Cecil(e)'s Letters - Say WHAT? A Mystery Solved...

For the last ten years since my beloved grandmother Beulah Ethel (Garrard) Browning died -- and for at least ten years before that -- there had been an ongoing mystery playing in my head about her younger years.  This 'mystery'  really wasn't much of a mystery.....not really......I thought I'd had it all figured out long ago.   The mystery part I always tried to fill in with 'details' was only because my grandmother never really shared too much information about it.

Hm.  I sound as clear as mud.  I should explain.

 As I've said in earlier posts, my grandparents were unusual for their times because they waited so long to marry.  My grandmother was 33 years old and my grandfather was 32 when they married in 1934.  They'd been seeing each other since 1927.  The Great Depression and responsibilities for taking care of other family members had extended their courtship.  Every time my grandma and I touched upon the subject of her relative spinsterhood and whether or not she'd had other boys she was sweet on before meeting and marrying my grandfather, she would steer the conversation away from particulars and just talk in rather sweeping generalities.  However, at some point the conversation would always come around to one name.  Cecil Buchanan.  Or at least that's how it always seemed to me.  I never asked much about him and I just put two and two together in my head and assumed that he was the boy that she'd liked and she didn't want to go into details.  Maybe because he'd broken her heart?  I didn't know...and honestly I didn't come right out and ask.  I just made the connections and filed the name away in my head.  I assumed I knew the story.

Yes, all the genealogists in the room are snickering behind their hands.  Don't think I can't hear you.

I've also stated before that I inherited my grandmother's cedar chest and her umpteen million boxes of pictures and letters and....stuff.  Well, imagine my surprise when I found a lock of strawberry blonde hair all tied up in a ribbon, dated 1917!  It's the lock of hair and the ribbon in the picture at the top of this post.  I was all excited when I found it.  It's got his name written on it, and a lock of his hair.....and his birthdate, and her birthdate.  Awwwwwww, how teenager-like and romantic!  Ah ha, I thought! Here's some solid proof that Grandma WAS sweet on him!

Some time later, in another box buried in her things, I came across two letters that Cecil had written.  One was postmarked 1920 from Bloomington, IN and the other 1923 from Mattoon, IL.  I read through them and they seemed rather warm and loving but also rather detached.  I thought that a bit strange, really, but how was I to know hoe young people courted in letters at the time?  Anyway, after reading them over again a few times I grew curiouser and curiouser and thought hey, I have him somwhere in 1920!  I should look him up in the census!

I don't know why I hadn't done it before.  It was one of those 'slip my mind' things, I guess.  But I sat down letters in hand and started looking him up in the census.

I found him fairly easily in the 1920 Bloomington, Monroe CO IN census:

But....wait.  What's that?   Do you see it?   I thought that Cecil was a boy and this one is a girl.  Grandma always pronounced it SEE-SIL and not SUH-SEAL so this Cecile?  Hm, I thought, that can't be right.  I know,  I'll search the 1910 and see where this Cecile is:

I found 'Cecile Buchanan' in the 1910, all right.....in Crawford Co., IL.  Huh.  Right where my grandma was living at the same time.  And what's that again?  A GIRL?  Again?  Once is a coincidence maybe, or a mistake, but twice?

Ok, I thought. Is it possible that the CECIL my grandma had always talked about, and the CECILE I was looking at here.....is it possible that my grandma was talking about her BEST FRIEND???

After another few days of poking about I was beginning to think just that.  I found Cecile's marriage to Hilbert Cox and found a picture of her tombstone on a Warrick Co IN site.  Attached to the picture was an email address. I sent an email to that address and waited with bated breath.  It didn't take me long to receive a reply and to begin a correspondence with a wonderful lady who is Cecile's granddaughter.  What was even more fun was that Cecile's daughter was still alive!

I shared a long and informative phone call with both of them and I was able to compare much of what was in the letters to what these lovely people already knew about their mother and grandmother.  I learned an interesting fact very quickly, though....even though they spell it Cecile, it's pronounced SEE-SIL.  I also finally learned who the Margaret Buchanan was who took one of my favorite pictures of my grandmother, walking home from school with a metal lunch pail in 1915. She was Cecile's younger sister.

The evidence is overwhelming.  Cecile and my grandmother were chums.  Friends.  They were friends from at least 1915 until 1923, the date of the last letter.  My grandma kept a lock of Cecile's hair and even though the birthdate written on it is wrong (Cecile was actually born in Feb 1900) the people mentioned in the letters reference both Cecile's family (Helen, Margaret, Grandma Dunlap, and Elba Mudhenk) and my grandmother's family (her mother Louisa and sister Julia.)  Their tone in the letters I mentioned above?  It all made sense now.

So the mystery of the identity of 'Cecil Buchanan' is finally solved.  There's just one more thing I wonder about.  Grandma must have known what I was thinking about her Cecil.  Why didn't my grandma set me straight?

The joke's on me, grandma.  I love you dearly, you sly devil, you.  I bet you're chuckling now.  Goodness knows I am.  Hahahah!

(Not So) Wordless Wednesday - Peek-A-Boo!

They say a picture can say a thousand words?  Bah.  I always have one or two more to add to that, ya know!  "Wordless" is a foreign concept for me.  So here's the picture...

Some of the explanation is under the picture but I just have to add my few words.  I wish I knew for sure who the woman was sitting on the porch holding the two adorable little pudgy toddlers, but I don't.  It might possibly be Daisie Catherine (Rush) Browning, the first wife of Roy Browning, my grandfather Virgil's brother.  If this is Daisie, she is holding Frederick Leroy Browning (b. 1928) and Esther Mae Browning (b. 1929) and would date the picture to around 1931 rather than the c1929 I have listed. Whoever the lady is, she is smiling a mile wide, though, isn't she?  I also don't know the identities of the older boy to the left nor the older girl to the right with her finger to her lips looking puzzled.  She's clasping the hand of a smaller girl who is only half in the frame.  I don't know who the smaller girl is either.  I also like the wagon off in the distance.

I do recognize my grandfather Virgil Joseph Browning in the big hat.  He's smiling, too.  It must've been a funny moment they captured.  And that lady peeking out behind the barn with an impish look about her?  My grandmother  Beulah Ethel Garrard.  At this point my grandparents weren't married yet -- that didn't happen until 1934 -- but they were dating.

Peek a boo, Grandma!  I see you!

