"And Things That Go Bump In The Night"......

 Halloween - an appropriate time to be thinking of ghosts and goblins and this old Scottish Prayer:
"From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!"
Appropriate also to post a picture of my Scottish grandmother, Bessie Duncan Lynam. Here she is pictured between myself on the left and my sister, Betty, on the right. Grandma is holding our neighbor's grandson, Bruce Firkins.
I have very strong memories of my fear for the terrors of the night when I was the young girl in this picture. There were two rooms on the second floor of our house - one to the left at the top of the stairs, the other to the right. There was a area between the rooms that we used as a closet. There was no door - just a curtain strung on a wire to close it off somewhat. I can remember lying in bed after lights out, looking out into the hallway and being absolutely certain I could see a tiger coming out from behind the curtain.
It didn't matter how many times Mom or Grandma told me there was no tiger and showed me the next day there was nothing behind the curtain except clothes hung from the rod, every night I would be terrified when I saw the tiger again.

Of course I finally outgrew my fears. But being able to remember them helped me try to help my little boy, Douglas, when he began having night terrors. He was about three years old when we moved to the Odell Place west of Brooks. The house was a typical two-story, Midwestern four-square with a one-story kitchen and bath addition.
We used the 'parlor' as our bedroom and had Doug's bedroom in the only downstairs bedroom. From the placement of his bed he could look through the opening at the bottom of the stairwell between the bedroom and the dining room and on into the bathroom. I don't know if he saw monsters before he went to sleep, but I began being awakened every night by his screams. He was having the same nightmare every night at the same time. I would go into his room to comfort him. He was looking out into the dining room with fear in his eyes, "There's a bear! The bear is coming! It's going to get me!" His terror was so convincing that I was afraid to turn around and look - even though I knew there was no bear* in the house.
This went on night after night until I finally took him to the doctor who said we had to do something to break Doug's sleep pattern. The answer was phenobarbital. I didn't like the idea of giving drugs to my little boy, but I didn't know what else to try. It worked. After only a few nights of dosage, he started sleeping through the night with out the bear nightmare and I started sleeping through the night with out his screams waking me up.

I don't remember Kari having nightmares or any specific night terrors, but she did go through a stage where she would not go to sleep unless I would stay in bed with her. I don't know if one of the bedtime stories I read her frightened her or what. She went from being ready to fall asleep after I had read to her and tucked her in, to not wanting me to leave her room and crying if I did.
I tried letting her cry herself to sleep, but her bedroom was at the top of the stairs of our house out by Cutty's north west of Des Moines. It didn't have a door on it so I could shut out some of the crying. I gave in and stayed in bed with her until she finally went to sleep. This went on for quite some time until she finally out grew it.
If Preston ever had any night time fears, I have either totally forgotten about them, or I never knew about them.
If the goblins, ghoulies and ghosties are after you tonight, you might try repeating the last line from the prayer above. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

(*The bear of Doug's nightmares was a Polar bear.)

School Souvenir Booklets

This School Souvenir Booklet is from the 1904-1905 Boswell Public School, District No. 5, Washington Twp., Adams Co., Iowa. Pictured is Agnes Nicoll, Teacher. The name in the bottom left corner is G. W. Bargenholt, Director.
This souvenir was published by the W. E. Seibert Co., New Philadelphia, Ohio. Several Ohio publishing companies printed these in different styles and colors as well as number of pages. Some included pictures of the students, poems, names of the school board, etc. They were popular around the turn of the 20th Century and have become collectibles as noted by those currently for sale on e-Bay.

 Oak leaves and acorns are embossed around the edges of these two cards. There are acorns printed at the top and bottom of page two. Was the acorn used because it symbolized the potential of the students? ("Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.")
The verse at top reads: "In memory of days spent together in the school room this token is presented with the compliments of Your Teacher." Agnes Nicoll was the daughter of the proprietor of the largest mercantile store in Mt. Etna from 1899 until March, 1915 when the building and contents were destroyed by fire. In June, Mr. Nicoll decided not to rebuild. By December, some of the family had moved to Oelwein. Agnes Nicoll was "North of Des Moines". 
 
My grandmother, Delphia Means, and her sister, Drothel, are both listed as pupils. I believe the Boswell School was south of Mt. Etna and a mile west - many Boswells still live in that area. Delphia was eight years old at the beginning of the school year - probably third grade. I'm sure the turquoise ribbon holding the two cards together is not original - most likely Grandma chose the replacement color to match the blue printing.

