Found the Picture!

This is the picture I've wanted to show you on several Mother's Days. At least for the past three years. But I couldn't find it. Well, I found it this year, scanned it, put the original in the right place, and filed the digital copy. So now, ta-da! I can bring you three generations of tough-as-nails women. Individually that is probably good. Together, we were a difficult trio. But between genetics and what they taught me, "I-yam what I-yam."

On the left is Granny, Emily Marguerite Fisher Rowe, I'm in the middle, and Mom, Catherine Burnham Rowe Leary is on the right.

This picture was taken the same day as the picture of me alone that I shared with you in January (link below). This was sometime around my second birthday.

The old pictures would get sorted faster if I made it a priority, but I just sort of mooch along with trying to get one in the right place when I come across it.

I used the last of my birthday money to order two plants I doubt I'll find in any nursery around here. They cost too much this way, but hopefully they will survive and be worth it.

In other news, I got the mower running! Mowed a little, but I have to find a way to get the seat farther forward. The engineers forgot that some of us still have short legs. And I started weeding the front flower bed. Plants are up enough now that I won't be killing things by accident.

See When I Was Cute

I've Got (Half) a Ticket to Ride

 The big local news is snow.

We are socked in. But that's not the focus of my day. This is one of those stories that goes on so long it becomes ridiculous. I've been trying to get a train ticket East to go to the 2025 Flower Show.

I started trying to get a ticket yesterday. I already knew the Amtrak web site is bad, but how bad? I could get the round-trip ticket and the correct dates etc in my cart, but could not pay for it. I also could not see the return trip times. That seemed worrisome, but I used their live chat and it was explained to me how to see that, which I then could do.

Kept trying to pay for the ticket. Of course, after 5 minutes the site times out. Tried to log in, but it said I don't have an account. Well, I did... so I wonder how long that lasts before they dump a customer out of their database. Ran out of time before Monica picked me up yesterday.

Started trying again today. Created a new account Tried in two different browsers. Still no way to actually pay for the ticket, and every time you have to start over because it times out. Tried to get help through the chat. Explained it all. They bumped me up to a supervisor. Explained it all again. No go. That person told me to call the 800 number to make my reservation.

Ten minutes on hold. Their voice activated system could not understand me saying the word "reservation." Last I knew, I speak standard English. Lady with thick Spanish accent finally came on. She said I sounded like I was talking under water, and she could not understand me. She hung up.

I installed the Amtrak app on my phone, loaded in all the info for the trip yet again. It would not take a payment.

Called the 800 number again. Got a robot named Julie! This is possibly good. It speaks English. It took the reservation and quoted me a price that was double the online price. I hung up.

Tried the web site again in both browsers. No. Tried the phone app again. I got it to take my payment!

The e-ticket arrived and it is one way.

Well, I'm going East at the end of February. We'll see if I am returning. I really can't tolerate working on this any more today. I've already spent over two hours.

This is the kind of thing that makes me absolutely NUTS.

Now, here's what I really wanted to share today. I had posted this picture once long ago on Facebook, but then I couldn't find it. Well, the original slide is somewhere, but I knew I had it digitally. It just wasn't filed where it belonged. Anyway, here it is!

This is from a Girl Scout campout either my junior or senior year in high school. I actually don't know most of the girls because it was some kind of council exchange thing where our troop went and camped with another troop.

I have no idea who owned the truck. It was borrowed for the occasion, but my mother agreed to drive it. My mom had spirit! She is sitting on the running board.

The woman standing on her right (picture left) is Delores Bush, the school librarian who was our assistant scout leader. She was rigid and severe at school, but had a fun sense of humor and spunk when one got to know her.

I am sitting top left in the picture with my hands on the head of Vienna Louma (nickname Vanilla. I was Chocolate, and another girl with red hair- not in the picture- was Strawberry) whom I met at Camp Comstock. She was from Ithaca. Sitting next to me is Faith Hiltbrand, a friend from school. She died a couple of years ago. The only other person I recognize is Lexi King of Trumansburg who has her head sticking out of the cab window (or maybe she's standing on the running board).

