.50"

(See the slide show below for steps and the post below that for instructions )

The Light Is Upon Us At Christmas

Elaine Winter (Steszewski)

Crystal blue sparkling evening stars

A full moon shining brightly in the heavens lighting our path

Bright candles in the churches all over the land

This must be Christmas!

Church choirs, children's Christmas plays, Christmas Parades

Welcoming the Savior's Birth

Welcome Jesus to the earth!

A gift from God for us forever.

I asked Elaine for permission to use her poem on my blog and she kindly agreed. As I worked to finish the Christmas angel "stained glass window", I thought that Elaine's words would go very well with my art work. Thank you, Elaine!

I thought of so many things when I first saw Elaine's poem on the Polish_Genius genealogy list.

The big Christmas tree that used to be placed in the middle of highway 6 in Calvert, for the community Christmas program, and for the enjoyment of people driving through town. The big cedar tree had to be moved back off the highway, thanks to the highway department rules and increased traffic, further into the intersection on Mitchell street. After that, people didn't come out as much as they did for the event, which included the singing of Christmas carols and a visit from Santa. The wind sometimes blew the tree over.

Nearby Hearne had a similar program, but they had an intersection downtown, off the highway. After their tree was blown over, too, they drilled a hole in the street where the tree could be secured better each year. They haven't had the tree in Calvert for years, and, more recently the buildings were outlined with white lights. That looked really nice. Like a story book town. Unfortunately, they have lost some old buildings. The park is now decorated, unlike in the past. That is another place that is like a storybook.

I thought of the Christmas programs at the Sneed Memorial Methodist Church. The Christmas tree there in the basement. Mama would play the piano, and we had a little program and refreshments. Santa would come, and, when we got older, we tried to guess who he was. It had to be someone in town, but who? The black rubber rainboots were always a giveaway that this was not Santa from the North Pole. His boots would have been fur lined for the snow up north. Mr. Ford would always bring apples or oranges from his grocery store, or, in good years, both, and everyone got one. I think I remember one Christmas that we were given the delicacies of a tangerine. I don't remember that we got presents, but I remember the fruit, and, sometimes, a candy cane, and some nuts. I remember that, one year, especially, Charles' father came to play his guitar and sing for us.

There would be a Christmas program upstairs, too, and Mama played the organ for that. "Miss Immie" (Miss Imogene), would sing and direct the choir and a program, while she was still living. And we would have to sing or recite something, perhaps read from the Bible. One year, when my sister was very small, she was coaxed into wearing a dress and singing "Away In A Manger". She was very tiny, and very shy, but she made it through that song like a little angel.

There were Christmas plays at school and at the City Hall auditorium upstairs, when we dressed in costumes. White gowns, with fabric wings lined with golden ropes of Christmas tinsel and halos fashioned of the same golden material. And, some years, our little group of Calvert girls who were taking ballet and tap dancing lessons at the country club in Hearne, were called on to put on costumes and dance. I loved the glittery sparkle, but I was so bashful that I would cry and have to be coaxed out by my friends.

I remember one Christmas, not so many years ago, when Reba and I talked about going to Midnight Mass at the Catholic Church in Bremond. We couldn't get anyone else to go with us, so we went alone. I went to pick her up and was amazed that she left a large candle burning on her piano. It looked very pretty through the big window. But, I was concerned about the safety of leaving it. She explained that she had taken precautions and it would be safe. The candle was for solidarity and the people in Poland who were going through so much and were fighting for their freedom at that time. Lech Walesa was spoken of a lot in the news. She felt that we should go to the largely Polish community and church to show our support. And, her candle in the window was in response to the request for people to light candles all over the world in support of solidarity. We weren't Catholic, and she wasn't Polish, and I didn't know at that time that my great-grandfather had come from Poland (Prussia at the time that he came over). But, we joined many others that Christmas Eve with the little that we could do for freedom and to worship as we chose. I didn't know how memorable that night would be. I had left my children at my parents' home, where we were all living, after we had our Christmas tree and presents, and everyone had gone to bed, to drive to another town and join in their Christmas Eve service. We did often stay up and watch Midnight Mass on tv, but this was different. The Mass was in Latin and Polish, so we didn't understand a lot of it, but we did enjoy the music, and just being in this different atmosphere. It was special and moving.

