A LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER

Dear Beth~ I’ve been meaning to tell you how much the digital picture frame you gave us means to me. I realized today that Dad finds pleasure in my latest downloads to it, too, when he mentioned one particularly beautiful flower, describing it so well I knew exactly THE ONE from around thirty I had just added! I confess I keep wondering just how many pictures the frame will hold before it hops off the desk or counter top, whichever place I have it for viewing or loading at the moment, and yells, "WAIT! STOP! ENOUGH, ALREADY!" So far, that hasn't occurred, but I am expecting it at any moment because I think I see the sides swelling like the cheeks on a kid puffing out as he/she prepares to blow a bubble in a bubble-gum-blowing contest! Last year, I took my digital camera…you know, the one I told Dad I didn’t want, but he bought for me anyway?…and headed towards a beautiful bunch of bluebonnets carpeted between the walkway of a private home and a busily traveled street near our house. I thought, “They are so beautiful, surely the owner won’t mind if I stand in the street and take pictures of just the flowers,” As I stood there doing so, a kind woman came from the house and invited me to come closer, saying, “They are beautiful this year, aren’t they? I have irises over here, if you’d like to take pictures of them as well.” Next thing I knew, her next-door neighbor came over and invited me to her house, too, not only to the front yard filled with a variety of roses and more irises, but also into her back yard where her kitties wrapped their tails around my legs as she and I visited while I took more pictures with the digital camera…the one I was sure I’d never use. I came home having made two new friends - six if you count the four-footed, long-tailed ones - and with my camera filled with pictures of bluebonnets, deep-red roses, irises of several colors, orange-red poppies, and even a buzzing bee. I downloaded the pictures onto my computer, then into the digital frame. Over the past year, every time I have taken flower pictures, I have added to the collection. I have had many opportunities with other neighbors inviting me into their yards. I have photographed gorgeous golden roses, yellow and lavender irises, red-orange amaryllis, peace roses, many additional flowers as well. And each time, as soon as I got those flowers downloaded and saved to my computer, one of the next steps was to add the favorites to the digital frame. Once I found out how much fun I could have with the digital camera I didn’t want, I went to our local rose garden. One day last week, it was time, so I went again. I took nearly two-hundred pictures. Of course I didn’t keep all of them and I certainly didn’t ask the photo frame to hold every one I did save, but I added plenty to it that day. Then, yesterday I went to the city park where I added most of an additional hundred pictures to my floral collection. Again, the digital frame wasn’t asked to hold every one, but the favored few have been added today. So far, so good. No yelling for me to stop yet. I am thankful because to me, the digital frame is a place of peace. It holds a slideshow of wonderful moments of meeting new friends, of lovely blue clouds drifting by in the sky, majestic sunrises and sunsets, a variety of flowers that can only be conjured up in the mind of a magnificent Creator, of quiet time spent down by the riverside, and a reminder that someone who understood provided my heart’s desire for a quiet place to parade my pictures. Thank you, Beth. Love always, Mom

THE THREE-QUARTER-CENTURY-CLUB

Picture of Kent and me taken in June of 2003

It was the summer of 1948. I was eight years old. My mother and I were invited to go to Augusta, the capital city of the State of Maine, for a special afternoon celebration of the Three-Quarter-Century-Club.

Since I have already explained my age, it should be obvious, that the three-quarter-century, wouldn’t describe my mother, but if you guessed it to include one of my grandparents, you would be correct. My Grandpa, William Herbert Glidden, had celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday on May tenth of that year; therefore, he was eligible to be a member in good standing of the Three-Quarter-Century-Club.

As we approached the Augusta Armory building that lovely summer afternoon with Grandpa and my Aunt Charlotte, who drove us there, I had no idea what to expect, but I soon realized the place was filled with a huge crowd of very happy old people! The folks milled around with greetings of those who hadn’t seen one another for long periods of time. I overheard conversations and witnessed hugs that told me of family connections from different parts of the state.

Even at my age, there was joy in observing these reunions, but to my delight there were more surprises to come. A hush fell as everyone found folding chair seating in that huge building. Attention was directed to the stage. The men who stood there fit the three-quarter-century (and more) qualifications, as they cradled their well-tuned and warmed-up fiddles, ready to start the entertainment of the afternoon. And what an entertainment it was! Fiddle-playing at its finest was presented to the constantly-smiling, foot-tapping, (sometimes foot-stomping!) audience. All too soon it, like all good things, had to come to an end. As I write this, I am fully aware that the fiddle-playing of those particular men has also ended; however the memory of the joy they gave this girl that warm summer afternoon of her eighth year lingers like the resonant sounds of a bow on the strings.

Three-quarters of a century seemed old to me that day. Today, it doesn’t seem so old. Today, my brother, Kent Wilmer Libby, celebrates his seventy-fifth birthday. Although he says the winter has been a rough one, he definitely is not as old as the long-ago men who played those fiddles! If the Three-Quarter-Century-Club is still around, Kent is eligible to be a member in good standing, just as our grandpa was, but times and people have changed. I doubt the club is still in existence. An Internet search provided no information about it. Of course, there are still wonderful gatherings of great fiddle-players who bring crowds of happy folks together to help create memories for new generations, but whether we celebrate with fiddles or phone calls, three-quarters of a century is still something marvelous to celebrate.