The Boswell School is gone, but there are signs marking all the locations of the one-room schools that once stood in Adams County. Next time I am over that way, I'll be certain to note where it stood more than a century ago. And I'll put this souvenir booklet with the pictures I have of my grandmother as a youngster to keep them together for another generation.

A Made Up Girl

 When I think of a made up girl my thoughts immediately go to Carolyn Keene's Nancy Drew or Beverly Cleary's Ramona. Farthest from my mind is someone from TLC's Toddlers & Tiaras. I've never watched that show, but just catching glimpses of those little miniature women gives me the willies.
Yet here I am posed in front of Grandma Ridnour's spirea bushes wearing make up and earrings before I'm even two years old. Mom said Aunt Lois was the one responsible for decking me out. From the smile on my face I guess I liked it - or at least liked the attention.
The earrings were the old screw back style. Mothers didn't have their baby girls ears pierced as they do now. Ear piercing didn't come back in style until I was in my 20's or 30's. Although I do remember Mom telling about my great-grandmother Tillie Means piercing her own and her sister Becky's ears using a darning needle when they were teenagers. Ouch!

 In grade school my eyelashes still had a natural curl - didn't need any help from an eyelash curler*. And the shine on my lips wasn't from gloss - the photographer told me "lick your lips" just before he took the picture. Other than the curls from my annual start of the school year perm, my only other adornment is the mole on my chin. *(I still remember finding Mom's eyelash curler in her vanity drawer and trying to figure out what it was for.)

 Cosmetics are a multi-billion industry in this country. Starting high school meant I could begin wearing powder and lipstick - eventually believing I had to wear liquid make up to cover blemishes and concealer for the dark circles under my eyes. After graduating and joining the working world, I had to wear eye make up. I liked the shimmering blues and greens and occasionally browns and purples. I used an eyelash curler, eye liner and mascara, of course. And once in awhile, I even wore false eyelashes. Because I wore glasses, I felt I had to put on a bit more eye make up, but I don't think I ever resembled Mimi from the Drew Carey Show. At least I hope not!

 Now that I'm no longer a working woman, cosmetics are way down on my list of priorities. Only for important occasions do I still wear a modicum of make up. Moisturizer is my only daily contribution to the cosmetics industry.

One of the things I worried about when we moved from the country to town was that I would have to start wearing make up again every day, "in case my neighbors see me". It didn't take long for me to discard that notion. My attitude these days is more like, "if they don't like the way I look, they don't have to look at me." I may not be as cute as I once was, but I've gone back to being more natural - and sounding more like my Grandma Ridnour.

Frijoles Canyon, Si; Taos, New Mexico, Nada

 Fourteen years ago right about now, we had just returned from a wonderful week in Arizona. Friends of ours had given us the use of their condo in Tucson which was our base for many day trips in the area. On the way back to Iowa I wanted to spend some time in Taos, New Mexico - another one of those places I had heard/read so much about - just had to experience it for myself. After over-nighting in Santa Fe, we headed north on 285. At this point in my story, I have to share a difference of opinion my travel companion and I have - I always want to prolong a vacation as long as possible, whereas once the car is headed toward home, he wants to go.
About twenty miles up the road to Taos, Bud saw a sign for Bandelier National Monument. Neither of us new what that was, but there was an outline of a pueblo on the sign, so we decided to check it out. Bandelier lies in Frijoles Canyon where evidence of human habitation goes back hundreds of years. By 1550 the Pueblo builders had moved on. In the 1700's the canyon was home to Spanish settlers. In 1880, archaeologist Adolph Bandelier first visited the canyon. In 1916 legislation to make Bandelier a National Monument was signed by President Woodrow Wilson. At that time there was a ranch at the bottom of the canyon called The Ranch of the Ten Elders. There was no road. Supplies had to be packed in on mules and horses or lowered down from the canyon rim by rope. Between 1934 and 1941, workers from the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) built the road into Frijoles Canyon, the current visitor center, a new lodge and miles of trails.

 The pink rock that forms the canyon walls is volcano ash that was compacted over time to a crumbly rock called "tuff". Weathering gave the cliff wall a "Swiss cheese" appearance. The Puebloan people were able to enlarge these natural caves for use as homes and for storage. They also built a circular community house which stood two to three stories high and contained over 400 rooms. The outline of that structure is still visible.
What was so amazing to me was that we were allowed - encouraged - to climb up the ladders into the ruins and see them first hand. I wasn't too sure about my climbing abilities - there were four or five of these really long ladders to navigate - but I really wanted to experience the inside of those caves.

