Another Way for week of June 23, 2023
25 Things that Bring Me Joy
What brings you joy? Here is my list, but it could go on for many more pages. I hope it inspires your own thoughts, reflections, and pleasures.
- I love crawling into bed with a good book: nice to get cozy under the blankets, or in summer, a sheet and one thinner soft cover. It puts me to sleep, which is a good thing, which means I can’t or don’t read many mysteries, because they tend to keep me awake longer. They say that going to bed at a somewhat regular time is especially good for us older folks.
- I love snuggling babies, watching them look around at the world, and maybe if you’re lucky, they crack a smile at you.
- I love being retired and love having my husband retired too. Our lives are different now.
- Traveling. Anywhere, including to visit grandchildren! It is one of the joys of retiring when you don’t have to count vacation days and worry about running out of them.
- I love singing hymns with a congregation—so often moved to tears of deep connection. I can no longer sing as I once did but with the congregation as a choir, it helps!
- Flowers. All kinds, all scents. The delicacy and beauty make me happy.
- Watching the sun come up over our rolling seven-acre hayfield. Every morning, ever new, even when you can’t see the sun, it is joy.
- A freshly made bed. Wrinkles smoothed out.
- A freshly made apple pie with plenty of cinnamon. Best when made with Stayman apples from our Shenandoah Valley.
- The first summer meal of corn on the cob, garden tomatoes, green peppers, meat.
- A small bowl of ice cream for dessert, an hour or so after supper.
- Reading books to my grandchildren such as the rhythmical “Drummer Hoff,” and singing “Froggy Went a Courtin’” as they drift off to sleep.
- A hug you didn’t ask for from a child.
- A tender and surprising kiss.
- Hearing from readers of this column, now in papers since 1987.
- A young groom being overcome with emotion as his bride walks down a long, outdoor aisle.
- An elderly widow being overcome with emotion as she mourns the loss of her longtime love. I take joy in knowing how much they loved each other.
- A freshly vacuumed rug.
- A long front porch with a swing on the end. My husband did not make the swing but he made sure, as workers built our house and finished the porch, that the swing was attached to the sturdiest and safest rafter with heavy duty hooks. We worked together putting the hooks in which took hours one night. And now, grandkids enjoy the ups and downs of that sturdy solid swing.
- When my Dad was able to get the hay safely in the barn before a rain came. As he pulled the barn door shut, his heart and face were flooded with happiness.
- How Dad would frequently pause behind Mom’s chair thanking her for the meal and landing a sweet kiss on her cheek as he left the supper table to go watch Walter Cronkite.
- A summer reunion with siblings or cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents and great grandparents.
- Bringing joy to other people whether with a surprise visit, a phone call, a card in the mail.
- Gathering with a smaller group of people from church who know and share each other’s ups and downs and losses and joys.
- This joy list reminds me of a wonderful old hymn by Adelaide Proctor: “I thank Thee, who hast made the earth so bright, so full of splendor and of joy, beauty, and light. So many glorious things are here, noble and right.”
What are your joys?
What is your number one?
I first called this “Simple Things that Bring Me Joy” but then I realized that some of these things are not so simple. What title would you give it?
Comment here or send to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com. (I may do a follow-up column with your picks.)
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for June 16, 2023
The Shopping Trip that Almost Stopped a Wedding
Mother started dating because her older sister Florence told her it was time—at age 16. Mother did have a crush in high school over a boy who “wasn’t even cute,” Mom wrote in a journal my sister Linda “Pert” gave her (so we’d have more stories sharing her thoughts and experiences).
Mom said she enjoyed going to gatherings where young people would give speeches or skits. One goal was to “meet new cute guys.” Emphasis on cute. Other typical teen dates usually included going to church, an amusement park, miniature golfing, or church fellowships. She added, “Of course there was a war going on then and gas was rationed,” which limited activities. A lot of guys were “away in service, either army or Civilian Public Service.”
