Black and white scrapbook

This is Eli Davis' discharge certificate from the civil war. He lived on and was the father and step father of 18 children or something like that. He was wounded, see an upper edge notation. Marlene has the original document, this was an early, bad copier copy, which I photo shopped for many hours, so it's pretty readable, and fun to print and share. I will add his picture soon. Eli was my Great Great Grandfather, father of Franklin Perry>Pearl>Perry>Sharon

Volunteer-ism, an amazing activity for seniors!

This is Jim and me, in 2011. We worked at the Disney Marathons, which benefits Blood Cancer research and treatment. We met people from all over the world. This year, we drew the beautiful tent set up for runners and families who pay an extra 70.00 to have a white tablecloth with flowers--hot coffee and breakfast, wifi and water, bag check and AC before the race. What a cushy job-Jim maybe helped with some flowers and chairs, and I walked around being friendly, with a pair of scissors, I clipped the strings off the number badges which were a bother. I met so many people who thanked us for volunteering (you could not do this race without volunteers), and had a pleasant attitude.  I also smiled and told them I was the only person at Disney allowed to carry sharp scissors! lol
Anyway,  these characters came to greet the guests, who were getting themselves organized to catch their busses, so Jim and I took a bit of liberty, and posed with them. Always sweet and friendly, they welcomed our attention, and we, theirs!

Madeline Rose

Madeline Rose and I were winter friends, in Zephyrhills, Florida for many years. Married to her long time sweetheart, Olaf, they built homes, created a farm, raised a family, did organic gardening, vacationed, invested, and enjoyed many, many friends.

I first got curious about Madeline when Jim came back from her house with a leaf on his forehead! Earlier in the day, in a new-to-us trailer, Jim hit his head on a cupboard door. OUCH! it swelled even with ice, but that didn't keep Jim from strolling up to the clubhouse for the mail. Oley called to him as he passed, and when Madeline saw his bump, she gave him a Comfry leaf to put on it. That was the beginning of a long, long respect for Madeline, and her remedies.

Trained in reflexology, homeopathy, and acupressure, Madeline would walk a mile to learn something new about Natural Healing or Herbal remedies. She has never stopped learning. We went to Reiki classes, a "Gathering Herbs" lecture, and had lots of discussions which often began with a reflexology treatment.

Madeline suffered with allergies and debilitating spells caused by gas and diesel fumes, and some mysterious weaknesses which she struggled to understand. Once taken to the hospital, they found absolutely no causes, so she has carefully figured them out for herself.

Before I go further, and you wonder how this tale ends--it doesn't. Madeline is now 92, Olaf is 96. Oley still saws and chops and carries wood for their wood stove (they also have natural gas), and Madeline still cooks for them, and keeps house "enough to get by" (her words), and still monitors their health, with cell salts, home remedies, and a little help from modern meds-like teflon bandages for a bad arm injury, and having favorites looked up on the internet. They take no prescription medications, go to bed early, unless they have company, and eat fresh fruits and vegatables as much as they can. In fact, I hear they are planting a garden again this year!

When Madeline was not able to travel, so they sold their Florida home about 10 years ago, maybe 15, and somehow, we just got out of touch.

Last winter, I thought of Madeline, and paged thru my old telephone book and there was her number. I wondered if they were alive.

"Hello?"
"Hello, Madeline, I can't believe its you! How ARE you?"
"Shaaaaaron"!!! Oh my Gosh, how are you?"

And with that, we were best friends once more. We talk often, and she reminds me of things I seem to forget, and I remind her of the same. Encouragement and understanding are the platform of new beginnings, and once again I so look forward to talking with her weekly. We also made plans, and went to visit them, and both look amazingly well, and even prepared dinner for us even though we tried to dissuade this idea, as I expected frail, infirm oldsters. We were delighted with what we found.

So an evening of food and talk, seeing all of Olaf's WW2 medals and pictures, we tried to leave early, only to stay on another hour, until WE were tired.