 Even after making it to the main cave, there were still more ladders up to the individual rooms. Bandelier is one place I would love to go back to explore more thoroughly.

 Only one of the kivas had had its roof rebuilt to show what the ceremonial structures were originally like.  The others were left as they were found with the roofs collapsed. Here Bud is standing in the large cave and looking down into one of the kivas just before climbing the ladder down into it.
Frijoles Canyon extends for miles and contains many more scenic and historic areas, some of which are just now reopening after the devastating Las Conchas fire in June and July this year followed by flooding of Frijoles Creek. Other areas won't reopen for months or years. Luckily the new visitors' center and other structures were spared. Pots, paintings and historical furniture were moved to safety ahead of the fire.

This terra cotta t-shirt with the ruins pictured on it was my souvenir from Bandelier. Every time I wear it I remember this serendipitous find. I still belabor the fact that I only got to spend a couple hours in Taos due to taking up the morning at Bandelier - but it was worth it.

(Can you see the sun and crescent moon petroglyphs in the top picture?)

A Different Sort of Moonstone

 

Sodium potassium aluminium silicate, better known as Moonstone has been a favourite gemstone of mine for, well, many moons. (Insert groan here.) Moonstones have been used in jewelry for centuries. The Romans and Greeks were just two ancient civilizations which revered the stone they associated with their lunar gods and goddesses. A few pieces of my collection are shown above. Of these, my favourite is the ring on the right. I bought it when I was in Ireland. I like the shape, the size of the stone and especially the three small silver balls on each side of the setting.

 If you are familiar with moonstones, you are aware of the mysterious shimmer which changes as the stone is moved. This is known as adularescence. Wearing a moonstone is supposed to enhance your intuition. The ring on the left is set with three small moonstones. It is from one of our Arizona trips. The Celtic Tree of Life pendant has a small stone on the bottom right. It is from an Irish shoppe in the Hollywood District of Portland, Oregon. The Celtic design pendant on the right is one from one of the many Renaissance Faires I've attended.

 When I first heard of Wilkie Collins' book, The Moonstone, I expected it to be about the gemstones I was familiar with. Instead it is about a large yellow diamond. (I've never cared much for diamonds except yellow ones - those I like.) Many years ago a friend loaned me her copy of this book, but I just couldn't get into it. When Kari said she was reading it for this year's RIP Challenge, I decided it was time for me to try reading it again.
The book, published in 1868, is generally considered the first detective novel in the English language. The diamond is given to a young Englishwoman on her 18th birthday. She wears it to her party that night and awakens the next morning to find it has been stolen from her bedroom. The story is told in several sections, each one being related by a different character which sometimes made the reading of it confusing - and a bit tedious. (For a good review of this novel, watch for Kari's write-up of it on Bookishdark.)

 Anne Perry's Acceptable Loss, the 17th in her Inspector William Monk series, is more my idea of an English mystery novel. Monk is still the Commander of the River Police and still trying to discover identities of the rich men behind the floating palaces of corruption on the Thames and bring them to justice. I still really like Anne Perry's writing though after seventeen in this series, I do note a certain formulaic repetition. It is the quality of her writing and my interest in her characters that will keep me reading all her future Monk tomes.

 In the meantime, I have two more Louise Penny Inspector Gamache books to look forward to. A Fatal Grace is her second book of seven so far. I haven't been able to read them in order, but I'll take them any way I can get them. I adore Chief Inspector Armand Gamache. I love Penny's intelligent writing. I can't wait to read the last two of the ones she's written so far - and then I'll be waiting for her to write more. I hope these books get made into Masterpiece Mysteries for television.

Burnt Mountain is the newest Anne Rivers Siddons book, this one set in the North Carolina mountains. Siddons is another author I have followed for many years. "Growing up, the only place tomboy Thayer Wentworth felt at home was at her summer camp in the North Carolina Mountains. It was there that she met Nick Abrams, her first love...and first heartbreak. Years later, Thayer marries Aengus, an Irish professor..." Siddons characters usually are from rich, old family, southerners - not people I identify with. Having a poor Irish man enthused about telling Celtic myths made this book more interesting for me even though I thought the ending was sort of "out there".

Several years ago Mark gave me the audio version of Caleb Carr's The Angel of Darkness as a Christmas gift. Now that I have finally gotten into listening to books, I have finally enjoyed this one. Boyd Gaines does a nice job voicing all the different characters. Carr brings back the team who tracked down a serial killer in his previous novel, The Alienist, to help find the kidnapped daughter of a Spanish diplomat at the time when Spain and the United States are on the verge of war. I like period pieces. I enjoyed this one set in 1897 New York.