The truck makes this look like it's a scene from about two centuries ago instead of only one! We didn't care. It was a truck to haul our tents and gear, and we had a blast. Thanks to whomever trusted the ladies to borrow it. I'm wearing my standard out-of-school uniform. Jeans and t-shirt. See My Natural Habitat

I am pretty much in a snit about the ticket. Edited a little, but I'm busy snitting. See you tomorrow.

See Sunrise from the Train

How Far Back Can You Go?

 In addition to Veteran's Day, this is also my mother's birthday, so I sort of alternate which I blog about. Today, it's Mom. And a little more genealogy.

I just finished reading a series of books that spans the time period from 1829 to 1919, following one particular family (fictional). It does continue on in an epilogue to bring the people's lives to their conclusions, but the general narrative spans about 100 years. It got me to thinking.

First, here are a couple of pics of Mom that I have not previously shared. These were taken on the same day (professional studio photos), but I don't know the date. However, I am guessing 1916. That would make my mother, Catherine Burnham Rowe Leary, seven years old. I think she looks a little older, but I'll explain why I choose seven with the next picture.

Here is the other picture taken on the same day. This is her mother, Emily Marguerite Fisher Rowe, her brother Merrill Fisher Rowe (Jacques), and her. Jacques (say Jack) is two years older, and I think he doesn't look older than nine. Notice their hands. Mom was large-boned and solid. Jacques was fine-boned. She always said she took after her father.

After reading the books, I got to thinking about who was born the earliest that I actually know. That would be my great-grandmother Rowe (Mom's father's mother). Meeting her is my earliest memory. I was about 13 months old. She was born January 29, 1858. That's 166 years ago. What's the birth year of the oldest person you personally remember?

Here is the day I saw her. She was brought to our house for the specific purpose of meeting me. She was 91. Her name is Annie Cordelia Burnham Rowe



Without getting too entangled in more genealogy, I learned who, specifically, Mom and her siblings were named after:
Catherine (her maternal grandmother Catherine Louisa Hall Fisher) Burnham (the maiden name of her paternal grandmother)
Merrill (his paternal grandfather Merrill Jordan Rowe) Fisher (the maiden name of his mother)
Margaret (never could figure this out unless a derivation of Marguerite) Perham (the maiden name of Annie's mother)- this baby died when only 3 hours old.

I edited (but not enough), worked on autumn olive a little, did miscellaneous things, and Om and I went to Applebees to take advantage of their free veteran's meal.

See A Veteran's Day Story

Family Christmas 1969

I was locating and scanning slides almost all day. I am giving a program on Monday about my hike, but it's for a Girl Scout troop. When they found out I had been a Scout, and that it was still important to me, they wanted to add pictures about that part of my life. You may see some of those eventually, but I also found some family pictures.

These are Christmas 1969, at my parents' house in New York.

Mom doesn't look happy, I'm not sure why, but perhaps because what she has on her lap is fabric I bought to make her a suit. The suit was navy blue, but the lapels and cuffs were the plaid. As you can see, it was not yet a suit, and I'm sure she was pretty certain that it would never become a suit. However, I fooled her on that one. I did finish it, and she wore it quite a bit. It was double-knit fabric, revolutionary at the time. Dad just looks non-committal, a familiar look for him.

This picture is ridiculously out of focus, but it's the only one with Om and me in it. I can't imagine why I was wearing a pink bathrobe. It must have been a gift from someone, and I didn't dare get rid of it too quickly.

We went to visit Granny at the nursing home. She would have been 87, almost 88, in these pictures, and she died when she was 91. She was alert, and clearly in charge of reading her own mail.

This is the nicest picture of her. She almost looks happy here. She wasn't happy very much after age 76 when her health declined. There is one more picture of her in the link below, that was taken on her 89th birthday. I can see a lot of change in that year and a month from the pictures here.

You know, she doesn't look as old to me at 75 as she did at 21. Haha.

Back to work on the program.

See Emily M. Rowe

A Rediscovered Treasure

  While I was looking for something else yesterday, I found some fabric things that had been stored away that actually aren't ruined. One of the bags had some bedding I'd made for the youth bed Steve slept in for several years.