I also recognize the "old home place," the Browning family farm.  Well...I call it the Browning family farm, but it's really the Nichols place.  My 3rd-g-grandfather Joseph Nichols bought the land (in 1849) and built the house and established it.  It was just passed from his daughter Eliza Ursula (Nichols) Swan down to Ursula's daughter Estella Jane (Swan) Browning and then to Stella's sons Virgil, Roy and Emerson Browning. 

I recognize that porch, too, and those dark planks to either side of the door.  I remember those well.  I played many a day on that porch.  This picture sure does make me smile.

Happy 71st, Dad!

My dad is 71 today.

From the infant held in his mother's arms:

To the young Elvis lookalike:

 ...and playing in a rock and roll band.....

















To the newly married husband:

To the loving son taking care of his aging mother, my adored grandmother:

And of course, a fabulous father and grandfather!

For the many roles you've played in your 71 years and to the many people in your life that you've touched, I want to thank you. Keep on keeping on.   I love you, dad.

My Grandmother's Life, Pt. 6 - The Winter Years

(See HERE for previous posts in this series...)

After Aunt Martha's death in 1955 it was just my father and my grandparents. My dad finished high school and then decided to enlist in the army in 1960. He was stationed in Germany for 3 years and after he got out he moved to Chicago, where he met and married my mother in 1964. I was born a few years later and my brother a few years after that. We lived in Chicago until the mid-70's, when we moved to Robinson and lived there for four years before finally moving to north central Texas.

For my grandparents life went on at the old home place. The home place had originally been a three-room house with an outhouse but grandma and grandpa had slowly added on to it as their family had grown. I have a datebook that grandma kept from 1954-1960 (and sporadically after that) and it states that they added an addition to the living room in 1951 and finished the upstairs (expanding it from one room to two) in 1953. My grandmother also wanted indoor plumbing and my mom says that grandpa balked about that for years but finally grandma got her way, winning the battle of the outhouse in the early 70's. By the time I ran around the house playing, in the mid-70's, there was a small bathroom right off the kitchen and the outhouse was all boarded up.

That was the way grandma was, though. She didn't say much for the most part, and pretty much let my grandfather run things, but when she did want something or had just had enough of something, she usually got her way. Grandpa knew very well to relent the few times that grandma pitched a fit or put her foot down. They worked well together that way.

By the 80's, though, my grandparents were both in their 80's. My mom and dad and my brother and I had moved to north central Texas, my grandmother's siblings had all died and my grandfather's only living brother was also living in north central Texas. Getting through the Illinois winters was growing more difficult for my grandparents and grandma was tired of being away from her son. Grandma wanted to move to Texas. Grandpa? Well, he had his roots in Illinois soil and he didn't want to leave.

Of course you can guess what happened. They went to Texas!

They had a huge sale before they left Robinson and sold a lot of the old things that were in the house. I didn't realize how much history they'd sold until many years thereafter and even now, thinking about it, it makes me sigh in resignation. I was too young to know what all that would someday mean to me and grandma would say not to cry over spilled milk. I just hope that whoever bought all that old stuff appreciates it like I would if it were mine. Anyway, grandma told me once that a few years after they moved to Texas, grandpa told grandma that he wanted to go on back home. Grandma said she told him, "Virgil, you are welcome to go back to Robinson whenever you want, but you'll have to go on alone."

Grandpa stayed.

It was a good thing they did. Grandpa got sick from leukemia in late 1988 and died in December 1989. I tell that story in the first installment of this series, HERE.

I have so many other memories of my grandmother during those years she lived with my dad after my grandfather's death. Smiling with her at her 100th birthday party, surrounded by her family, and asking her how it felt to be 100 and laughing at her answer: "The same as it felt to be 99."

I also remember that grandma would watch every time my mom came home from the store, looking to see if they'd bought her a refill on her favorite Brach's butterscotch candies. She had a bell that sat by her chair in her room that she would ring if she needed anything. I remember her laugh and her tiny, hoarse sounding voice that was music to my ears. I loved the way her eyes would sparkle when I'd come into her room and visit.

I especially remember her when I was pregnant with my own daughter in the early 90's. She would pat my belly and tell me to take care of myself and I knew that she was hiding the worry she felt and reliving those times with my Aunt Martha in her head. My dad was doing the same. My parents brought my grandma up with them when I went into labor and he, my mom, and my mother in law sat outside the entire 12 hours smoking up a storm in their nervousness. Goodness, the three of them probably created an entire ozone layer on their own!

It was wonderful to lay my daughter in my grandmother's arms. I treasure the picture above. I treasure the fact that my grandma not only lived long enough to forge a relationship with me but also lived long enough so that my own daughter will always be able to remember her "great-nah-nee." I miss her every day and I will go to my own grave missing her.

She had a very long and wonderful life. I am so very privileged to have called her Grandma.

My Grandmother's Life, Pt. 5 - Joy And Tragedy

For previous posts in this series:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

We are up to the part of the story where my grandparents and their young daughter Martha Ann were a happy little family in Robinson, Crawford Co., IL, in the late 30's. The Depression years were over and though times were hard, they weren't as hard as those that had come before. My grandparents owned a house and a good amount of land and had a wonderful little girl to raise. Life was hard but simple and times seemed pretty good for them then.

Then, when my Aunt Martha was about four years old, in late August 1938, tragedy struck their little family. I've written about it all here but I'll briefly recap it again. My grandma and her family were eating dinner with her mother and father, Robert Elbert and Louisa Adaline (Eagleton) Garrard, at their house in Robinson. After dinner grandpa Robert went on outside to the outhouse and on his way back was struck by a runaway car that had rolled over the lawn. Grandma told me many years later that her father, aged 85 at the time, had suffered internal injuries and that it took him a few hours before he passed away.

A few years later, in late 1940, my grandmother and grandfather were surprised when my grandma realized she was pregnant. It had been nearly seven years since she'd had their daughter Martha Ann with no pregnancies in between and I imagine Grandma had just figured Martha was it for them. She was 40, after all! Life, however, has a funny way of giving you what you need -- even when you don't realize that you will at the time.

Grandma told me about my father's birth many times. She said she was frightened when she learned she was pregnant and had nightmares about not being able to carry to term or of dying during the birth. She said these fears were difficult to deal with when she begun to feel sickly midway through her pregnancy. Her doctor told her she'd become anemic. Who knows if she was truly anemic, if she had what we now call toxemia, or perhaps she even had gestational diabetes. Whatever it was, grandma said she felt weak and miserable for most of her pregnancy. I can only imagine how she dreaded giving birth.