When Something You Once Said Comes Back To Lift Your Spirits

 I was a substitute school bus driver for a couple years and then I got on full time and had my own route. Bus #49 - south and west of Corning. I really enjoyed driving the bus and loved most of my kids. I believe I was a good driver - very conscientious for the safety of my charges. I did my best to maintain order on the bus, but you can only regulate so much.....
The last person on the end of my route was a little second grade girl. She had blond hair, often worn in pig tails. She had the sweetest disposition. I liked her a lot. She was a little on the chubby side - which only made her cuter - but it gave the other kids something to tease her about. If teasing got loud and out of control, I could tell the kids to pipe down, but if it was done quietly, it was hard to do anything about.
One afternoon when I looked up into the rear view mirror I could see that Anna was almost ready to cry. After all the other students had been dropped off and we got to her home and stopped, Anna came forward to get off the bus. I asked her to wait a moment. I put my arm around her and told her I was sorry about the other kids calling her "Anna Banana" and teasing her about her weight. I told her she was not always going to be chubby, that someday she would start growing and lose her "baby fat" - that she would be thin and pretty. I told her I thought she was beautiful inside and out and she only had to wait a few years for everyone else to see that. 
I could only hope that my words helped her that day. I didn't know they did until several years later when I was visiting with her grandmother one day and she thanked me for what I had said to her granddaughter. She told me Anna related my words to her and that she said they made her feel better about herself. Knowing that I had helped a sweet little girl made my day better - years later.

My granddaughter, Katrina, (here with her little boy and Grandpa last summer) is good about calling me regularly to see how we're doing and keep me updated on her busy life. During one of those calls a couple months ago, she had been cleaning the bathroom which made her think about me so she just had to call and tell me something she had never told me before:
"I remember being at your house one time when I was little and you were cleaning your bathroom," she said. "I was so grossed out because you were cleaning the toilet by hand. You said that was the only way to get it really clean. I remembered that all those years and now that is the only way I clean my bathroom, too."
I got such a kick out of hearing that. I had no idea I had made an impression on the little girl. We laughed and laughed about it - a real "made my day" story.

I hope words you may speak now will someday come back to lift your spirits. It is a good feeling.

Apples, Autumn, The World Series, Sunday Drives and Dreams of My Dad

This picture of my Dad and Doug was taken forty-six years ago at Nine Eagles State Park near the Iowa-Missouri border southeast of Davis City. It was a beautiful fall day not unlike the ones we've been experiencing lately. I don't think there was a particular reason for our jaunt that day other than Sunday drives were a pastime for our family and we hadn't been to Nine Eagles before. Doug was three years old and Dad was close to the age Doug is now.
I've been thinking about apple orchards. It is the time of year when we used to go to an apple orchard somewhere to get apples. There was one in northern Missouri that we went to with Grandpa and Grandma Ridnour when I was little. There were free samples of apple cider so good I wanted more. And we did bring a few jugs home with us. The aroma of a trunk full of fresh apples filled the car on the way home. We all had an apple to eat. I remember Grandma chastising me because I left so much good apple on my core. She said I should eat everything but the seeds and stem like she did. Nunh uh. No way. (The only other person I have seen eat an apple that way is my husband.)
In later years Mom and Dad would drive up to the apple orchard at Griswold. Dad was known to have a 'lead foot' when he drove. One year he was stopped for speeding on the way home. Mom always talked about what an expensive bushel of apples they got that year.

I don't have dreams about Dad very often - he has been gone more than thirty-three years. But last night I dreamed about him and in the dream he looked much as he did in this picture - younger than I ever knew him. (I'm guessing this picture of him and his little sister, Leona, was taken around 1940.)
All the topics in the title of this piece combined in a dream of driving all over northwest Missouri - enjoying the autumn colors and looking for an apple orchard. We stopped at a park in a small town and got out to eat a picnic lunch. There were a lot of other people in the park and we started visiting with them - exchanging names, home towns, etc. One of the people thought he had heard of my Dad. I said, "Oh, you should have seen him when he was still playing baseball." Seems he was an almost famous ball player. And, as I said, he looked like he did in this photo - young, tall, thin - even though I was in my twenties or thirties.
There was some sort of fall festival going on in the town. One of the vendors was selling wine which I so badly wanted to buy - if I could just figure out a way to do it without Dad knowing. Maybe if it had been apple cider I would have succeeded in buying some!

"Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream."   Khalil Gibran