Let me tell you a funny story about that...

When he was under two years old, we would be awakened in the morning by this toddler trying to climb into bed with us. This was pretty strange, since he'd been put to sleep in a crib in a different room, and the side of the crib was still up. One morning, I got up really early to spy on this little escape artist. He was simply climbing up the corner of the crib (not an easy task with no cross bars between the uprights), balancing on the top rails and then dropping to the floor.

Yikes! OK, we had a frame for a small youth bed. It was only a foot off the floor, not four feet. Much safer!

I made one set of sheets for it from some kid-patterned fabric. Also made a flannel blanket from an old one we had. I decorated the patches with machine embroidery. We really didn't have any money.

But what I want to show you is something my Mom, Catherine Leary, had made for Steve. She embroidered the edging on a crib sheet and pillowcase set for him when we got him (at six months of age). Bunnies! The sheet is on the right, and I angled the pillowcase on the left.

Why was this not worn out, you ask? Well, there's another funny story. Except it was more frustrating than funny when it was happening. For a long time- quite a few months- when Steve was maybe 9 to 12 or 13 months old, he refused to keep anything on his body or in the crib with him. He'd be put to bed with a triple diaper, pajamas, crib bumpers, sheets, blankets, etc. In the morning, there would be a completely bare-naked baby in a puddle on the plastic mattress cover and EVERYTHING else would be on the floor. So, the sheets didn't get much wear.

The youth bed was the same width, just longer, so I added some fabric to the end of the crib sheet, and opened out the pillowcase and added a larger backing. Here you can see the handiwork closer.

This is rather remarkable, because Mom didn't often do handiwork. She did some needlepoint, but mostly she felt inferior because her mother, Granny, did SO MANY kinds, and of such high quality. I know I didn't appreciate how much love Mom probably put into this project for the only grandchild she got to enjoy in babyhood.

In other news: I edited in the morning, went to the Post Office, and worked on a pet project in the afternoon.

See Little Squirt See Sunbonnet Sue

Dismal Desmond and Winky

  Since I worked all day, you get more stuffed animals tonight. This is the stuffed animal "Mom" edition.

On the left is Dismal Desmond. This is a toy from my mother's childhood. In fact, I've found out that this toy was made by the Dean's Rag Book Company, and was introduced in 1926 (my mom would have been 7, so that seems about right). It's made of velveteen, and the features and spots are printed on. The toy was so successful that other poses came out in following years. The dog became the mascot of the England Cricket Team and the womens' Wimbledon team. He may have originally had a pink tongue that hung out. This one has been loved and played with. There are several tears that were mended, so it's quite possible it did have a tongue that was torn off. Even so, original ones are pretty rare.

I just learned that the character was re-introduced in the 1990s, but the modern ones I found pictures of don't seem to me to have much charm.

The animal on the right is a little white seal. His name is Winky. While I doubt that Dismal Desmond was Mom's first stuffed animal, I'm pretty sure that Winky was her last.

Mom had advanced Parkinson's, but was managing to live at home by having caregivers that stayed with her. She was in New York state, and I was in Michigan, so I wasn't much help. But in the winter of 1991-92, she fell and broke her hip. That was the beginning of the end, but that's getting way ahead of this story.

I went to NY to visit her in the hospital. That whole scenario is a bit of a medical horror story, and this blog is not about the negatives of my life. I will just say that they finally got her back on the correct meds, and we were able to have some good visits over the time period I stayed (maybe a week?- I was working a real job- I couldn't have been away too long.) She confirmed that she did not want me to bring her to Michigan.

Anyway... I'll avoid bunny trails of stories.

When I was getting ready to leave, I went down to the hospital gift shop to try to find something I could afford that she would be able to keep and remember that I cared. I found this little seal. When I took him upstairs, Mom named him Winky.

Here's another view, so you can see their tails.

So, Mom never went home again. She was unable to pass the rehab qualifications in 30 days time because of the issues with the Parkinson's as much as the hip. We chose a nursing home, and she quickly declined. She died three years later. Winky often got shoved into her drawer by staff, but at least he didn't get lost.