Next morning, we had coffee and a nice visit, and I could write a whole page of the things I learned or re-learned in those great hours we spent with the Roses. In fact, I took notes as we talked.

On a scale of 10, my health and my well being has gone from a 4 to a 8 since our visits and talks began. I am teaching myself to include cell salts in my health routine, and am copying some information and calling Madeline with questions as I order my supplies. I decided to make myself a little booklet.

Then I decided I might make one for my children. Then, I decided Madeline might like some to pass along when she visits with family or friends and this discussion might come up.

So I am including this note, about a friendship and support system that will never end. I will hope that my Madeline will leave this page in our little booklet, and I will hope that others will enjoy sharing  her knowledge, her friendship and the healing concepts.

Thanks, Madeline

A Tribute to a Teacher

Interesting that at 78, I would still think about a teacher I had way back in the 40's. At the time I knew her, her actions were memorable but I did not recognize the mark she left on the ladies of Gladwin county, Michigan. She enabled their entry into organized sports. Sort of.

Miss Huber-her name may have been Edith, was my teacher in either 3rd or 4th grade, and we were housed after 'the war' in what we called the 'chicken coops',  a building next to the school, with rooms  for the overcrowded school system in what was either earlier classrooms, or part of some storage/heating/coal bin system near the big brick school on Maple. The big school housed elementary school classes as well as high school students at this time, with a cafeteria in the basement, and school offices on the ground floor.

Miss Huber was not married, middle aged, she dressed very business-like in neat gaberdine suits, crisp blouses, and kept her hair very short and neat. She wore sensible, laced up black  heels with opaque nylons.  She loved children, and we soon found that she was kind and fair,  and enjoyed our successes immensely. She laughed with us and scolded for misbehaving. She was very approachable, and listened to our tales.

I don't know when I stopped jumping rope or playing hop scotch and started watching the soft ball games, but I was just drawn to it, which was very unusual for a girl. Our neighbors, over our back fence, also a family of Hubers, used to play wild soft ball games with their children in the back yard, and if I stood by the fence long enough, they would invite me to join them. I was in heaven.

Back in the school yard, I asked the boys if I could learn to play, and they rolled on the ground laughing, and enjoyed the thought of a girl playing ball. I was not deterred, and tried to join their game. This is like letting a 4 year old join a poker tournament, and the  boys had lots of fun getting me to do the wrong thing, or pitching fast balls past me.

So why were the girls not playing ball? Many played at home in some vacant field, and enjoyed the game, and it occurred to us that if we had a ball and a bat, we could learn to play at our own level. We asked Miss Huber if we could have our own ball and bat.

Miss Huber suggested that we could go and ask our school principal, Mr. Parker, in his office in the big school. Wow. So, with our request properly rehearsed, the three 'committee members' left for Mr. Parker's office. I'm sure we walked close together, and tried not to have sweaty palms.

Mr. Parker heard our request, looked us over carefully, and then turned us down. "Girls don't play softball," he told us. And back to Miss Huber we came, with our sad report. She never said a word.

Next day, we were very surprised to see Miss Huber marching out to the playground. She had a softball and a bat in her arms, and she called to us girls, to come and play softball, and she proceeded to organize, instruct, run, bat, encourage, and laugh, as we played our first of many softball games. I can still see her running for first base in her business blues and her laughter as we girls made our blunders .

We also figured out that if we girls hurried at recess, we could get the 'good' diamond behind the school, the one with the best bases and outfield, much to the concern of the boys, who had never had to share. Too bad, boys. After being assured we intended to play ball there, they finally scuffed off to the back of the playground, not without the proper word bombs about girls playing ball.

Now the next surprise.A few days later, the high school door opened, and Mr. Parker himself strolled onto the playground. Our ball game stopped, and we watched as he motioned for us to come over. Would girls be punished for playing softball? Maybe our parents would be notified!

