tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88070780706719957052024-03-13T11:02:29.389-07:00Memories From My Childhood {and other blessings}Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-74132484745848512019-07-01T18:30:00.003-07:002019-07-02T06:27:32.540-07:00The Fan<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Gee, it's been quite a while since I have written anything on my memory blog. But it's not because I have stopped remembering these things from my childhood...it's just that life gets busy and I <i>forget </i>to write about them when the thoughts pass through my head. Why do I write about these memories of long ago? The best reason I can give is that one day, <strike>when</strike> if my memory gets bad, I want to have them preserved. Not that I would get any enjoyment from them (if I'm dead or my brain is) but for anyone who comes after me that might stumble upon them someday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So I started this post last summer and then it got to be fall...and then winter. Before I knew it, it just didn't make any sense to be writing about a fan when it was cold outside! So now that the temperatures are once again stifling, the vision of "the fan" has come to the forefront of my memory bank.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The actual fan </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">that kept our family cool on those hot summer days of the past is probably lying in a junk heap somewhere or is possibly living a new life if the metal was recycled. Or maybe it had been taken and placed in one of those huge metal crushers...who knows? It would bless my heart to know that someone has taken really good care of it after all of these years and it that might still be purring along, keeping someone's attic cool...but that's not very likely. Of course most everyone has A/C these days but when I think back on it, that old fan did a pretty darn good job of cooling the whole house even on the hottest of days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The fan was attached to the outside of the window in my parent's downstairs bedroom which was right off of the living room in our small story-and-a-half home that Dad built. It would be considered an old fan even back then I think...an exhaust fan to be precise, which didn't blow cool air in, but instead sucked the hot air out. I remember when that switch was flipped to turn it on, it seemed like the whole house just took a huge breath in and held it! </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There was no door between that tiny bedroom and the small living area </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><em>(which at one time in my little girl life seemed huge)</em> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">but only a tied back curtain hung in the doorway instead. If there had been a door, the fan would not have been efficient. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">During those steaming summer days in Ohio, the downstairs windows were open at least halfway, allowing the breezes from our shady front yard created by two huge weeping willows to billow in. You would probably find another small fan or two sitting here and there to help things along. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Back when I </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">was <em>really</em> little</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">, we had at least one that looked something like this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It's pretty amazing that all eight of us kids were able to make it into adulthood without losing one or more of our digits or various other bodily appendages. After a few years, they started to make the grills a bit safer and more than likely the one like this made it out to Dad's shop. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The screened front door was always open as well as was the side door in the kitchen, creating a refreshing cross-breeze on most days. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As long as any of us kids didn't need to go up to our room for anything, we were fine....but if we did, well we nearly needed an oxygen mask to climb that narrow enclosed stairway into the stifling heat above. Just let me add, we were never ordered </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">to <em>"go to your room"</em> during</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> the daytime hours of the summer months...it would definitely fall into the category of cruel and unusual punishment! A heavy curtain hanging at the foot of the stairs kept all of that hot air from drifting down into the rest of the house. And how did we manage to sleep, you may be asking? Well, just let me tell you...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">About an hour before bedtime we would begin the process of cooling down the upstairs. All of the downstairs windows were lowered to leave only about 2-3 inches open and then the magic began. That heavy curtain hanging at the stairway was pulled to the side and all of that trapped hot air began to be replaced by the cool evening air that the fan was bringing in. When it was time for bed, the curtains that hung in our bedroom windows were nearly flying off the rods and the cool evening air flooded the whole upstairs...all two rooms of it...with no door in between.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'll never forget how trying to convince Mom & Dad to let us turn the fan on for the first time of the season was always a bit of a challenge. I wish I had a dollar for every time I tip-toed down that creaking stairway after I had already gone to bed, slowly approaching the doorway of their bedroom..."M-M-Mom...it's really, <em>really</em> hot upstairs and we can't sleep...can we turn the fan on just long enough to cool it off?" Needless to say, the answer wasn't always yes. Back in those days, with Dad being the only breadwinner, it was all about conserving electricity thus keeping the power bill as low as possible. But it wasn't long before it got so hot that the fan ran practically all day <i>and</i> all night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A couple of my favorite memories would be how we sat on the edge of the bed, facing the fan, and talking or making weird noises into the whirling blades. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'm pretty sure we all did this at one time or another, right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I will also always remember getting back from a day of swimming at the neighborhood lake, completely burned up from too much sun and completely depleted of energy. My sister Barb and I would get out of our wet bathing suits into dry clothes and head directly to my parents' bed...not crawling in it but lying across it sideways on top of the covers, listening to the soothing roar of that wonderful fan and falling into the soundest sleep until it was nearly time for supper.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So a few years later, the day came when Dad took the big fan out of the window and installed a couple of window air conditioner units downstairs. The air was cooler for sure, but I missed that calming whirring sound that filled the house and the open windows and doors. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">s long as I live, I will never forget that great old fan. It was basically just a big ol' hunk of metal with a motor but really it was much more than that. A</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">s I ponder these sweet memories, they take me back to the simple, carefree days when I was a little girl...no thoughts of police shootings, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">suicide bombings or terrorism, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">political unrest or just down right ugliness in general. The list could go on and on but I'll stop there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">You may think I'm kind of silly to have an old fan bring back sweet memories of days gone by. Well, just call me silly then... that's okay by me!</span><br />