Then there was the Christmas , about that same time, when the old hotel, where I had grown up playing around and visiting my cousins and their grandmother there, had been converted to a hotel and dinner theatre. I was still shy, but I went to the produtions to write them up for the newspapers. They convinced me to take part in the Christmas play, "A Christmas Carol". Now, I really dreaded it because I was really bashful, but, the worst part was that I never could remember things I had to memorize. The first few lines would stay with me, but, after that, it all disappeared. But, I did like to dress up and play around with makeup. I went over and over my lines, but only the first part seemed to stick. We had a good time rehearsing, and I thought a lot about the days when we played around the hotel. I thought that I knew every nook and cranny of the place.

There was an opening play before "A Christmas Carol" started, about a Sunday School class Christmas party, and I got to play the part of the teacher. My daughter was one of the Sunday School students. She was scared stiff! But we just tried to ignore the audience and pay attention to what we were supposed to be doing on stage. I had a pretty white satin blouse and a long white satin skirt with quilted velvet squares for that part.

Then, the fun began when the director played Scrooge. He powdered his hair until it was gray and drew wrinkles on his face with an eyebrow pencil. And, when we went out on the stage, I was a little shocked at him wearing long handles! Larry was a hoot!

Everyone dressed up and got into the mood. We got together at rehearsal and made tape recordings of moaning and chains rattling. The hotel owner was Marley, dressed in Victorian finery. I can't remember who the young man was who played the ghost of Christmas to come, but he was frightening to see. Looked like death. He had a hooded robe, and you couldn't see his face. He was tall and just seemed to float.

I was the ghost of Christmas past, and couldn't really afford a costume, so I used a long white dress that I had. Then I used some remnants of blue sheer material, that were long enough to wrap around me and trail. I layered those and made a train and a veil. On top of my head, I wore a piece of blue lace. Then Larry powdered my face to make me look pale.

Larry was so good at his lines, but, then he started improvising on stage. He told me that he was going to , but to just follow him. He led me around that stage and I was so relieved that my lines fit!

It was almost over and I was about to exit off the back of the stage into the lobby. I tried to float gracefully off the stage, and, as I got into the lobby, so relieved to be off stage, someone told me to wait. One of my trains of material had caught on a nail, and I had left it behind, draped across the stage! Someone had to go get it for me, and I about collapsed into a puddle on the floor with embarassment. But, I survived, and so did everyone else. Unfortunately, the dinner theatre didn't, and the hotel was sold.

The Calvert High School band had concerts in the auditorium at Christmas, Easter, spring, and anytime we could. The choir sang for programs and, in music appreciation class, we sang.

I remember cold, clear star filled nights, looking for the Christmas star in the dark blue sky.

There were Christmas parades from the school to downtown, and I watched from Conitz Dry Goods Store, until I was old enough to march in the band with my flute. Merchants hoped that visitors to the parade would come in the stores and shop. Eventually, we would go to the Christmas parade in Hearne, too, and those merchants were also hoping for more trade. The towns were in competiton to see who could have the biggest and best parade. Floats became more numerous and complex and awards were given.

We always hoped for some snow, and nights of going caroling, followed by refreshments and hot chocolate. A picture perfect Christmas. That never happened. Snow and ice seem to only come in January or February in our area, if at all. (I do remember a little snow for Thanksgiving a couple of times.) I think that I remember going caroling one time, and then going in for refreshments at the big Foster home, where "Miss Immie", and her sisters lived.