Dad and Mom starting exchanging letters when he served at a mental hospital in Michigan, and Mom lived in northern Indiana. Mother was actually out with another guy when Dad first came to visit Mom, and her father and dog got acquainted with my Daddy first—always a good move! Mom recalled, “I was quite interested because he owned a farm already (ha!) and was good looking too!”
Mother’s mother, Ruth, said Daddy was too old for mom—about seven years older. He was also shorter than mom. “Plus, he had size eight shoes while I wore 10’s!”
Mother began working on transforming his hair cut which had been parted in the middle, a look she didn’t care for. She said Dad was “so easy to talk to and lots of fun.” (Mom added, again, that “he was good looking,” lest we forget.) Mom also “felt so comfortable with him.”
As they learned to know each other’s families, Dad’s nieces were about Mom’s age, and they were “so friendly at our first meeting. Especially Audrey Ann and Gloria.”
They dated for about three years and the courtship began in earnest when World War 2 was over. Mom wrote, “I prayed a lot. It took me several years to know I had found ‘the one,’” she said, adding, “Lord, if I am to marry this guy, make me fall in love with him!”
When Dad proposed to Mom in his car, she answered, “Maybe.” After some lengthy pondering because of their age difference, she finally said yes.
As the wedding approached, they went shopping in Fort Wayne, Ind., an hour away, looking for a suit for Dad. Dad soon found a suit he liked and fit, but mother thought it would be good to look in a few other stores. Shopping was one of mom’s favorite activities while Dad was more of a “look, fit, buy, get out” guy. Daddy was so frustrated over that shopping trip that they almost broke up. “It was sad to have him so mad at me. He didn’t even kiss me goodbye that day,” Mom recalled.
But they got married at Olive Mennonite Church on January 1, 1946, with Mom dressed in a white satin dress she had made herself, and carried a satin covered Bible. They had no wedding rings. Only immediate family members were invited—parents and siblings. Their marriage went for 60 wonderful years until Dad died in 2006.
Her fondest memory of the wedding was that the minister said they dared kiss at the end of the ceremony if “we didn’t hang on too long.” Mom was so happy to have a church wedding and a honeymoon in Florida, a longtime dream for Mom. The trip instilled in them both a love for travel—a yen that all of us children have. The match was arranged in heaven and we know that’s where their spirits are today. Thanks, Dad, for all you gave us and meant to us.
Our hearts go out to all children who don’t know or are not able to be with their fathers, and I pray for father figures for those kids. My heart warms as I observe my sons-in-law taking such active roles in raising their little ones. Happy belated Father’s Day!
***
Do you know your parents’ love story?
What do you do to make up after a disagreement?
***
Fellow blogger Marian Beaman shares her love story in her new memoir, My Checkered Life: A Marriage Memoir. You may want to check it out!
Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of June 9, 2023
Blind Date and Life Ever After
What does it take to marry someone who is totally blind or with some other challenge?
Ferne Bowman is a woman I have only recently learned to know a bit, even though her piano-tuning husband, Dan, came into our home and tuned our piano for many years. I always enjoyed fascinating conversations with Dan as I drove him to his next piano tuning job.
The Bowman team—and long marriage of over 50 years—is nothing short of remarkable. I have just finished reading Ferne’s memoir, Song of the Redwing Blackbird: An Amish Mennonite Girl Grows Up. Earlier I read and reviewed Dan’s memoir in my column, From Sight to Insight: A Mennonite Farm Boy’s Adventures Through Blindness to Living and Seeing Without Vision. Today I’ll focus on Ferne’s story.
I truly enjoyed reading Ferne’s book as she began each chapter—many of them brief—with a story or adventure or encounter from her childhood and long years of living. She writes very well and gives a good example of how to write an entertaining memoir. She also fills the book with photos illustrating many stories or memories. Both of these things (the stories and the photos) make for easy reading.
Ferne grew up “Amish Mennonite” (sometimes known as “Beachy Amish,” a particular order of Amish faith), and gradually decided to leave the strictness of some practices in that group to a more modern Mennonite group. Today Ferne and Dan are members of a local church in Mennonite Church USA. But Ferne highly values the home in which she grew up even though tragedy and difficulty touched her family early on. I won’t reveal a spoiler here.