These fears were magnified about eight months in when she caught the flu. She was already weak enough and the flu put the so-called icing on the cake. She was bedsick and weak and soon to deliver. A neighbor lady, Kay Badgley, came to my grandma's rescue. She stayed with grandma and took care of her while she was sick and was there to help grandma through giving birth. Grandma told me that Kay saved her life by both assisting in my father's delivery and making sure that grandma herself did not succumb to either the flu or to any complications of childbirth. My grandmother was so grateful to the woman that saved her life that she acknowledged her by giving her son -- my father -- the name Kay as his middle name.

I hear Dad hated it with a passion when he was a teenager. Hah!

My father was born in the spring of 1941 just as World War II broke out overseas. Later on that year my grandparents woke up one morning, a morning that was also my grandfather's 40th birthday, and heard horrible news on the radio. Pearl Harbor had been attacked. World War II had started for us.

The war years were full ones for my grandma and her family. Work was hard to come by. I remember grandma saying that grandpa worked for the WPA for a time but I am not sure now of the dates. When grandpa got a job in Sidney (in Shelby County, Ohio) working in a machine factory where they made tools for the war the family moved to Sidney and lived there for about three years (c1942-1945.) I recently discovered that Grandma's brother Ralph Garrard had also moved to Sidney, something that grandma never told me. I wonder whether Ralph had moved there first and secured my grandfather a position, or was it the other way around? I don't know. Nevertheless, when grandma's mother Louisa died in a old folk's facility in Alton IL in 1944, grandma and her brother were in Sidney.

Grandma and grandpa and their two children moved back to Robinson and settled once more in the old home place. The next ten years saw them raise their children and see Martha get married to her sweetheart Oral in June of 1953. By the beginning of 1955 my dad was attending his first year of high school and his sister Martha was pregnant with her first child.

Things couldn't have been sweeter for grandma and grandpa, but then tragedy struck again. Martha gave birth to her son in August of 1955 but began to have complications almost immediately. Grandma told me that the doctors let her lay there instead of attending her. She was slowly hemorraging; she developed an infection that caused puerperal fever and she hemorraged to death three days after her son was born. She was 20 years old.

Martha's death devastated my grandparents. I never got the chance to ask my grandfather about it because he'd passed away before I began my genealogical quest in earnest, but I know how deeply Martha's death affected my grandmother. The journal entries and notes that I have from her during this time period reveal that. I've often looked at the picture to the left (which I believe was taken just around the time of Martha Ann's death) and studied the tired, drawn looks that both my grandparents are wearing. They look like all the joy in them had been sucked away. As a mother myself to a daughter very close to Martha's age, I cannot imagine. Well, take that back. I can imagine, and even that makes my stomach clench and my throat tighten up. I'd rather not imagine, much less experience.

Even now, though I never actually knew my Aunt Martha Ann, I feel as if I have because she's always been a part of my life. Grandma's cedar chest holds mementos of her life. Martha's high school diploma, a pair of glasses she wore, pictures and a compact mirror she kept in her purse, pieces of her writings, old report cards....the list goes on. I have seen Martha's image so many times and heard her spoken of so often that her living self feels ingrained in my sense-memory, as if I've been face to face with her in the real world. Does that sound strange? It doesn't feel like it, if it matters. My conversations with my grandmother were never without her and I suppose that helped implant her in my head. Besides, Martha Ann's son -- my cousin -- is an absolutely fantastic man and my favorite cousin in the whole wide world. Grandma told me once that his jolly attitude about life reminded her constantly of Martha, so not only do I have her face to look at and my grandmother's memories to bring her to life, but I have a reflection of who she was in her son. My aunt died a decade before I was born, but I had her around anyway.

One last thought before I close for today. I mentioned earlier that life tends to take care of you and give you what you need even when you don't realize that it is. My grandmother wasn't trying, wanting or expecting a second child -- but she got one anyway. I have often wondered if my dad came along because life knew that my grandmother would need that extra child, and not just in the wake of her daughter's death. My dad took care of his parents during their winter years and my grandmother lived with them in the last years of her life. Of course I'm glad they had him because neither I nor my own daughter would exist without it! But if they hadn't had him and Martha had died? They would have truly been all alone. I'm glad it didn't end up that way.

Next time I'll wrap it all up.

My Grandmother's Life, Pt. 4 -- Marriage and Her First Child

Grandpa and Grandma were married by the Rev. Elmer Smith on Wednesday, the 3rd of January 1934, in Knox County (Vincennes), Indiana. Grandma told me that her best friend Gwendolyn Norton and her brother Ralph were the witnesses. They all climbed into a car and puttered over to Vincennes. I once asked grandma if it was snowing that day and she said that it had been earlier in the day and so it took the four of them a while to make it there.

Grandpa didn't have much money but he did get Grandma a simple tiny silver band. I have this band in my possession now and it is indeed a tiny thing -- my pudgy German fingers certainly can't wear it! -- and nearly worn through with age. I can't wear it because although my grandmother and I are just about the same size (she was about 4'10" and I am only 5'0") I inherited my mother's German body type more than my grandma's delicate French bone structure. Oh, I see my grandmother when I look at my arms, and my mother says that I walk like she did, but for the most part I've taken on the thicker and rounder barrel look of the German woman, hah! Anyway, I love feeling grandma's wedding band in my fingers. It's such a delicate piece. I can't look at it, ever, without picturing it in its proper place on grandma's hand.

Grandma and grandpa settled on the "old home place" once they married. This land had been inherited by my grandfather and his brothers Roy and Emerson from their aunt Missouri when she passed away in 1931. The land was originally 40 acres (the SE 1/4 of S2, T6N, R2W) and has been in my family since 7 Nov 1831, when my 4th-g-grandfather John Nichols purchased the land from Wilson Lagow. John's son Joseph purchased another 220 acres but bought and sold and by the 1930's the land had whittled down to 120 acres that Joseph deeded to his daughter Missouri Ann. Upon her death Missouri's land was split three ways. Grandma told me she encouraged Grandpa to buy the land instead of letting his brothers sell it away so he went ahead and bought it.

My aunt Martha Ann was born at the house on 16 October 1934. When I was first gathering all my genealogy data I remember writing down Aunt Martha's date of birth and doing some quick calculating. I then glanced over at grandma and pointed out to her that there was barely nine months between Martha Ann's birth and the date of their marriage, all the while giving her a rather knowing grin. She snorted with amusement and said, rather indignantly, "I had nine days of grace!" That sure did make me laugh!