We didn't have lighted plastic or blow up yard displays. But there were tastefully done lights, and maybe candles or bows, around town in the homes and businesses. Deep, red light glowed from the ruby glass windows at the Presbyterian Church, and from the stained glass windows in the other churches in town. Riding around to look at the Christmas lights was something that had to be done often during the Christmas season. It wasn't a matter of who had the biggest or best display, but to just take it all in and enjoy each decorated home and public place.

We heard the story of Christmas everywhere. One year, my mother bought me a beautiful book with pictures from the story of Jesus' birth. The paintings were all in delicate pastel colors, but the halos and everything that should have been gold, appeared to be painted in gold. I took my book to Sunday School to show my teacher and my class. I remember that Miss Rita told us that Mary was a young girl, about our ages, when Jesus was born. One girl asked if that was true. And everyone was shocked. The bell rang and we went upstairs to church, shaking our heads in wonder. There was more discussion from my book the next Sunday morning. I still have my book, but it is now tattered and worn.

I hope that you are enjoying a wonderful Christmas with family and friends, and that the weather is not too bad where you are. As they say, remember the reason for the season.

Scroll down and check out the Guest Book that I have added at the bottom of my page. You have to go all the way down to the bottom of the page to see it. Add your name, where you live, and a picture, if you would like. It's interesting to hear from everyone. And, if you are an artist, you might like to show a piece of your work in the picture area.

Merry Christmas!

Blue Monday

Blue Monday
Wash Day
8.5" x 11"
pencil

Don't forget to watch "On The Record" tonight (Monday) on Fox news, 9p.m. central time, 10 p.m. eastern time. Greta Van Susteran is having a special on breast cancer and her trip with First Lady Laura Bush to the Middle East where Mrs. Bush was trying to create more awareness about breast cancer.
http://www.gretawire.com/
Read Greta's blog for more information and wonderful pictures and videos she took on the trip. I feel like I was with them!

Scroll down to my last slide show to see the latest watercolor I added about the space station and space shuttle flyover.

