25 March

Some quarter-century or so ago, I told my sister that the card I sent her on her birthday was the last reminder of her age I would provide.  I lied.

I may have let a few birthdays pass unremarked, but after a bit I realized that no matter the protestations to the contrary almost everyone likes to be reminded of a special day in their lives.  What could be more special than being born?

So the birthday cards again became a part of my recognition of this person who is important to me.

After a bit more time I realized, and I think the ladies realize as well, that there comes a point where age is a badge of honor, a paean to survival.  Now wrinkles, no, not so much, but the number associated with the birthday:  that is Okay.

Yet one never guesses a woman’s age, nor does he mention it if he already knows.

Therefore (fanfare please!) I wish my sister, Vee, a very happy birthday today, and a sincere wish that she will accumulate a whole lot more of them, and live happily and in good health while she does so. 

Vee blogs here.  Drop by and leave your greetings.

Baby Vee posing in front of the 
house in which she was born with
her parents and older brother.

Moving On

Since I was but five years of age, less a day, when we moved from Bladen, I do not have a large store of memories of the place.  In fact, I have pretty much exhausted that store in sharing these few articles about our time there.  So I am concluding the series with a few photos which were taken on my last visit a couple years ago.

Welcome as one enters town from the south.

The U.S. Post Office, Bladen, Nebraska

Mrs. Anderson's home, which I deemed to be a mansion, but unlike

the parsonage where we lived, which is still occupied and lovingly maintained.

Across the street from the parsonage was the church.  The building had a steeper pitched roof, a bell tower and steeple back in the '30s.  Clearly the building has been repurposed, then neglected.

Little Family in a Little Town

Reminiscing and scrolling through some old pictures, this one brought back a flood of really ancient memories.

The picture was taken in the front yard of the parsonage in which we lived in Bladen, Nebraska.  I am guessing it was Spring or Summer of 1938.

We moved to this village of perhaps 500 souls in the Summer of 1935.  Little Sister was born in March 1937.  We moved to Colorado on July 4, 1939.

It was in Bladen that my first memories of life on this Earth are set.  In addition to my awakening awareness of my surroundings, I was exposed over the years to the stories the parents told of the times here.

One of my memories involves a blue drinking glass and a two-inch crescent scar across my right wrist.  Somehow the glass was broken in the kitchen, and Mama's Little Helper was carrying some shards oh, so carefully, in his hands, taking them to the back porch and the trash receptacle.  For no good reason, other than to create a tale and a memory, MLH stumbled on the threshold and fell.  The glass provided a severe cut to the base of the right palm, so Mama said.  It has migrated fully three inches up the inside of my arm in the intervening three-quarters of a century.

I also have a weirdly disfigured left index finger, the nail of which requires a minimum of nine snips for a proper trimming each week.  That's a nine-snip nail.  Three-year old self had climbed onto the deck beneath the windmill.  The child was fascinated by the action of the pump rod and for no other good reason, reached toward it.  Unfortunately, the rod had a bolt protruding which came just to the level of the deck before returning on its upward stroke.  That spot was exactly where the child had his finger when the down-stroke was completed.  Smash!

I have many other memories, both mine and those of my parents, which are set in this village.  Perhaps I shall attempt to mine and refine some of them!

Though I have worn my hair combed straight back pompadour style for decades, left to its own devices, the part still falls on the right.
You might also like this Bladen story posted here.