One of the rules in her early faith family was that most children ceased formal education after eighth grade, or they were perhaps allowed to attend two years of high school. Families and ministers said that was “enough education” and spurned high school diplomas. Youth rarely went to college unless they wanted to become a teacher.
So it was that Ferne met Dan as a freshman at Eastern Mennonite College in her later twenties, working on a teaching degree. Everyone knew “the blind guy” on campus. And we all know people who have had to live with difficult physical challenges that happen after they have gotten married. But in Ferne and Dan’s case, Ferne knew what she was going to deal with. I should add that Dan is intelligent, outgoing, hardworking, and an excellent conversationalist who is eager to adapt to new technologies that help him cope and communicate.
In the book, she tells of first meeting Dan at the same table in the dining hall at college where the students were assigned tables for a half week at a time, usually three girls and three boys to a table. She doesn’t remember much about the week where Dan was also sitting at her table, but he keenly remembers that Ferne laughed “at one of his smart comments,” which attracted Dan’s attention.
Dan ended up asking her for a date to the Spring Banquet. Most folks are nervous on a first date but Ferne needed to serve as a guide as they walked to the banquet/dining hall. He took her arm, but she accidentally slammed him into a door post by not allowing enough room for him to pass through. The evening ended on a very good note, however, playing some games involving trivia where Ferne was quite impressed with Dan’s “vast knowledge on every subject.”
And that was the beginning of a long sweet courtship and finally marriage and raising their eventual family of three daughters. Ferne says, “To me, he is not a blind man: he’s Dan.” He just happens to never have seen his wife’s face nor the faces of their daughters and grandchildren. But that didn’t matter. Ferne and Dan have carved out a meaningful and fairly ordinary family life which Ferne describes in wonderful detail in her book.
***
Tell us about an extraordinary woman, man, child that you know or have met! We’d love to hear.
***
Ferne Bowman’s book is available from her home in Harrisonburg, VA 22802. Please contact her by email: fernelappbow@verizon.net The book is $10.00 plus $1 postage. Or write to me at the address below for Ferne’s mailing address.
Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of June 2, 2023
Personal: What Do You Cherish?
One writing “prompt” I stumbled across recently was “What personal belongings do you hold most dear?” Here are some of my top ones:
Photos. I guess at the tippy top of my list would be photos, especially of family and including those that go way back. I have one old old album that my Aunt Susie started and passed down to her only daughter. At some point her daughter, who was single and didn’t have any children, passed it on to my mother because she was the last living aunt/uncle relative in the family. It included some ancient photos of my Dad and other family members, but also many many photos of people that I have no clue about. Not sure what will happen to it after I’m gone and it is not my “most dear” album, but somehow I love it.
Recipe Box. I have a 50-year-old recipe box that I think I started when I was in college and living with a houseful of roommates (13) so I was actually able to do real cooking that year, and my senior year. It is very worn and old looking, but at least one of my daughters informed me it meant a lot to her.
Yearbooks. I have a love-hate affair with old yearbooks, partly because they are big and take up a lot of room. But when it comes to settling arguments about who was in what class, who a certain teacher was, or to introduce your children and grandchildren to some of your best friends, those books come in handy.
Tools. My husband was happy to “inherit” a few of Dad’s older tools that were in a tray in Mom’s closet.
Mom’s Stuff. There are too many mementos and dishes and even pans to name here and I’ve already talked about Mom’s Singer sewing machine and perhaps other stuff. But the sweater-jacket I picked up after her passing, that came in so handy for Mom and then me, is now lost. My fault. So it goes.
Books. My shelf has many books by many other authors, but the books I’ve written, I hope get passed down to my children and theirs. Because they’re the story of my life, and my husband’s, and our children too.
Children’s Books. I have enjoyed “kiddy lit” from way back and once our own children were born, I began to savor and treasure certain books more than others. Now I love sharing favorite books with our grandchildren. Who will get what?