So grandma and grandpa had their daughter Martha Ann within the first year of their marriage and boy, was she ever the apple of their eye. Since they'd waited until their 30's to get married childbirth wasn't something that grandma had planned to do a lot of. I remember her saying once that Martha's birth was a difficult one and that she'd almost died. The experience, she said, had the effect of making her very wary of having more children.

I have a few pictures of the family at that time and I've posted a few here. The first (to the left, above) was taken about 1938 and shows my grandpa proudly holding his little girl. I love this picture of my grandfather, I think he's a very handsome man. There's something William Holden-ish about him in this picture!

The second picture was taken about 1940 and shows the whole family. I think it's safe to say that grandma was pregnant again in this shot but it's fun to speculate whether she even knew it. She sure does look happy though!

True to her word, grandma did not seek to have any more children after Martha was born and she didn't get pregnant for years thereafter. I never asked her if she was intentionally careful, if she just got lucky, or if moving into her late 30's had anything to do with it. Having had a brush with death myself during an operation (and a difficult birth with my own daughter) I can certainly relate to my grandma's fears and hesitations. Giving birth wasn't a walk in the park for anyone at that time and apparently grandma wasn't really built for it. She was lucky to have survived Martha's birth (and especially my father's, but that story will come later.)

Of course grandma did get pregnant again with my father at the age of 40. This pregnancy was one of those so-called 'change of life' babies. It was ironic that this happened to her because my grandma's mother was 40 when she gave birth to my grandma. Like mother, like daughter? My aunt Martha was six when my grandmother learned that she was pregnant with my father and almost seven when he was born.

His birth and their life after that next time!

My Grandmother's Life, Pt. 3 -- In Letters

My grandmother and grandfather met in 1927. I've spoken in earlier blog posts about their courtship and I repeat the significant paragraph of that here for the sake of continuity:

"My grandparents weren't common for the times. Instead of marrying early as so many others did, they were an 'older' couple; they didn't begin dating until 1927 (when Grandma was 26) and didn't marry until 1934. The Depression began in 1929 and my grandfather was the sole means of support for his grandma (Eliza Ursula (Nichols) Swan) and great auntie (Ursula's sister, Missouri Ann Nichols, who never married.) Times were tough all over. Grandma and grandpa decided to "wait it out." Wait it out they did, though by 1933 grandpa's idea of waiting was apparently much different than grandma's! Grandma told me she said to grandpa one evening, "Virgil, I reckon if I let you, you'll wait forever, and I don't aim to wait much longer. I'm not a young woman and if we don't get on and get married, I'll have to be moving along." They got married a few months later!"

The details of their courtship are largely gone with grandma now. I asked her a couple of things about her and grandpa but the one thing I never did ask was precisely how they met. I wish I had. Maybe they didn't 'meet' so much as just knew each other since both were from the same small rural community. I guess I'll never know now, unless my father does. What I can put together, though, is a snippet of the timeline for the progression of their courtship. I have a set of letters that grandma saved, letters that grandpa wrote to her during the years before they finally married in January of 1934. These letters definitely show how their relationship progressed.

The first letter was written by my grandfather Virgil Joseph Browning in July of 1928. Grandpa wrote it to grandma because she and her friends Hope and Elmer Rich had decided to go 'south.' Grandma told me of this trip a few times over the course of her talks with me and luckily during my recent searches I found a four-page 'trip diary' that she'd written during the trip on notebook paper. She and her friends traveled to Asher, Oklahoma from Robinson, IL -- a trip of about 700 miles. They left on 28 Jun 1928 and returned on 14 July 1928 and each leg of the trip took them almost three days by car each way. The car? - a 1926 Model T Tudor!

Grandpa wrote grandma the following letter:

Robinson, Ill 7/28 My Dear Beulah, I recieved your letter Thursday eve. Say Miss you are having a fine time I bet. Oh it is hot here to day too hot to go in the sun very near. I went to a party last night at Russelville had a pretty good time to Lots of girls ha ha Well how are you kid don't let the Indians get you, no danger what? I went to Gordon last Sund. night in stead of to your church. Frank told me you people had gone south Sat. night. I hope this letter gets ther before you leave Asher I think it will. We had some Ice cream yesterday here at home it sure was good cant you taste it, Banana flaver too. Well I hope you have a good time while there and good luck on the road back. I must close and go to work so I can go to town to night. Hoping to see you soon, write if you can. Your Friend Virgil

I find this first letter interesting. Grandpa meant enough to her at the time for her to save the letter but there isn't much in its tone to suggest how far their relationship had progressed from simply liking each other to going steady. I don't know how long they'd been seeing each other at this time....6 months? 8 months? But it was long enough for him to write her a letter and send it all the way to Oklahoma!

The second set of letters I have was written on the 27th and the 29th of September 1929. Grandpa was taking a trip down to Tulsa. He wrote from Joplin MO on the 27th and from Shawnee OK on the 29th. Grandpa mentions his uncle in the letter of the 29th and he is referring to Finley Duncan, who was married to Ida May Browning. Ida was my great-grandfather Frederick Leone Browning's sister. The Duncans lived in Tulsa from 1920-1930, at least.

Joplin Mo Friday 27 Dearest Beulah I will write you a few lines and tell you the trip I just got through fixing a tire had a tack in it fixed one yesterd cut on glass say there is some hills in around Rolla kid I wish you had been along I am writing from a camp haven't started yet on my way bout 150 miles to go yet There sure is some real places to hunt and fish down here I saw 3 squirrel just about 5 minutes ago I hope I don't have any more trouble. dear dont get sick or hurt and dont cry much for me, ha ha. I know you won't though well sweet heart I spec I better close and go on well be yourself and keep sweet for I love you. Virgil I will write you from Tulsa or where ever I am at.

---

Sept 29, 1929 Dearst Beulah Well dear girl I will write you a little letter. I am at Shawnee, Okla now it is time to go to bed but I am a night hawk you know Well I never had any more trouble but the two flat tires. I got in the city of Tulsa the night after I wrote you and to Roy Sat evening. did you thing I had forgot to write. Well how are you all by now I am kind of lonesome tonight for you dear but you are 700 miles away. We will start home this week some time it may be Sunday night or later or before I get home. I went to the show with my uncle in Tulsa a good show It was good. The folks are kiding me about my red head girl ha ha. Well red head you are my girl let them kid me I don't care sweetheart do you Well kid don't get lonesome. I don't like this red dirt ore this country very well part of it is prect good the rest is worse. Well sweet girl I must close I ges and go to bed I am sort of tired out. Look for me when you see me girl of mine I am lonsome for you. XXoo XXoo Virgil I may drop you a card on the way

It had now been about a year and a half since the two of them had begun dating. It was likely quite serious by this time and you can definitely tell this by the tone in grandpa's letters. He tells her in the first one that he loves her -- the first time he's said that in any of the letters so far.