No, instead he handed us two softballs, and two bats, and wished us well with our softball game. Our eyes widened!  We now had our own official girls softball equipment. This was big for us, and we were soon back working on our game on our favorite ball diamond.

I can't say this was the beginning of  ladies softball in Gladwin, but I can tell you it was the first on the playground in 1947. But what I think about now, was this teacher who stood up for us, in a fashion we can only guess about. This teacher must have taken our cause as a serious breech of girls rights to play sports on an equal with the boys. Teaching girls to properly play the game was one thing, getting the school principal to reverse his decision, and personally admit this to teachers and students alike in a public fashion must have been huge.

I wish I could tell you about Miss Huber's courage as she stood up for the little girls in her class, how she politely and firmly disagreed with a superior, how she felt this  was unfairness toward girls sports, but I cannot. I can only imagine, as she never said a word, never batted an eyelash.  I wonder if she asked for a hearing before the school board? Did she threaten to sit-in, or protest? I only know that she knew that "fair is fair".

 I wish I could say her name is on a plaque in the library, or a softball field is named for her. No one ever gave her the credit for her victory, nor the future joy it would support.  I'm sure this is as she would have wished.

The best ball games are still in the front yard, with most calls argued, and time out for ice cream. I still love the game, and I remember this teacher, who gave us a privilege we now take for granted, in her own quiet way.

So girls, when you play your game, think of Miss Huber, and hit one over the fence for her. She would love that. 

Thanks again, Miss Huber.

The Written Letter

The Written Letter

We visited old friends a few weeks ago. Olaf and Madeline. After 10 years or more, of remembering our times together in the Winters spent in Florida, and somehow not communicating, I picked up the telephone one day. 92 years young, she recognized my voice after a sentence or two. 

Madeline has taught me so much. Her work with reflexology, her insight and knowledge of healing herbs, and cell salts has been a big part of the life I've lived, trying to take care of me, and several other folks as well, you know how families are.

So my goal now is to 1. visit them, and 2. Call every week, and I'm getting ready to do just that. So much knowledge, so many good ideas which I somehow forget, and so much fun we remember.

So now for the visit. We got a room near their little town, and went about 7 to visit. Well, thinking I would find two oldies who were eating meals on wheels, and not moving well, we were welcomed with open arms, and supper waiting (way too long) for us. So even thou we had eaten, we ate again.  We tried to explain that we had purposefully came after supper as we didn't want them to cook. Madeline poo poo'd that one, and warmed up our share. 

Olaf was as loud and happy as ever, and still gives bear hugs. He added a chunk of wood to the stove, to "keep his wife's butt warm" and showed us a solid wall of WW11 medals, a proud grandson had looked into them and set it up for him. Impressive.  A recent slip and fall on some ice has only slowed him down a little, and he swears he is going to plant a garden this year, he may poke the holes for seeds with his walking cane if I know Olie.

So amid laughter, and memories, we visited on into the evening. Our plan was to leave early, since "you go to bed at 8", they both said they only do that out of boredom. We all laughed and visited on for a little while more--Jim and I were getting tired!!

Jim asked Olaf if he was farming any more, and Olie answered with a no. Why?-"Well", said Olie," I got a written letter."

"From who"?

"From Madeline. Nope, no more farming. Have you ever received a written letter, Jim?"

"No"

"Well, you'll know when you get one, Jim" 

That was how that discussion ended. Another subject came up and we continued our visit, but Jim and I are both thinking about the written letter. Maybe we need to write more letters, and maybe we never realized the impact of "the written letter". Think of the hand written Thank you note, almost a thing of the past, at one time a proper thing to do. Or the love letter to a loved one far away, how powerful. And the condolence cards with hand written words as our final written thoughts of those we have to say good-by to forever.

So now I have written all of this down, in my electronically submitted reproduction of The Written Letter. I hope the impact is the same. 

