memories

The bench…

I saw an advertisement in our local Facebook Marketplace the other day for a red bench. Amish made, sturdy, in excellent condition and only three twenty-dollar bills. The memories started flooding in. I’ll have a birthday soon and my memory isn’t always that reliable but I just knew that, somewhere in time, we’d had a red bench. I contacted the owner and we picked up the bench right after my eye doctor appointment last Friday. It was perfect. The color is a gorgeous burgundy red. It is sturdy and I have no doubt Amish made. She said it used to belong to her parents. They’re probably about my age. We’re the right generation for the Colonial America look. I love the bench. It’s sitting in the dining room right under the framed photo of Terrace Hill, the Iowa governor’s mansion. The print is addressed to Doug’s parents and personally signed by a former governor of Iowa

Below: After some looking through old photographs research, I have some answers.

We did have a bench, probably purchased 50+ years ago when Bill and I bought our first sofa and chair.

First, it was painted black with gold trim around the wooden legs.

When we moved to the little house on Cherrydale, the bench went in the hallway.

Here’s Christy playing dressup with her little high heels and earrings walking by the bench.

A couple of houses and a few years later, the bench has been antiqued blue and it’s sitting in the kitchen in Ellendale.

Christy holding her baby brother Justin.

And with four of us (Bill, Justin, Christy and me) sitting on the same bench…

Below: Quite a few years later…and I was right. We DID have a red bench!

The same one painted red this time, sitting on the porch of our house in Terre Haute, Indiana!

Bill with his mom, Bobbie.

Guess my memory isn’t so bad after all!

My memories of the Fourth of July…

Family, My Southern Heart, Reflections

When my three sisters and I began our family history search ( inspired and instigated by my oldest sister Dot), we made several family history journeys…with so much laughter and fun as the four of us traveled together. Sometimes, my niece Sharon accompanied us and there was even more laughter. One of those trips was to Jackson, Mississippi, where we spent the day in the Mississippi archives. Another search took us to Pontotoc County, Mississippi, where Mama and Daddy were both born. There, we visited both the library and the dusty archives of the small town newspaper. Most of the articles were not on microfiche or anything more updated, so we searched through dozens of large leather-bound journals containing newspapers from many decades ago.

We would get so excited whenever we found an article about our family. One such article was written about Mama’s Fourth of July birthday party held at their home. From the date, they would not have been married very long. It described the menu (including homemade ice cream – or “cream” as Daddy called it. Year after year, there was a twofold celebration…Mama’s birthday and our nation’s independence.

As the years rolled by and we daughters were born, the celebration continued. As we grew up, got married and had families, the celebration continued. Every year, the family gathered for a picnic and cookout with all the trimmings in her honor. In later years, it was held at my oldest sister Dot’s house because she had a swimming pool. Memphis is hot in the summertime and the kids loved the pool. Dot would bake a large chocolate sheet cake with a hint of cinnamon and a delicious chocolate icing. Sometimes, she’d decorate the top. It was so very good. My mouth waters just remembering. With the cake, there would be homemade vanilla ice cream, usually my sister Gerry’s specialty. Before dessert, of course, there would be delicious grilled hamburgers, baked beans, potato salad and other wonderful dishes. In later years, we’d sometimes order Memphis barbeque at its best – from Corky’s.

These will always be my memories of the Fourth of July…my dear parents, my sisters, my precious family. I have no doubt they are celebrating in Heaven today. Happy Birthday, Mama…

Below: the McGregor girls at one of Mama’s Fourth of July birthday parties…

Below: Dianne and Gerry at Mama’s 4th of July birthday party at Dot’s house. About 1990.

Below are just a few of the members of my large family. I need to dig through all my photos and scan the rest! I faithfully took my Pentax K1000 to every single function we had. Everybody teasingly complained then. Now, they are glad for a bit of history captured on film.

Below: My sister Gerry and my niece Sharon about 1982. Mama’s Fourth of July birthday party at Sharon’s house.

Below: my oldest, my great-niece Dawn and my niece Gina

Below: my sister Dot and her husband Tom…late 80’s.

Below: my sister Eunice and her husband Eddie.

Bill and me at a Fourth of July birthday party for Mama…late early 90’s.

Below: my sister Gerry at another Fourth of July at Dot’s house…

Below: three of my nieces at Dot’s house…late 80’s.

Below: Mama’s Fourth of July birthday party at my niece Sharon’s house – about 1982.

My youngest is in the “firetruck” and my great-nephew is on his bike.

Below: my oldest two with their “Mamaw”…about 1990…at Dot’s house.

Below: my sister Gerry and her husband, my niece and her son (who is now in his third year of medical school!)

My niece…Gerry’s older daughter. I wish you could hear her play the piano…

As published in Sweet Journey Home today…

Mama and the pizza…

My Southern Heart, Reflections, The little house on Victor Drive

It was the late 1950’s. We were living in the house on Victor Drive with the sunny windows and the knotty pine dining room with the corner china cabinets. It was a time of early rock and roll, dancing and pizza. Our first introduction to pizza was from George, a big, strong, dark-haired cajun planter from Louisiana. All these years later, and I remember George Broussard like it was yesterday. He was Glenda’s boyfriend and Glenda was Dot’s best friend. So we all spent a lot of time together in that little house on Victor Drive.

George had a booming voice and a great laugh. His conversation was sprinkled with a few cajun words here and there, and he loved to kid Mama. One weekend, he brought a large, filled-to-the-brim pizza over for lunch. We’d never even seen a pizza. I have to admit, at first glance, I had my doubts. All these years later, I’ve had the best Chicago pizza in downtown Chicago…so I’d have to say I know good pizza. I don’t know where George got it, but that was some pizza! Mama took one look at it and had her doubts too. It, obviously, wasn’t Southern vegetables and cornbread. She almost didn’t try it, but she did…and she fell in love with George’s pizza. The best I recall all these years later, I’d say it was a thin-crust, SUPREME pizza and it was, indeed, delicious.

Quite frequently after that, George would arrive with Glenda on his arm and toting another gift for Mama…a pizza supreme. I’m not sure that George ever knew that Mama became a serious pizza fan after that. She tried making it from scratch from time to time, but when she was in a hurry, she’d resort to Chef Boyardee. Not too sure that George would have approved of that…