I also love how he mentions that my grandmother was a redhead! I know that her uncle Finn Eagleton was a redhead, and my dad was, and my brother and I am, and now my own daughter. I never saw my grandmother with red hair because there aren't any existing color photos of her with it (though the one taken in 1927 at the top of this post is the closest I've seen, I can imagine a burnished copper or auburn!) and she was in her 70s before I can even remember her. By that time her hair was the most gorgeous fine-spun silver. I can only hope my hair goes the same way!

A month before the writing of this next letter, in May of 1930, my grandparents posed for a picture on the steps of a local house. You can see it to the left.

June of 1930 is the next letter that I have. Grandpa had been carted away by a few friends of his to Russellville to shuck corn and apparently hadn't had time to let grandma know. He made sure to send her a letter! The tone of this one is warm and loving and his pet names and loving thoughts for her are clear.

Vincennes or Russelville. June 23/30 Dear Sweetheart. Well are you peived at me for coming away so long or not I left on short notice {Paul?}and Roy Cohourn the man I have been shooking wheat for came after me. I told the folks to let you know did they I am going to stay till sat I ges Roy's brother wants me to shok for him to when I get through here I'll get throu tomorrow I ges. say it has been lonesome here for me I wanted to come home sat night but could not did not have any way I wanted to see you little woman the worst kind. was you lone some for me I bet you was. well if you see any of my people tell them when I think I will be there. It has been awful hot the last todays has it not. say dearest girl have you had your wenine [weinie] roast yet. I bet I will lose out on it say it is warm enough to get that new bathing suit wet isn't it the water is fine for it tried it the other day did not get any bathing suit wet either. ha ha. I went to Vincennes sat night with the folks here sure a big crows there. well do not cry or fret or sigh for you know I will be home some of these days to see you and hold your dear sweet self in my arms dear girl I love you. by Virgil

We are now smack dab in Depression times. I asked grandma many times about this era of her life and she would always tell me a story or two about it. I don't remember all of them -- to my deep chagrin -- but I do remember that grandma told me once that she remembered a fellow coming up her parent's driveway one evening around 1930 begging for the opportunity to do any labor there was to do for nothing more than a good meal. She said she went inside and fixed the man a supper of fried potatoes and eggs (the only thing she really had readily available) and that he did some work around the farm in return.

Grandma often said that although times were hard for she and her family she also felt lucky that in her rural farming community it didn't make as much of an impact upon her as it did in more urban areas. She still raised crops and canned and pickled and fed herself. It was harder to make money and to buy commodities. She made do and stretched foodstuffs, clothing and household products as far as she could. This sort of stretching made an impact on her for her entire life, though I don't think it was just a result of the Great Depression and more because she had been taught thrift since she was old enough to walk. I would smile to myself in my 20s when I saw her carefully wash and wipe aluminum foil clean and fold it up and tuck it into a paper bag reserved for the purpose. She'd do the same to plastic bags. Nothing was disposable to her the first time around. I smile thinking about that now but for a different reason than I did back then. Then it was because I marveled at what I thought was a time waster -- why do that when you could just throw them away and buy more, it's what they were made for! Now I smile because it reminds me of my own naivety and because I reflect on how wasteful I am myself.

At the time of the letters so far (1927-1930) my grandfather and his younger brother Emerson were living with and taking care of their grandmother Ursula and their Auntie Zura (Missouri.) Emerson was a carpenter and fixed things around town and grandpa worked hard to provide for them. He went wherever he could find work, which sometimes meant he'd hitch a ride with some friends and go shuck corn or bring in other crops as needed. He was a mechanic and a farmer his whole life. In 1930 he was 28 years old.

In February 1931 his grandmother Ursula died and that left him responsible for only his aunt Missouri. Now at some point between June of 1930 and the date of the next letter in December of 1932 my grandfather had finally proposed to my grandmother:

Brocton Ill Dec 7/32 Dearest Wife to be. I will drop you a few lines to let you know how I am I am all ok it Rained a big rain last night thunder and lightning a regular summer storm. we did not work yesterday or to day. We will in the morning. will be home sat night Frank said he thought so. We won't get done by then though well sweet I will see you then and get to take my sweet girl in my arms and look deep in your sweet eyes for you know that is the most wonderful thing, to know you are my one and only I love you kid and am proud of you. Well Frank is going to town so I will go and mail this By By dear Pal I'll see you. Virgil

This letter is postmarked Brocton, which is a small town in Edgar County, IL. It looks like grandpa was there doing some work with a man named Frank. I don't know who this man is. He might be a relative but if so I haven't narrowed it down yet.

Anyway, grandma told me that she was frustrated at grandpa for not marrying her sooner and said that he told her that he didn't want to marry her yet because it was too difficult for him to try to support her as well as his aged grandmother and auntie. By 1932, though, his grandmother had passed away and half of his excuse for not marrying had been laid aside. Grandma said she didn't really see the difficulty in having her around the house and said she would have been happy to help him provide and care for his aunt but that's not how things seemed to be working out. Grandpa, she said, was the sort of man to put things off as long as he could and that she would have to prod him at certain points during their many years together. I don't have any doubts about the truth of this statement! My grandpa was a man slow to do much anything and just went about life at his own pace for sure.

The last letter I have in my collection is dated June 1933 and addressed to her on S. Irving St., Chicago, IL. I did a doubletake at that for a while, trying to figure out why grandma would have been in Chicago (was she living there?) and then finally remembered! Grandma had mentioned a few times that she'd travelled to Chicago to visit the World's Fair and when I started doing some research I realized she'd attended the 1933 Chicago World's Fair, the one they called A Century of Progress International Exposition. I guess this letter was one grandpa sent her in reply to a letter she'd sent him upon her arrival in the Windy City. The World's Fair was an incredible thing for its time and I bet my grandma saw many wondrous things.