Just for the record, I told you my collection was small. I've already shown you half.

Perhaps you are enjoying the stuffies tour. If not... there's bound to be something different soon!

In other news: As I said, I spent the day working on an editing project with short breaks to add pieces to my current jigsaw puzzle. But my brain is fried. I think I'll be relaxing after this.

See Baraga and Berea

Mom's Steamer Trunk

  The big sorting project I've been mentioning... This item is at the center of it. This is my mother's steamer trunk. I believe it was purchased for her when she went to college at Temple University in 1927 or 1928.

If you are familiar with this kind of trunk, you won't be too impressed. I don't think this is a particularly fancy one, but it is fairy nice, and everything still works. On the left are various kinds of hangers, and a flat case at the bottom that clips in for travel, or is removable.

The trunk was made by the Hartmann company and has a patented "Cushion Top." Perhaps you can tell that this area is padded. This supposedly protected the hanging clothes. It folds down flat when you want to close the trunk.

On the other side are four drawers. The top one has a lock, and when you remove the drawer, you rotate that bar I've raised, and it locks or unlocks the other drawers.

Temple University is in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and one of Mom's stickers is still on the outside of the trunk. I don't know too much about Mom's college years. She belonged to the sorority Alpha-Sigma-Alpha. She was on the swim team. Her major was Home Economics.

The trunk was not being stored in a good place. Now it will be in a better location. And my goal was to fill it with things that need protection too. I found some things that will go in it. Others await another adventure in box searching to locate.

I often describe my life as one of those square flat puzzles with 16 spaces and 15 blocks that you slide around to create a picture or sequence of numbers, but you only have one open square to work with. I've now learned a new name for this- "garage Tetris." This is my world. But I've organized one tiny piece of it this week.

In other news: I took a walk with Cathy in very wet snow. The pictures aren't great. It was really sloppy, but at least we walked for an hour. I did a whole list of errands, had bell choir practice, and then an online meeting. No writing occured. But I'm whipped.

See A Veteran's Day Story

111 on 11-11

  Some years, on November 11, I post about the fact that it is my Mom's birthday. This year has to be one of those. She would be 111 years old today. That's a lot of ones.

I thought I'd hunt up a picture of her that you haven't seen before. In fact, I found a rather unusual one. There aren't many pictures of her father (Howard Meade Rowe), particularly not with his children. As far as I know, he was a fine father, but I think most pictures of that era were more likely of children with their mothers.

At any rate, this is taken on a beach (on an apparently cold day) in New Jersey in- are you ready for this?- 1911. Lots of elevens floating around here.

The child on the left is not me slipped through a time warp, although I'm a doppelganger for Jacques (Merrill). Mom, Catherine, is on the right. It was a little weird looking through that album. Jacques was first born, and there are lots of pictures of him. I kept seeing myself, only in the wrong era. We really do look alike.

At any rate, this is a nice picture to honor Mom. She always said she got along better with Howard, her father, than with her mother. He was dead before I was born, so I never knew him.

In other news: I was going to goof off today, but I did some stuff anyway. I wrote 577 words. Omer and I went out to take advantage of his free veteran's meal. Then I had to deal with some of the mess generated by my trying to find something yesterday. The mice have been into yet another pile of things I cared about, so that had to be cleaned up. I bought a plastic box to hold what's left. Now I've discovered the box is broken, so that has to be returned. The errands never end. Anyway, I've been sorting through quite a bit of nostalgic stuff. Perhaps you'll see some of it in days to come.

See A Veteran's Day Story

A Few More Family Goodies

 
These pictures are connected only by virtue of being found in the same box, and they are relatives of mine. I think this one has to date from about 1947. This is my mom, Catherine Leary with Dad's son, John, my half brother. They are sitting on the steps of the house I grew up in, the house that Jack built.



And here's Jack, Dad's father. Date of the picture is unknown. Jack is the one on the left. I have no idea who the man in the suit is. Hopefully, someone savvy about old cars can help date the picture. Has to be before 1945, because that's when Jack died.