I thought that Blue Monday was called that because of the blueing that was used in the wash water with white things to make them look whiter. I didn't know that it might have been because of the sad idea of having to start another long week at work, or the daily grind of housework, or even of a rainy Monday that might make some people feel blue or depressed.
Monday was wash day, all over town, not just at our house. Tuesday, was ironing day; Wednesday was heavy cleaning such as mopping and waxing floors, taking blinds down and washing them in the bathtub, with the afternoon reserved for Bible study groups or some sort of get-together. At night, the Baptists had church.
Thursday was a day for lighter cleaning, sewing, patching, darning and, in the afternoon, the ladies would gather for their sewing circle or, during the War, for the Red Cross Sewing Circle. There they might knit socks or sweaters for service men, or roll bandages.
I can remember meeting on the sidewalk beside the bank and in front of Mack Remberdts Furniture Store with the ladies. I wandered around, while my mother and the ladies rolled bandages, sitting on the wide step in front of the building. When weather was bad, we would either meet inside, courtesy of Jessie Marie, or at Mrs. Wyser's house. I guess we had to stay out of the way of potential customers, or couldn't go in when the owner of the store was around. I'm not sure about that, since I was a kid and more interested in the patterns of the bricks and why they were not level in some places, and the metal in the steps and the decorative panels in front of the building.
Friday was yard work and finishing up the school week with the big football game on Wilkerson Field that night. There was always a big crowd for that, while a lot of the ladies stayed at home and listened to the radio. You could just open the windows and hear the game being announced over a large portion of the town. This was also the day of the big auction at the Auction Barn, with a lot of people going to the cafe there for lunch.
Saturday was the big downtown business day. Maybe some more yard work. Movies and the drugstore for the kids. A trip to the Katy Hamman Stricker Library in the morning, along with radio programs beginning with "Buster Brown", then "Jack Armstrong", "Sky King" and others, until time to walk or ride the bike to the library. Choir practice, and, for my mother, organ practice, was on Saturday afternoon. This was also the day to wash and dry hair. Saturday night was radio while baths were taken and Sunday dinner was started. Daddy always had to work late, as the stores were open until people quit buying, getting ready for church, and the next week.
Sunday morning was Sunday School and Church. For our family, it was Sneed Memorial Methodist Church. The family gathered at one home for Sunday dinner, depending on who wanted to be the host that week. Sometimes, especially if there was illness in the family among the women who had to do all the work, we would go to the White Hotel or the Calvert Hotel for a big family style Sunday dinner in the large dining rooms.
After dinner, and a nap, the men went out to check cattle in their pastures, then we all went for a ride. Then there was supper, often of Red Roast and Red Gravy sandwiches on toast, and we could eat a stack of those! Sure were good. We would eat until we were about to pop, and still wanted more! Then there were Sunday night radio programs. I liked to go over to Edie's house and listen to her big floor model radio in the living room. We could sprawl on the floor and get lost in the happenings on the programs.
Then it was back to Monday, and washing all those clothes we had worn all week!
In my drawing above, I have shown the clothesline in our back yard, which began at the corner of the garage, and stretched across part of the yard to where my dad built a tin roofed shed. Behind the clothesline, you can see the fence which he used to enclose the horse pen, for our horse, Flicka. The trees behind the horse pen separated our yard from the next yard, where you can see a bit of the roof sticking up of the wooden house behind us. The shaded area shows Mud Creek Mountains. Not really mountains, but hills that ran along Mud Creek south of town, separating us from the next town 7 miles away. We could see train lights coming over that hill into town, and, during War years, we could see the search lights during air raids. They were coming from the next town which we thought might be a target due to oil storage tanks and rail lines, as well as the POW camp.
My mother was dressed in her dress, with fairly nice shoes on, while she hung out clothes. Bertie, our helper, wore boots, that hung open at the top, cotton stockings, loose skirt and blouse, a jacket with sleeves, and a sunbonnet. Sometimes, she wore a scarf wrapped around her head. And, of course, she had her dip of snuff in her lip. In the picture, she is mashing the clothes with a broom handle. My sister and I liked to play in the billowing sheets, so I have shown her crouched on the inside of a sheet, with me pushing through the sheet from the outside. She is following Poochie, our dog, who also liked to play wherever we were playing.
Clothes are boiling in an iron wash pot over a fire, fairly far from the house. There are buckets for carrying water from the house to the wash pot. A rub board and a bar of lye soap are on the ground. There is also a box of detergent used in washing the clothes. (One concession to modern times. But, they still thought that clothes were not clean unless you used some lye soap too.)
The heavy pot would have to be emptied and refilled as the water became too dirty, and between the soap and rinse steps.