Trophies and Certificates. Meh—not so much. They meant something at the time but I gladly will let my daughters dispose of them when the time comes.
Stuff from Aunts and Uncles. In the category of “oh dear what should I do with such and such…” I include a drawer of items passed down to us from Stuart’s aunts. They are special to me because I don’t really have anything from Stuart’s mother (who died before we were married, I never knew her, as I wrote a couple weeks ago). At some point I will probably donate the nail files and unknown souvenirs from someone’s travels, but a precious little purse crocheted by Estella (and used by several nieces and great nieces for fancy occasions like proms) will now be earmarked for my first (and at this point) only granddaughter.
Bibles. Finally, many of us have Bibles that are indeed precious. At last count, my husband and I have about nine Bibles between us. My favorite? Probably the one my parents gave me upon graduation from high school with my name engraved. I have already donated three or four copies of other Bibles in different versions, thinking someone else should surely get use out of them.
What personal belongings do you hold most dear?
What things rise to the top for you?
Have you gotten rid of things you now wish you hadn’t?
Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Subscribe to continue reading
Subscribe to get access to the rest of this post and other subscriber-only content.
Another Way for week of May 19, 2023
Let the Children Come
The little tyke (somewhere between 15-18 months) was wiggling like most kids do at that age if they’re held captive in a parent’s arm. His mother was trying desperately to contain his energy.
The occasion was the little fellow’s baptism in a large church that practices infant baptism (along with baptism at any age—but starting with babies). While many parents choose an early baptism for the very reason of wanting to avoid a wiggling, or worse—crying—child, these parents, for whatever reason, had brought their son for the sacrament of baptism when he was a bit older. Fidgety older.
In this particular service, other young children of the church were invited forward to be able to see the baptism easier, and were even encouraged to come up to the glass bowl of water and touch the water. The pastor said they could put some water on their heads if they wished, in order to remember and learn about the sacrament of baptism—especially since they likely had personally experienced it also at an early age. Before they could remember much!
The sacrament of baptism, if you don’t know or recall, is based on Jesus’ own baptism in the Jordan River (between current day Lebanon and Syria). This church and many others practice baptism at an early age, declaring children to be beloved children of God. In baptism, God claims us as treasured children and members of Christ’s body, the church. The church in turn promises to help raise the children of the church by giving of their time teaching, playing with, and mentoring children as they grow.
That’s the background, but what happened on this recent Sunday morning was too good not to share (I watched it on a video recording). The little tyke continued his squirming, even trying to push on his Daddy, who helped hold and keep him confined as the pastor finished the longish statements the church’s guidebook uses for this ceremony. Finally, the pastor got down to the ritual of putting some of the water on the child’s head three times, using the words “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Then, Little Tyke reached out and put his own hand in the water and touched the top of his hair, which I had never seen happen before. The congregation erupted in spontaneous applause and probably a bit of laughter and smiles. I don’t know that congregations typically clap after a baptism, but maybe some do. At any rate, it touched my heart and made me remember our daughters’ own baptisms.
I grew up in the Mennonite church, which typically does not practice infant baptism. Early Mennonites were known as “Anabaptists” (not “anti” baptism, but practicing “re-baptism” in the 1500’s.) The “state church” in that era had a rule of infant baptism for all. Those adults who held out in favor of adult baptism were harshly punished, sometimes including gruesome deaths as martyrs.
So my father, as a Mennonite deacon, couldn’t bring himself to support infant baptism of any kind. I never pushed him to drive 600 miles for the ceremony at our Presbyterian congregation. But when our third daughter arrived, Mom decided to take the train to Virginia so she could finally see one of her granddaughters baptized as a baby.
My own thoughts on the matter have widened to include baptism at any age, knowing that babies grow up to be teenagers and young adults. At that point they are better suited to make their own personal decision to follow Jesus and join or not join the church, and take a “confirmation or catechism class” that is offered to all.
The whole experience of watching that child with his parents and the other children around the pastor made me think of the Bible passage where Jesus himself said, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 19:14).
***
Do you remember your baptism?