I need to call Madeline.

Recognizing a Miracle

It's the day after the big Lottery drawing. No, our one ticket didn't win.

Logan came today. He cleans the snow from our roofs. Tall, handsome, 20 ish, he works at Meijer, and is a very smart, capable young man. He likes Jim, is polite and friendly to me, and drinks coffee. Perfect.

Jim was running the snow blower after Logan went up on the roof with his shovel, and was surprised to see him walk around the corner of the house a few minutes later. Logan informed him he had just "fallen" off the roof.

Jim shut down the blower and questioned him further, and this is Logan's story.

 On the north end of the roof he discovered ice under the snow. Not thinking, he shoved the snow off the edge a couple of times, and suddenly felt himself sliding toward the edge. In that long four seconds, he knew he could not stop his fall, so he made a decision, and jumped toward the nearest white pine, a few feet away from the edge. He says he landed in the tree, hugged the trunk and caught his breath. Looking down, he had about 10 feet to the ground. He loosened his grip, and slid to the ground. He was unhurt, and unruffled by the experience. In fact, he laughed about it.

Over coffee, which Jim insisted on, he said he learned quickly, to leave a snow band along the edge of the roof, making a nice barrier, until he moved on to another part of the roof. Good thinking.

And all we hoped for on this day was a winning ticket and a few million,  we were blessed with so much more!

Pleasent memories, or "Jim's Gift of " Rain on a Tin Roof"

Who knows what reminded me of this, so long ago, and so funny. He's 81 now and still laughs when he tells it.  I relayed it to our friend Kathleen by email as its a bit too personal for fb but I'll tell it here.

Re: My tin roof story
Actions
Kathleen Wildey
7:52 AM

To: Sharon Martin
What a wonderful story, it's one of those incidents one can not,forget....Thanks for sharing...

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On Fri, Nov 6, 2015 at 1:06 PM, Sharon Martin <sharrygranny@live.com> wrote:


    Hi Kathleen, here is the 'rain on a tin roof' story that I promised. Too personal for FB! haha I still smile as I write about it.
    In Louisiana, in a duplex with 3 kids, our bedroom was in the back of the apt.  and the garbage cans sort of set under the eaves, under our windows. When it rained, the rain would patter on them, and it sounded like the tin roof in the rain sound. loved it.
    One night it was raining hard  as we were crawling into bed, I said "Oh darn, its raining and the garbage can is not under the eaves". Jim looked out the window and, of course, wanting to be nice, said quietly, "I think I can reach it if I open the window wide and unhook the screen (the heavy screen unhooked and swung out. Which he proceeded to almost do. He couldn't quite reach the garbage can, and gave one last grab, where upon he lost his balance, and, hanging onto the screen part of the way, proceeded to fall out of the window, into the rain and landed on a garbage can which fell over with him on it and dumped him into the rain soaked earth, now mud.
    I leaped out of bed and peered into the darkness, where I whispered loudly,
    "Are you ok?"
    All at once, Jim started laughing very loudly, and he jumped up, covered with mud, and I started laughing. I had to go out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to unlock the back door for him, as he was standing at the back door in white unders, covered with mud, and haw haw-ing so loudly that all at once the neighbors lights came on--
    "What's going on out there, is everyone ok?"
    "Jim can't really answer because by now he's crying with laughter. Mud was all over most of his body and dripping down his legs.
    And I am in the kitchen, bent over and breathless with laughter and jiggling the lock trying to unlock the door which isn't happening.
    So I finally got the door open, but while assuring the neighbors in the duplex and laughing loudly, he woke up the next door neighbors on the other side of us and had to reassure them everything was fine. Hard to do when you're in the back yard in the rain in your underwear and dripping with mud.
    The next day Jim explained it to all the neighbors, as everyone laughed, exactly what we were laughing about, and how it happened,  this time with his pants on
    It was a great night!