June/8/33 Robinson Ill. Dear Beulah. I received your letter and was surprised some. I'll say, I tould you I might not come wed nite soo I didn't and was going Thru. but the letter beat me to it. Well I hope you have a good time and see lots of sites while you are there. I have been plowing and planting corn when I could it is been so hot you could not hardly keep the horses going. Mr. Collins [william Collins, next door neighbor] killed one of his horses today some body said, got it to hot. Well I am tired to night honey so I ges I will close this scribble. Well have a good time and don't get hurt or run over cause you know I want to see you again. I would have liked to went along but I was broke. well by by I will see you Wed night maby. as ever yours lots of love and kisses xoox Virgil P.S. I love you

Three months later in September of 1933 grandpa would lose his Auntie Missouri. I suspect that it was about this time that grandma finally let grandpa know that she wasn't going to wait about much longer since she was almost 33 and had been his fiancee for about a year by this point. I know that she was serious -- she told me many times she made it clear she was -- and within a few months grandpa had taken her across the Indiana border to Vincennes on a cold 3rd of January 1934 and made her his bride.

Next time....their married lives and their family.

My Grandmother's Life, Pt 2.

I continue today with the story -- only the roughest of edges, for how can I ever hope to fully tell the story of a woman who saw over 100 years? -- of what I know of the life of my grandmother, Beulah Ethel (Garrard) Browning.

I was thinking about this all day at work and began to remember things that I'd forgotten, small vignettes my grandma shared over the course of our closest years. She loved that I asked about her life and she loved sharing those memories; her eyes would light up and her normally soft voice would grow stronger. I think it was because she had lived so long. She told me once, in response to a question I had about how long she'd lived, that she sometimes disliked it because she'd had to watch everyone she knew and loved as a girl, a young woman, a friend, a mother and a wife -- die. She had strong faith in God, though, and would tell me she believed that God had His purpose for giving her years and she was not one to question His wisdom. As I said in my last entry, I am so very glad those years were hers and mine.

But back to her story and some of the things I remembered.

I own her cedar chest. The chest was given to her in 1932 by her then-beau and later husband, my grandfather Virgil Joseph Browning. In it she kept mementos of her life and I scurried back to open it and look through some of those while telling her story. I believe the things in that chest all meant enough to her to keep them and I will try to tell the stories of as many of those items as I can. Here are some of them.

This picture is of a tea set that Mrs. Mary Hoke presented to my grandmother as a Christmas present in 1909. This tea set is so delicate and tiny! Each little cup is the size of my thumb. I remember grandma saying she adored that set and played with it often, being very mindful to wrap each item carefully when she was finished playing with it. Until today, when I went to take this picture, I had never seen it unwrapped myself. The entire set has always been stored in a wooden matchbox holder and wrapped in tissue. Accompanying the set is a small handwritten note detailing when she received it and by whom. When I unwrapped if for this picture I found, however, that one little saucer is missing. That's too bad! Otherwise it's a beautiful little set and I can see my grandma playing with it and valuing it for its delicacy.

So grandma's school years came and went. When she was 16, in 1917, her older brother Raymond Orlond Garrard went off to France to serve in World War I. The picture here was taken that year and shows her in a gorgeous white dress. I think she looks young and fresh and splendid, don't you? She wrote Raymond letters and wrote other servicemen as well. I used those letters to trace one of the serviceman she wrote and I managed to get those letters back to his descendants! I've told grandma's story about those times before here on my blog and if you're interested (including seeing a picture of her wearing her brother's uniform!) you can go here and also here.

Another interesting item is a tiny Methodist Episcopal Hymnal. Copyrighted 1850 Cincinnati and published by Swormstedt & Power, Corner of Main and Eighth-Sts, R.P. Thompson, Printer," the front page of this book (in my grandmother's handwriting) says "Presented to Beulah Garrard by Auntie Allison, aged about 89 years this Sept 29, 1920, been in her possession for at least 65 years." This book also has, in another person's handwriting, the name "Mary Jane Willson." I found a Mary Allison, aged 90 in the 1920 census, living in Crawford County. I'm pretty sure she's the "Auntie Allison" that my grandmother received the hymnal from. More research necessary!

By the time she was 22 in 1923 she and her best girlfriend Gwendolyn Norton (who later married a Hackett) decided they needed to go to Olney in Richland County, Illinois, and work at a shoe factory. They boarded with the parents of a Mr. Eska Russell while working there because, grandma said, it wasn't proper for two young women to be on their own! In the picture here she is holding her hat and looks for all the world like a girl home to visit from making her own way. She worked there for a year or so, boarding with two separate families -- the Russells, parents of Eska Russell, and the Routsons -- before coming home sometime in the fall of 1925. I know this because another item in the chest was a unique cup that my grandmother called a moustache cup. She gave it to her father Robert as a christmas present in 1925. She couldn't find one to buy so she obtained it from Mrs. Routson, according to the notes I took.

Between 1924-1926 my grandmother was seeing a boy named Cecil Buchanan. I have quite a few letters from him to her and whenever she mentioned his name she said it in a way that told me that he was a special boy to her at the time. (Update:  Cecil ended up to be Cecile, one of her best GIRL friends!  Go read the funny story about how I learned that little fact.) But somewhere in there they broke up and my grandmother met another boy, one named Virgil.

Next time....her life after meeting my grandfather.

My Grandmother's Life, Pt. 1

Today is a celebration of a life.

My grandmother, Beulah Ethel (Garrard) Browning, died 8 years ago yesterday. If she were living she would be almost 110 years old.

My thoughts today have been all about her and I wanted to spend this day with her, in thought and spirit if not in body, so I've spent the day scanning in photos of her from the vast collection of old photos she bequeathed me upon her death. During the scanning I was struck by the thought that she was literally growing up in front of my eyes even though she did that growing up 100 years ago.

I don't know if I've ever shared how I got started in genealogy. In 1988/early 1989 my grandfather Virgil Joseph Browning was diagnosed with leukemia and my father quit his job and moved to the small town my grandparents were living in (the same town, it so happens, that I was also living in.) At that time I was in my early 20's and had just begun to date the man who was to become my (now ex-) husband. I was in college and had a social life and a job and things to do and the last thing in the world I wanted was to spend time with my grandparents, who were both in their late 80's. In my youthful naivety that sixty year difference was a vast chasm.

My grandpa passed away in December 1989. My dad stayed on for a few months to make sure his mother was all right and went back home (a city an hour away.) His mother -- my grandma Beulah -- had just turned 89 and would now live alone in a little apartment. My parents made it clear that I was responsible for checking on her daily because I only lived a short drive away. I balked at this but I had always been a dutiful daughter so I did as I was told, though I admit I scheduled our visits early in the morning so I could spend as little time as possible there before I could claim I had things to do. Thinking upon this selfishness from my current perspective, I am ashamed. I never once thought how my grandmother felt, being alone in that small apartment she'd shared without the man who had been with her for nearly 60 years. The loneliness she must have endured I can only imagine, but she never shared any of it with me when I visited. Instead she would fix me breakfast -- one fried egg, a piece of toast, a cup of coffee with cream. We would sit at the small two-seat dinette in her tiny kitchen.