Or were you or your children also “little tykes” or infants when baptized?
How and where does your church do baptisms?
I’d love your comments here, or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of May 12, 2023
Memories of Mother’s Day
This week was a special Mother’s Day for me for many reasons. You may remember my exuberance when a little girl joined our family back in February. I have heard from numerous readers who enjoyed hearing about the birth of our first granddaughter. Some have asked for updates. She is growing, exploring her world, holding her head up nicely, babbling to her mother and father, and growing out of onesies as fast as you can put them on. Soon, perhaps she’ll be chowing down corn like her mother loved, seen in the photo below:
This little granddaughter joins our three daughters as the females in the family. If you count me, it maybe begins to even out the gender count: five females to nine males.
I found a Mother’s Day card for our youngest daughter who had the baby in February. This one truly moved me. I don’t think greeting cards are copyrighted, so I’ll just share a few lines here:
“… when a daughter becomes a mother, a special dream of your own comes true. … it feels like life has come full circle in all the most beautiful ways, making even more dreams come true.”
On another note, this was also the second Mother’s Day after my siblings and I lost our mother. We all remember the year before her death when we celebrated with Mom at her favorite Amish restaurant in northern Indiana, Das Dutchman Essenhaus. My brother and sister-in-law from Florida had also driven up for the occasion, making it truly special, because he is the only male in our sibling group of three sisters. Mom loved that restaurant and was over-the-moon-happy to have Terry and Deb there. What I wouldn’t give now to take her there with all of the grandchildren and great great grands and step-grands and …. We lose count.
Being a mom is a blessing but not always easy. We are often strong in ways other than muscles. I think of my mom and the trials she went through, that we won’t go into here. At the end of life, she only remembered or spoke of the blessings that we were to her—not the difficulties. She often told people how wonderful her children were.
I’m now working on a new book with some memories from Mom’s childhood. Some were good memories, some not so good, such as the time her mother stuffed socks in her mouth to get Mom to stop jabbering.
My sister had given her some journals with prompts for Mom to respond to and write about various aspects of her life, which I’m using for this family memoir (which will include Dad too).
Mom (named Bertha) recalled that her mother was very nice to them when they were sick. “I could have toast (browned in a skillet) and I could play with forbidden things if I was in bed with flu.” Mom grew up with that fond memory and passed it on to us by also making special things—toasting bread in a skillet rather than the toaster which somehow had an especially good taste when recovering from flu.
Mom also let us play with trinkets—such as a collection of high heeled miniature shoes that she always bought when we traveled (if she could find the little shoes in souvenir shops). Each of us as daughters and granddaughters now have a glass shoe or two from her collection. She herself was unable to wear spiky high heeled shoes, because her size 10 feet were “so hard to shop for.” In her older years we took her shoe shopping, which was quite an ordeal finding shoes that fit and that she liked.
Another sweet memory she shared of her mother was that Grandma Ruth would “surround us with her arms when it stormed hard.” Like Maria in The Sound of Music!
I hope you have good memories of Mother’s Day weekend. It if is a painful time instead, may you feel God’s comforting arms around you.
***
Memories or thoughts? Trinkets you love?
Write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of May 4, 2023
Downsizing A Loved One’s Belongings
The older I get, the harder it is mentally for me to help clear out a home, apartment, or a room at a retirement facility. As persons even older than me (generally) have to move to a place for nursing care or because they can no longer keep up their home, the spiral from there is often sad.
I’ve done that now probably 10-12 times in the last 20 years for my husband’s relatives, a father-in-law, my own parents, and various friends and acquaintances from church. Recently we helped a fellow church member move to a nursing facility. He had been at an assisted living place. Before that a lovely and large apartment. I know he has treasured so many objects and especially books but he generously gave away dozens of his items on a church table and to other friends.
That’s life, as my special friend Martha used to tell me.
So how do you tackle the enormous (sometimes) challenge and move forward with what has to be done? Experts suggest starting slow, if possible, going through beloved items gently, and taking a first pass through and later more passes to gradually pare down the belongings.