HAPPY THREE-QUARTERS-OF-A-CENTURY, KENT!

© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 4-13-2011

REMEMBERING WANDA

Today, April 5th, would have been my friend Wanda's birthday.

I miss her in so many ways.

BELONGING

SUSIE MABEL GRANT GLIDDEN

BORN MARCH 21, 1878 DIED MARCH 31, 1951

This photo of my maternal grandmother, Susie Mabel Grant Glidden, the grandmother for whom I was named, was taken to celebrate her 25th wedding anniversary.

She married at eighteen and gave birth to ten children, eight of whom lived.

The first time I saw this picture, I, too, had just celebrated my 25th wedding anniversary. Having also married at eighteen, I was very close in age to Grammie as I was seeing her now, not as I remembered her shortly before she passed away when I was eleven. I was stunned at the resemblance between her and me. I had always known I was born into the family, was named for her, my mother, and a great-aunt; however, this was the first time I ever felt the true belonging that reached into my soul.

Years have passed since that unforgettable experience, but as I age I continue to seek signs of belonging when I look in the mirror. I have aged more gently than Grammie did. I have had a far easier life. But, Grammie, I wish I could tell you that no March 21st ever passes without my thinking about you. And I wish you could know the great-granddaughter and great-great-granddaughter, each of whom have been named after you as well. They know about you.

(C) Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 3-22-2011

TRAIN RIDES

Our eldest daughter, Beth, recently reminisced briefly on her blog about a train ride we took the night we left Cleethorpes, on our way into London, England, the summer of 1971. That was a unique trip in that each of our children, ages seven, ten, and twelve, were old enough to have memories to remember it.

Train rides were common during my husband’s and my earlier years. During World War II, we saw family members come and go regularly by train. The depots were in small towns and larger cities. It remained so even after the war for a number of years, eventually giving way to bus, personal, and air transport.

John and I married in January, 1958. We used train travel between Boston, Massachusetts and Bangor, Maine. In order to be near him and prepare things for our marriage, I had moved in with a Brookline, Massachusetts, minister’s family the end of November the previous year. This gave me opportunity to find a job and get to know the area. John had found a job with a sporting goods store as a shipping clerk in downtown Boston. (Loved those Joe and Nemo’s hot dogs for lunch at that little hole in the wall across the street!) We found and reserved a furnished corner basement apartment in a three-story building that went from 89 to 99 Marion Street in Brookline. We were ready to be married!

The weekend prior to our marriage we took the train back to Maine to take care of the necessary pre-wedding legal paperwork. A little bit of time for personal visits with family but soon, we had a train schedule to keep so we headed back to the Bangor Depot and Boston.

The following week we were on the train, once again, heading north on another Friday. Upon learning of our wedding plans, one of the male passengers, felt it necessary ask, “Why get married? It’s a terrible way to ruin a friendship.” Strange…that remark still sticks so firmly today.

Our wedding was small, but love was there. The following Sunday afternoon, my dad took John and me to catch the train at the little town of Newport where I, as a child had said happy hellos and sad good-byes during World War II to my two older USN brothers. This time, though, I was on the train that rumbled down the tracks taking my brand new husband and me off to our married life in Brookline.

A few months later, Beth received her first train ride although there’s no way she would remember it. At that time, she was what is today commonly referred to as “a fetus.” We called her, “a baby!” With the thoughts of approaching parenthood and remembering what having grandparents in our own lives meant to us, we wanted that family fellowship in our child’s life, too. We decided to move back to Maine.

When you hear the term, “kit and kaboodle” that pretty well describes how we traveled back to Maine, by train. By that time we had acquired, Honey, an adorable little honey-blonde Spitz-and-Spaniel dog from the pound. She was leash-trained and allowed on the train along with our (you’re not gonna believe this!) ironing board, packed boxes of household goods, whatever we had. Don’t ask me how we managed it all. I have no idea. We must have put it in a baggage car somehow. Sure wouldn’t get away with such today.

Beth’s next train ride is one she won’t remember either, but if she looks in her baby book, I think she may find a flattened paper cup with the train company logo on it. (And Chip, please don’t start again, about Beth has a Baby Book and you have none! At least you were cared for! And loved! Don’t forget loved!) John had to go to Chelsea Naval Hospital for medical assessment, so we took advantage and made a family trip out of it. I was so proud to take our Baby Beth back to introduce her to the people I had worked with. They were properly impressed with our then five-months old daughter.

One of my favorite co-worker/friends, Mary Pasyanos, a Greek lady, just a bit older than I, wasn’t at work that day, but as I recall left word for us to please come to her apartment. She gave us ten dollars in shiny quarters for Beth. They had some special Greek meaning for a new or, I think first, baby, but I cannot tell now what it is. Perhaps it is written in the baby book. After our visiting, we returned to Bangor…another train ride.