Prior to this stage of wash day, Bertie and my mother spent time in the kitchen, by the back door, sorting clothes, then washing them in the kitchen sink, with a rub board. Dainty things, like ladies unmentionables, would be first, and those things were hung in the bathroom on the shower rod, where the neighbors' eyes couldn't see them. Those might be done in the bathroom sink as needed, rather than waiting until Monday. Delicate scarves and blouses were next. Heavier, and more soiled things came later. A little blueing was added to the water of white things to make them sparkling white. Starch was boiled on the stove and added to shirts, pinafores, some blouses, tablecloths and napkins, and anything that had to hold its shape and look smooth. Clorox was added to white things that needed bleaching.
The wet wash had to be hung on the clothesline to dry, with wooden clothespins that remained on the line, ready for next week's wash. Rich people might have a canvas bag to keep their clothespins in, and take those into the house after the wash was dry. Our's stayed in place, and the same pieces could be hung there the next week. Sometimes they would break off, which meant doubling up on the pins for the next piece of laundry. It was, for some reason, exciting when a new package of clothes pins would be brought home and placed on the line. The kids wanted to be the ones to put the pins on the line! Simple pleasures. I guess it was tactile and had to do with the feel of the spring and the new wood.
It was a big setback if one of the posts holding the clothesline would break or fall over, and all the clothes fell in the dirt and grass and had to be rewashed. Daddy liked to use wooden posts, or even a plank to prop up the line if we had something heavy like quilts drying. After I was grown, he had someone make some metal posts, which were much sturdier and long lasting. But, I could tell that he didn't really like giving up those wood posts. Mama was happy to get any convenience.
It was heavy work, with a lot of carrying from the house to the back of our yard, and, sometimes it didn't all get done in one day. But, most of the time it did, and things were ready to do all the ironing the next day.
Bertie didn't help us full time. Daddy didn't make that much money, and he was very conservative with his money, anyway. But, on Monday and Tuesday, and, sometimes other days, he would get Bertie to come help out. Some of the homes had regular help, and some, just occasionally.
Bertie was like another one of my mothers, I thought. I always asked her, on wash day especially, when we would play outside, if she would bring one of her children to come play with me. She would just laugh, and I would continue to beg. I don't think she ever did bring one of her children to play while she worked.
Daddy finally bought Mama a front loading washing machine when I was in high school. He put it on the concrete slab outside the back door, where he planned to build another room, a den, onto the house, eventually. Bit by bit. He ran the hose out in the yard to a pear tree, which was also our pet cemetery. During times of drought, he would move the hose around to water some of the trees in the back yard. Mama argued that the hot water was going to kill her trees, but I guess the soap made the trees flourish. That tree had some wonderful pears!
Work was heavy, meals had to be ready on time, children had to be cared for, social and community obligations had to be met. It all had to be done daily, on a schedule, throughout town. The fire whislte blew at noon and at 6 in the evening, so everyone knew to go eat dinner or supper. You could tell the time by the trains that went through town, every 15 minutes.
My great aunt, across the street, had her laundry picked up on her front porch by a laundry and cleaners who came to town each week. She worked hard, and sometimes helped at her husband's store, and her husband wanted her to have that luxury of not having to wash in the back yard. That was fun to play around in the sheets as she prepared them to be wrapped up in one big sheet, and set, like a big bag with ears, on her front porch.
I'm so glad that we have washers and dryers in our homes, now! I don't think I could make it even through one load of clothes like my mother did every week! I have washed clothes in the bathtub and the sink, in a portable washing machine, and lugged things back and forth to the laundromat. I even did the rub board in the sink at my mother's house when my son was small. I thought it was just a step up from a rock in the river!
Hope your laundry is done, and that this is not a Blue Monday for you! My laundry is still going, but, at least, I can do other things while the machine does the hard work!

Greta Van Susteran asked those of us who read her blog and her viewers to spread the word about her special on breast cancer tonight. So, I'm inviting you! Hope you get to watch. If not on tv, maybe you can find something about it online. There was a tv program about breast cancer on Channel 13 out of Houston last week. They had a lot about Baylor Hospital in Houston on that program. That might be online, too.
One question in the blog was whether or not people thought that mamograms should be free. That raised the question about what would happen if something was found and treatment needed. Who would pay for that? And what about other illnesses and diseases? A whole flood of thoughts and questions. Of course, I can't help but wonder about the issues that I struggle with, like treatment for Macular Degeneration, cataracts, knee replacement, medication, visits to doctors, and the healthcare that we all need.
Look at Creative Journey blog, when you get a chance. I like her idea of a weekly challenge, not to mention the creative projects and art work that she is showing. Very interesting. Check it out when you get a chance.
Also, look at Nancy Standlee's blog. She has some very appealing work and ideas, too. You can find a link to her in the sidebar of my blog.
Virginia Vaughan is another busy artist, with some very nice work. Be sure to check out her blog, too. She is painting, "the last", as she winds up her Last Year on the Farm.
Let me know if you see something that appeals to you. Thanks for your comments and your support, and for sharing this with others.