Finally, this is the oldest of the pictures. It has to be from about 1910-1914. The boy in the middle with the dog is my father, Ray Leary. I think he looks no younger than 6 and no older than 10. I have no idea who the other children are. Perhaps I should get serious with a magnifying glass and the schoolhouse picture I have of Dad. Maybe some of the faces will match. And this is, again, the house that was torn down before I was born, the house Dad grew up in.



In other news: I wrote all morning and edited all afternoon. I got a lot done, but boy is my brain tired.

See Back to Jack

Passing on a Birthday

 
I've blogged in the past about the fact that my mother, Catherine Burnham Rowe Leary, was born on November 11, before it was Armistice Day or Veteran's Day.

Today I'll tell you a story of a birthday being handed down to someone. One of the things my mother was most pleased with in her life was the job she held for about the last 15 years of her working career. She was a case worker with the county social services, and finally earned the position of being the worker in charge of adoptive placements.

Fast forward to 1975. We had just gotten our Steve from Viet Nam. She was doing the family studies required for another child who was coming from Viet Nam. A lot of those children had no papers and their actual birth dates were not known. (Steve's is, but not Joshua's). Anyway, the family that was adopting a little girl decided to give her my mother's name and birthday.

Here is Steve on the left, and little Catherine on the right. They were too young to remember this day, but the adults all thought it was pretty neat.



Here is Catherine with her new family.



And one more with Steve, Catherine, and her two "new" brothers. I suspect they might remember this.



I recently "found" Catherine on Facebook. It's neat to connect with someone who carries on my mom's name. I'd actually forgotten they gave her mom's birthday, but when FB showed me who was celebrating today, I suddenly remembered.

And, of course, I thank all the VietNam vets who did whatever they could to help save kids like these. I know that an argument could be made that they wouldn't have needed to be adopted if there hadn't been a war. But there was a war, and there was a war even before we got involved, and all any one person can do is the best they can for the people they are immediately surrounded by.

In other news: Om and I ate out since Applebee's gives free meals to veterans, and I wrote a chapter.

	See A Veteran's Day Story
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A Veteran's Day Story

 
Today is Veteran's Day, first called Armistice Day to remember the end of World War I. I certainly mean no disrespect for veterans, but mostly I am thinking about my mom, born Catherine Burnham Rowe, today. If she were alive, she would be 100 years old!



Of course, it wasn't a holiday when she was born. She always told me that her memory of that date 11/11/1918, when she turned 9 years old, was that she couldn't understand why everyone was all excited about something she didn't truly appreciate, and no one was paying any attention to her! The picture above is undated, and she never told me exactly when it was taken, but it looks to me as if she would have been about 9 or 10 at the time.

She graduated from Temple University with a degree in Home Economics, and followed a "track" more typical of many women today rather than in the 1930s. She taught in a school for the deaf, supervised relief work after floods in Pennsylvania, and ended up back in New York state in the early 1940s. There she met my dad, and well... here she is with "guess who" in 1948. It was really rare for women to become mothers at the age of 39 back then.

My relationship with my mother was always rocky. I was much more like my dad. But it is undeniable that she really went out of her way to try to do her best by me. She was the mom who would be the Scoutmaster, or take a group of us kids to camp, etc., when the mothers half her age were nowhere to be found. She fought the school system (but ultimately lost) trying to create better educational opportunities for me, and always made sure that I had books, art supplies, and opportunities to visit museums. She took me to the woods as a toddler, and then, of course, no one could get me OUT of the woods!

Here she is making the acquaintance of our youngest son. All our boys were adopted, and he had been in our family for about 2 months when we traveled to NY to let him meet the grandparents. She was very happy about that, and Steve seems pretty happy here too.

Finally, here is Mom on her 80th birthday. It wasn't the last one she enjoyed as an independent adult, but she only had a few more before needing full-time care. She had Parkinson's, and then broke her hip... she never returned home after that.

So, I'll just wish mom a happy century, even though she's not here in person to enjoy a birthday cake.

See The Point of My Quality Day for one of the other sons, grown up. I haven't blogged about the one in this baby picture yet.