Likely you first make sure family members or close friends have opportunities to pick out and receive items. Sometimes several family members have their eyes on a specific treasure that is precious to all. I’m grateful my mother and father wrote down many of these special objects indicating who was to receive what. Other times, no one wants or is able to take the rocking chair that helps us remember Grandma, but honestly, do I have room in my already full house?
Sometimes yard, garage, or even estate auctions, depending on what’s practical, are the way to go and the whole community thus shares in the distribution of items that still have a useful life.
When my Mom and Dad first moved to a retirement home/facility, they held an auction which took days if not weeks to prepare for. Auctioneers have a good feel for what might bring a decent price and what things are best to put together in boxes—with persons who bid on such boxes taking the good with the not-so-good.
Eventually we came to the stage where we made generous use of places that accept donations of clothing, household appliances, furniture and so on. Of course those organizations—that typically use the funds accrued from sale of such for charitable causes—help to ease the pain of parting with beloved items.
This should not be interpreted as unloving or cold hearted. We come into this world with nothing and leave, essentially, with nothing and while I have many treasured dishes and framed photos and artwork that I love, I know that at some point, someone else will make decisions about what to keep, throw, or donate of our possessions. Maybe, if you’re the one making those decisions, you can focus on keeping memories, not items.
And then there’s miscellaneous paperwork, records, photos, old letters. What if you plan and want to do a family history book of some kind? The letters and records can be of vital help. I am working on such a book now.
Blessed be the mothers and fathers who free their offspring of guilt or worry by cleaning out and disposing of some of their belongings—ahead of their last years or months.
I have been doing some of that for the past couple years of our own stuff, but I still have mountains of stuff that will need to be processed at some point. Sometimes renting a huge dumpster is the only solution to disposing of items that have deteriorated, rotted, become soiled or damaged and unusable. Then it is good to remember the old hymn, “This world is not my home, I’m just a-passing through; my treasures are laid up, somewhere beyond the blue” (words attributed to A.J. Carter).
***
What treasures have you inherited or received from friends and family?
Ideas to help downsizing or cleaning out belongings? What have you learned? What do you regret?
Are yard sales worth the work?
Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of April 28, 2023
Estella – A Star
My would-have-been mother-in-law was a truly beautiful woman with a lovely smile and spirit. I know her only in photos but I heard a recent story about Estella that I want to share here.
During World War 2, before she got married, Estella had a summer job as a nanny for two small girls working in the home of a diplomat in Washington, D.C. During the summer they vacationed in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts where many other elites of Washington enjoyed summer vacations.
The girls adored Estella apparently, which my husband’s family found out many years later through an unusual phone call. My brother-in-law was at home when no one else was—others hadn’t gotten off work yet or were out doing errands. When Nolan answered the phone, the caller asked if a woman named Estella Hottinger Davis lived there.
Nolan paused. Estella had died April 14, 1973 at the very young age of 56. He told the caller of the situation and then the caller paused. The woman then said that Estella had been her and her sister’s nanny during the war and they had grown so attached to Estella—even more so than to their mother apparently—that they wanted to get in touch with Estella or her family. Their mother had forbidden them to get in touch with Estella but the mother had died recently and they decided to hire a private detective to try and track Estella down.
Nolan remembers chatting a bit more with the daughter who called but eventually the phone call came to a close.
That story tells me much about the personality and spirit of the mother-in-law I didn’t have. My husband Stuart and his brothers mourned their loss for many years. Stuart would break down from time to time if I asked a lot of questions about his mother, which told me how much he loved her and regretted some of the things he had done as a teenager. I regretted that I never knew her.
Estella suffered from severe rheumatoid arthritis. After she had her first two sons and had experienced less pain and disability while she had been pregnant with her second son, Nolan, a doctor told her to go ahead and try to have another baby because it could help her again from the pain of that type of arthritis. And so my husband Stuart was born. Unfortunately, the pains returned and the family dealt with the situation the best they could. She persevered. Estella was especially saddened when she could no longer go their Lutheran church with the family, which was very important to her.