I'd watch her putter around making the meal and I would be casting my eyes around the room into the small closet in the corner. I would always see an interesting metal cooler with a Coca-Cola emblem and my natural curiosity would kick in. She'd serve the meal and we'd stare at each other and search for things to talk about. I think that search (and my questions about the contents of the metal cooler -- family pictures) was what spurred my grandmother into telling me stories of her parents, her grandparents, the people she'd known, the places she'd seen. Her life. And because she told those stories and shared her life, she showed me that she wasn't just some old lady on the periphery of my life. She was real, and interesting, and she had lived. We were family. It didn't take long before I didn't come to visit her and sit there thinking about how fast I could politely leave. I came because I enjoyed her and my time with her.

She was 89 then. She lived until she was 101 and only the last six months of her life were not quality ones. At her 100th birthday party she was laughing and enjoying herself. A stroke soon thereafter took her away from us and it was downhill from there. She died today, eight years ago.

I cannot express how lucky I feel that I was able to have my grandmother for those years. If those years were given to her in part so that she and I could have the chance to become as close as we did then I can only be humbled in gratitude for them. I wouldn't be the genealogist I am today without her. I wouldn't be the woman I am today without her.

I have regrets concerning her. Of course I do. I regret that I didn't ask her to write her life story for me when she was living with my parents and had the time to do it. She told me many stories but I didn't write all of them down and my memory is good but not nearly as sharp as hers was. I don't think I can celebrate her life and what she meant and means to me still if I don't get those stories down. Her stories -- all the stories I know -- are coming up.

We begin at the beginning. My grandmother, Beulah Ethel Garrard, was born on 9 December 1900 in Robinson Twn. in Crawford County, Illinois, the 6th and youngest child born to Robert Elbert Garrard (1853-1938) and Louisa Adaline Eagleton (1860-1944.) When grandma was born her dad put her in a shoebox in the bottom drawer of a bureau and moved it closer to the fire so the reflection of the heat would keep her warm. She was only two and a half pounds at birth and he could cradle her in the palm of his hand. They didn't expect she'd even live.

Grandma was the youngest and according to her stories, she was rather spoiled and unruly, always wanting her way. All her older siblings said she was that way, anyway, she'd say with a crackling laugh. She was a special favorite of her oldest brother Ralph, who was nine years older than she was. The picture above left -- the one where she's looking mighty unhappy -- was taken one day after school around 1910 (I suspect soon after the picture that follows of she and her schoolmates was taken, since her dresses look very similar and she looks about the same age.) Her older brother Ralph had informed her that she was to come over and get her picture taken and she was distinctly unwilling to do what she'd been told. She said she remembered standing there and pouting while Ralph held her tight around her waist.

Grandma's rememberences of her family were many. She said her sister Julia -- the oldest, born in 1887 - told her once that their mother Louisa had given birth to a stillborn baby of unknown sex about the year 1895. This baby had been as tiny as grandma had but had not lived and Grandpa Robert had went outside and fashioned a box of wood to bury the poor body. It was buried in the backyard or out in the woods and that was that. Julia also told grandma about their little brother Eldridge Garrison Garrard. Eldridge had been born in 1888 with a cleft palate. At the age of two he hit his head on the fireplace and died about two days later in January of 1890. Grandma said her mother Louisa said the family buried him in the Haskins Cemetery but there is no stone for him. Grandma took me out there one day in 1995 and led me to where he was buried. I could find it if I was standing there but I can't describe it to you here.

Her father, Robert, was never a milk drinking man. Grandma said the why of it was never explained to her until she was a young woman. Apparently in November of 1864 the cows that he and his family raised got into milkweed and the entire family unknowingly drank of the poisoned milk. Everyone became ill but Robert's father, William Garrard, was the only one to die. Robert remembered how it felt to be so sick and the idea of milk never set well with him again. Grandma said as long as he lived he never had another glass of milk.

Grandma's mother, Louisa, was raised up in a Christian faith (one that for the life of me I cannot remember) but when a young woman of 18 Louisa took up housekeeping work in the house of a local Quaker family (another whose name I cannot recall) and soon began to practice the faith. Grandma was fond of telling me that her mother was a Quaker.

The earliest couple of pictures I have of my grandmother Beulah are either her school pictures or pictures that were taken after school. She told me what school she went to but it is one of those names that I didn't write down and it has escaped my memory. The pictures I have don't list the school's name either. When she began school, she would walk in good weather and ride a horse in bad weather. I remember her telling me that she was only able to attend school until the 8th grade, which was about 1915 or so. The picture to the right (click to expand) was taken around 1910 and is likely one of the earliest pictures I have of her.

Grandma told me once that she remembers seeing and hearing her first plane when she was a teenager. She said she saw it go overhead when she was out watching some boys play a rough and tumble field baseball game.

I have another picture of her that is associated with her school years and it was this picture that I've featured at the head of my blog entry. That one was taken the last year she was attending school by a friend of hers as she walked down the road home, her round metal lunchpail swinging in her hand. It was fall 1915 and she was 14, almost 15. That picture -- the look in her eyes, the angularity but softness to her face, her small lips -- reminds me so much of my own daughter. Genetics are amazing. I can picture it in my head now, her friend stopping and calling her name...."Beulah!"....and when she stopped, she got her picture taken against the slowly setting Illinois sun. Isn't my grandma beautiful?

My grandmother's stories are many and this week will be hers. Tomorrow, her years after school.

Was She Sweet on Him?

A few weeks ago I sent a letter containing three letters written in World War I to the son of the man who wrote them. These letters were stashed away in my grandma Beulah's (whose picture, taken around 1921, is to the right) cedar chest for years and from the first time I read them about ten years ago, I was curious about the letter writer. I'd wondered to myself if I'd ever be able to find any of his descendants.

I have to admit I also wondered about the reasons my grandma kept them. When I began looking at all the letters I noticed that other than the ones written by direct family members and dear girlfriends, the others appeared to be from boys she was sweet on! She had a number of letters from the early 20's from her first love and beau, Cecil Buchanan, and many, many letters written from my grandfather, Virgil Browning.