It’s no wonder train travel holds happy memories for Beth. She has had many more miles traveling down the tracks than she likely knew!

© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore

THE QUILT CONNECTION

Long gone is the little pink and white calico Scottie-dog quilt mentioned a couple of days ago. Childhood days turned to those of maturity. God’s paintbrush has frosted those coppery-colored curls with touches of silver, though the eyes still softly glow with the well-worn copper of youth. No longer either a mother or stairs is present when naptime arrives.
Toys that once would have covered the childhood bed now line a closet shelf and have been replaced by two real, live Yorkshire Terriers.

Instead of climbing the stairs to the bedroom, naptime
is frequently found in a favorite recliner that sits either in the great room or the office of a one-story patio home. There’s not a lot of room in that recliner, but if either of those two little dogs sees me picking up a lap covering, they know I plan to relax for a while. I start to sit down and before I can make a lap, a bundle of busyness starts its leap-and-land process, leaving little room for me, book, laptop computer, and/or most important, the second doggie.
With my thoughts on lap coverings, etc., I want to tell a bit more about the Scottie-dog described in the earlier post. Charlotte, my mamma’s sister, made it. Aunt Charlotte and I wrote back and forth to one another with some regularity, especially the last few years before she died. She sent me a picture of herself with a quilt she had made. That brought my Scottie-dog quilt to mind so I wrote to tell her how much it had meant to me. It had been a very long time and she didn’t even remember having made it! I was so glad I could remind her. It would be a nice thing to have an actual picture of it, though in my mind’s eye I still do.
One day while we were visiting, I told the Scottie-dog quilt tale to my husband’s sister, Mary, an avid quilter. She delighted with me over my memories as we looked over her quilts and plans for more projects. Because she lives in Florida and we in Texas, we didn’t get to visit and muse that often. Once I was home I forgot our conversation, but she didn’t. In December, a few weeks later, our doorbell rang. There was a neatly wrapped package addressed to me from Mary. I confess. I do love packages in the mail, surprise or otherwise, but surprises are the absolute best!
Upon the opening, this surprise was magnified. There lay a twin-size Scottie-dog quilt with a special message tag sewed on it: “Sue’s Scotties II” Mary had tucked a note inside stating in part, “I’m sure this quilt bears little resemblance to the one you remember as a child. Since I could not replace that one, I decided to interpret and update it a bit. Hope you’ll be happy with the results and that you’ll be curled up under it with a good book very soon!”
Later, in response to my thank-you, she said, “I’m getting pretty fussy (in my old age) about whom I create for, but I felt sure Sue and the Scotties would be a good match. I hope you will spend many a happy winter together.” A few winters have come and gone since then. Not only have I been warmed physically by “Sue’s Scotties II” but also emotionally by the loving memory-connections it conjures up from generations past and present.
Thank you, Aunt Charlotte. Thank you, Mary.
© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 3-18-2011

QUILT MEMORIES

With the writing prompt to write about a quilt or a blanket, it took little to get the memories moving.

She was a cute toddler with coppery-colored curly hair and eyes. She lived in a two-story house. When it came time for a nap, her mother took her by the hand as they started to climb the stairs and made a game of learning while they counted the steps as they went up…one, two, three…

Once in her room her bed greeted her with a line of dolls and toys that lay from the wall side of the bed all the way to the other side. Her pillow was covered so there seemed to be no place to lay her head. Since a nap was one of her least favorite things to do laying her head down was in the same category. She sat with her back towards her toy-laden pillow and covered her lap as she studied the handmade quilt that warmed her legs and encouraged her imagination.

Her aunt had made the quilt from 9” squares of white muslin using four-inch
deep rose-pink sashwork to frame each square. At the same time the design created vertical and horizontal lines making a rectangular quilt of three squares across by four squares down. It was just the right size for a little girl and her single bed.

Why would such a quilt inspire imagination in a small child? The answer lay in each square. A silhouette of a Scottie dog made of feed bag calico was centered in each square. Each was made from a different calico print and outlined with hand-embroidered black buttonhole stitch. Each Scottie dog had a black circle eye made from the six-strand embroidery floss as well.

As the little girl sat in her bed she would look down at each Scottie dog and choose a “Favorite of the Day.” Since she had a Favorite Favorite, he was chosen a lot more often than the rest. Sometimes she felt rather bad about choosing him so often. On that day, she’d choose another just so that one would not feel left out.

Finally the eyes of the little girl would grow heavy. She’d lay her coppery curls on the empty space on her pillow from where she’d taken her dolly to cuddle in her arms. Now she and her dolly would each snuggle under the warmth of the little quilt while the other toys would watch with wishful eyes as they heard the little girl teach her dolly, “One, two, three…”

© Marilyn Sue (Libby) Moore 3-16-2011

Picture is author and her big brother Kent Wilmer Libby.