Eventually Estella died from bleeding ulcers because of all the aspirin, Darvon, and cortisone she had to take just to get through the day. This was long before other modern pain relievers were created.
Estella had four sisters who were all close and who assisted Estella’s family through many years of pain and disability. The sisters would take turns visiting Estella, helping cook, clean, and do summer canning from the family’s bountiful and well-cared for garden. The older boys soon learned to be excellent cooks themselves. My father-in-law Hershel’s garden was so well known in Bridgewater where the family lived that the local newspaper featured him several times working his garden.
We gave our youngest daughter the middle name of Estella which she is very proud to have. The name in Latin means “Star.” My daughters and I have all been touched by the strength and faith of this grandma and mother-in-law we were never privileged to know personally. I’m a little surprised, but shouldn’t be, to find myself wiping tears away even now. I hope to meet her someday.
***
Comments? Or your own story? Something you found out only recently? We’d love to hear!
Share here or write to me privately at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication
Another Way for week of April 21, 2023
The World of Paid Work
Sometimes I can barely believe that after having a paid job for over 43 years, I now get to be my own boss. I still do some freelance writing (such as this column) and receive remuneration for the writing, but other than that, we no longer work the 9-5, or in my case, the 8-4 and in my husband’s case, the 5 a.m. till whenever. He had many six-day weeks and some seven-day weeks.
I had a reduced work week for most of my years as we were raising our family, and I liked that so much I never went back to a 40-hour week. I worked half time until our daughters were all in school, and then I worked 24-32 hours. Even after they left home, I always took off Friday afternoons (officially that was a 36-hour week for my main employer) which was a nice respite to do errands or extra cleaning if we were having guests. I also worked my “second job” publishing a quarterly magazine called “Valley Living” with a team of three other part-time workers.
For many of us, our working hours make up a full third of our lives, or more. While I desperately wish everyone could have jobs they enjoy, unfortunately there are many jobs that are dirty, involve working with butchered animals, working outside in inclement weather, working with dangerous materials, women and men working all night at a hospital—hard, difficult shifts.
Centuries ago, most work was centered around the home: cottage industry. Not always fun or safe work either, but at least children could be cared for by their parents and children would learn from little up the jobs that they could do to help. As a farm girl, I was lucky to have a Mom who worked at home and on the farm while we were all growing up. Daddy bore the brunt of the farm work and he soon nabbed the second daughter born as a ready helper: she loved to escape to the barn (and pet and play with the kittens or cats) rather than get stuck dusting the living room.
We all helped inside and outside on the farm and Dad couldn’t have been happier when their fourth baby was a boy! That little boy not only grew up working hard on the farm but became a fine fix-it guy and later a heavy-duty mechanic for Caterpillar when Dad sold off his farm in north Florida. My most unusual job was helping one summer at the mobile home factory Dad and three others began in the 70s, drawing variations on blueprints for their standard mobile homes.
It was my farm background that helped me be open to marrying a factory worker who, (at the time I met him) wore a hairnet at work as required at the various poultry plants that dot our valley in Virginia. Some of my friends from college quietly wondered why I was dating a “local yokel.” That hurt him and me a little, but mostly we haven’t looked back and he always encouraged his daughters to get a good education so they wouldn’t have to do the kinds of work he did. He needed to retire early (62) because by that time, his legs, feet, and ankles were wearing out. Thankfully he was always inclined to mostly sock away his raises into a retirement account, to help us plan for a comfortable retirement.
I always remember the Bible school verse we learned in the second book of Thessalonians: “Work with your own hands.” The longer part of that passage, verses 11-12 is even more meaningful: “Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you,so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody.”
Now it is time for me to get to my other work here at home! Have a good day or weekend!
Have you graduated from the world of a paid job?
Share your work experiences? Hobbies? Volunteer jobs?
Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Sorry this is so belated! It appeared in papers earlier. We were happily traveling to spend time with grandkids, a sister and her family, and more. The sweet side of retirement.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
findingharmonyblog 