She had cause to have many of their letters. My grandparents weren't common for the times. Instead of marrying early as so many others did, they were an 'older' couple; they didn't begin dating until 1927 (when Grandma was 26) and didn't marry until 1934. The Depression began and my grandfather was the sole means of support for his grandma and great auntie. Times were tough all over. They decided to "wait it out." Wait it out they did, though by 1933 Grandpa's idea of waiting was apparently much different than Grandma's! Grandma told me she said to Grandpa one evening, "Virgil, I reckon if I let you, you'll wait forever, and I don't aim to wait much longer. I'm not a young woman and if we don't get on and get married, I'll have to be moving along."

They got married a few months later!

That sort of scene was typical of my grandparent's relationship and typical of grandma all the way around. She didn't really enter into my permanent memory until she was already well into her 70's. She was a soft-spoken lady who didn't even stand 5 feet tall. Her patience was long and her disposition was welcoming and loving. She never raised her voice and she pretty much let my grandpa run the day to day doings of their lives. She believed in the biblical idea that the man was the head of the family. I know that Grandpa appreciated this about her and valued her wisdom, though, because on the rare occasions that she would put her foot down -- like the way she said he needed to marry her, or the time they moved to Texas in their 80s and five years later Grandpa wanted to go back home to IL and Grandma said he could feel free to do so but she wouldn't be coming along! -- well, Grandpa always let her have her way. He knew when she meant it.

We all say our grandma is the best cook in the world but I know that mine really was! I'd pester her for her Lemon Cake Pie recipe and she'd write it down for me -- I'd try it and it wouldn't come out right. She'd chuckle and say, "Oh well, that's because you left out the zest!" or "Oops, there is some salt in there, too," when nothing of the sort was written on the card she'd given me! She and I bantered back and forth about her pie. Sly devil. I suspect she enjoyed watching me squirm and I know I enjoyed trying to squeeze her secrets out of her. When she died I found the real recipe in the cedar chest she left me. I tried it and it's like I remember Grandma made it. Every time I take a bite she's there in the taste of it for me. She taught me the only way to eat oatmeal was to put it in the center like an island and float the milk on top of it, not stir it all together into a gushy lump like these silly Texans do. Grandma could make the best gravy in the world and when Grandpa and I would go fishing for bluegill and bass, we'd come in and give her the fish. She'd always fry up my favorite part -- the fish eggs, dipped in cornmeal batter. Oh, and her fried morel mushrooms picked from the woods next door -- heaven. And her sassafras tea was to die for!

But back to her letters. Cecil was her first love and she kept letters from him. The second set of letters I have, from Sgt. Thomas Malone, seem to have a slight air of flirtiness about them from his side. She kept Grandpa's. And then there were Arthur's. Was she sweet on him, possibly? He was a friend of her older brother Raymond, an older boy. She was only 18. It was war time. She kept them because they meant something to her. It could have been a young girl's unrequited crush.

Whatever it was, I'm fairly certain Arthur didn't reciprocate. I have corresponded briefly with Harold, Arthur's son. Harold told me that Arthur's 'Annie' was Millie Anna Shimer, the daughter of John Shimer and Alice Neal. They married very soon after returning home and I doubt that would have happened had he been interested in my grandmother. Harold also informed me that the man in the picture with my great-uncle Raymond in this post is not his father. Rats! Win some, lose some. But on the bright side, he did fill in some more details about Arthur's life. Arthur's mother, Rilla B., was a Bratton. His father was James Wilson (Wilson J.) Creswell.

I recently found a picture of my grandma at 18 wearing her brother's World War I uniform stashed into a gaggle of other photographs. The picture was taken in 1919. I thought it would be apropos to post it here.

We'll never know whether my grandma was sweet on Arthur. I'm just glad that for whatever reason, she kept his letters and I was able to send them to his descendants. I like to think she was. My grandma was an amazing person and thinking about her life being filled with adventures and loves as well as trials and tribulations gives me great peace.

My Grandma and Her Letters from World War I

When my grandmother Beulah passed away in 2002 she entrusted me with all the errata of her life. She was born in 1900 so that was a lot of errata! She'd been the one chosen to ferret away all the treasures from her parent's families as well as her husband's because she'd been the only one to care. I spent many days with her sitting in her chair and me on the floor at her feet going through her belongings -- old pictures, letters, bibles -- and asking her who they belonged to. We would laugh and share stories and old memories. Grandma was a tiny woman, barely 4'11", but she had such a big presence! Other than my daughter she's the one person in my life that has meant the most to me. I miss her so fiercely I can still be brought to tears but I blink them back because I know she'd just admonish me in her soft voice. "Now, Patti," she'd say, "it's the way of things. I wanted to go. It was my time."

The generations in her family were long ones. Though I am only in my early 40's, my great-grandparents (my grandma's parents, that is) were born in the 1850s and 1860s. My grandma was 40 when she had my dad and her mother was 40 when she was born. She told me that when she was born in 1900 on a cold December day in Illinois, her dad put her in a shoebox in the bottom drawer of a bureau and moved it closer to the fire so the reflection of the heat would keep her warm. She said that he could hold her in the palm of his hand -- she was only about 2 1/2 lbs when she was born -- and they honestly didn't think she'd even live. She lived, all right! She lived until she was 101, long enough to see my daughter born and even better, long enough so that my daughter will be able to always remember her "great-nahnee."

I have many, if not most, of her things. She bestowed them upon me before her last stroke, the one that sent her permanently into the nursing home from her place in my parent's home. Now that she's gone, I'm the only one who cares. I have the cedar chest she got from my grandfather upon their wedding in 1934. In it rests McGuffey's Readers and old dolls and family bibles and letters and a hair book from the 1860's. I have a metal Coca-Cola cooler she had from the 40s or 50s that now houses many more old photographs. I have two heavy metal fishing tackle boxes that house deeds and letters and metal social security cards and old coins and....well, you get the picture.

The treasures in these boxes are so many that the lists above don't do them justice. They'll be fodder for many a future post, that's for sure! What made me begin this tale, however, was the letters my grandmother kept of her correspondence with a boy serving in the same outfit as her brother did during World War I. I've been thinking for some time now that I'd like to pull them out and transcribe them and then post them here now that it's almost assured that both writer and receiver are gone. After that I'd like to return them to his family members. What if he died later on in the War? What if the letters I own are the only written record of someone precious to someone else and I'm only holding onto them because my grandma did? No, I think they rightly belong in someone else's hands.

I think I'll find them tonight when I return home and see what I can do. Stay tuned!