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-41951548766456156812014-05-10T15:17:00.000-07:002014-05-10T11:34:04.920-07:00Apron Strings...the ties that bind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: justify;">If there is one thing that reminds me of Mom, it would be an apron. She wore them everyday... at least for part of the day. For many years, you didn't see women wearing them—I guess they went out of style. But just like many things, they are very popular again and many ladies are wearing them as part of their everyday attire.</span><br />
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It doesn't seem like four years have passed since Mom's passing but the calendar on the wall tells me otherwise. Sometimes when I look at pictures of her, I could swear that I can still hear her voice—they way she used to call my name—especially when I was (ahem) in trouble for some reason. I guess I have always had somewhat of a mischievous streak in me, if you can imagine that. Anyway, it went something like this:<i> "DEB-OR-AH. LYNN. BILL-HEI-MER! YOU. GET. IN. THIS. HOUSE. RIGHT. NOW!" </i> I knew I was<em> really</em> in trouble when she would use all three of my names and emphasize every syllable like that. She was a strict mom but she never failed to demonstrate unconditional love to her children. Most of the time she was pretty soft spoken. Those were precious days...even when I did get in trouble. I miss her so much, especially as we celebrate Mother's Day. I guess that goes without saying.<br />
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So...back to aprons...Mom was the Apron Queen. It was a rare occasion when you didn't see her wearing one. When I think about it, I can name only a few times during a typical week when she didn't have one on—when she was just getting up or going to bed, when she went to do her weekly grocery shopping or when she went to church. Mom's aprons were just a part of who she was and she wasn't completely dressed until she put on her apron for the day. Back then, almost all of the ladies of the house wore aprons—even the ones on TV. June Cleaver and Donna Reed wore them often—even Lucy, just to name a few. In fact, since I started getting my thoughts together for this post, I have been more aware of the aprons on these old shows. The only difference being that they usually wore their aprons along with a string of pearls and high heels!</div>
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Mom wore neither pearls nor high heeled shoes...she didn't need to.<br />
She was already beautiful.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom...looking beautiful in one of her many aprons.</td></tr>
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Most of her aprons were home sewn, usually from left over fabric from one of the dresses she had made for either herself or one of us girls. It didn't take much fabric to make an apron. If there was enough of the remnant left, she would design one that went around the neck so as to give more coverage—those were the best kind. She never threw away <em>any</em> scraps of fabric and if they weren't big enough to make a smaller apron that just tied at the waist, they would be put in a bag for quilt squares. Of course, they were never without pockets...big pockets. Pockets big enough to hold...well, just about anything <em>and </em>everything that she might have the opportunity to come across during her daily cleaning and other chores. She might find some change or a comb that had dropped out of Dad's pocket. Or maybe a curler or a spoolie that had fallen out of one of her girls' hair (you have to be a child of the '50's to know what a spoolie is). I'm sure you might find an extra bobby pin or two in there as well—keeping them handy whenever a wild strand of hair would come loose from her bun that she wore on the back of her head. Or maybe even a stray dirty sock that had gotten kicked behind the chair. There's no telling what wound up in those pockets during the course of a day. At other times those big pockets could be crammed full of clothespins to keep them within reach as she hung the laundry out on the line. Of all the things that found their way into Mom's apron pockets, there was one thing that she was never without—a wadded up Kleenex. In those days, many things were used more than once! :) </div>
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We always had a big garden every summer and it wouldn't be unusual to find the skirt of her apron brimming over with fresh produce as she would gather beans or tomatoes in her "basket". Even though I only have a faint memory of the chickens that we used to keep, I'm pretty sure she must have gathered many an egg in the tails of her apron back in the day!</div>
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Mom's aprons had many other uses. I can picture her now as she would sometimes use her apron to dry her wet hands when the kitchen towel was out of reach—or to wipe away a smudge or sticky finger prints from a window pane—or the sweat from her brow as she was on her hands and knees weeding her flower beds. I'm sure there must have been countless moments when she used her apron to wipe off a dirty little face or two...or three...or <i>eight</i>. I can only wonder how many tears she dried with the hem of one of her many aprons. Of course, she kept back a couple of her nicest ones for special occasions like when she helped in the kitchen at the church or when she prepared a holiday dinner at home. The everyday ones became so threadbare you could almost see through them.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom, between her twin, Edna (left) and sis Clara (right) who is <br />
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When I was really young and learning how to do a few household chores, Mom would give me some simple ironing to do. She would let me iron the handkerchiefs, pillow cases and her aprons. Other times, when I tried my hand at helping her in the kitchen, I remember how special I felt when I actually wore one of her aprons. I learned to sew on her old treadle sewing machine when I was a young girl and one of the first things I made (in addition to clothes for my Barbie) was an apron for her. It certainly wasn't anything fancy, just a simple square of fabric sewn on to a waistband with a couple of pockets. Mom could <i>always</i> use a new apron! Here are a few other photos of Mom wearing various aprons. When I was going through them, it was actually hard to find one when she didn't have an apron on!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom in a gingham apron holding her <strike>favorite</strike> youngest.....me :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can tell that she wasn't too happy with the photographer :(</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Something tells me she was expecting one of us in this pic...<br />
those tell-tail signs of pregnancy are pretty apparent!</td></tr>
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I'm not sure what became of the aprons she had in the later years of her life—my sisters probably have kept a few of them. I'm guessing that the last few years of her life she didn't wear aprons as often since she naturally wasn't able to do as much to actually need one. Since I moved away from Ohio and have been living almost 500 miles from home, I feel I missed out on keeping up with details like that. But the one thing that I do know is that keeping these memories alive in my mind and close to my heart is what I need to do until the day I see her again in heaven.</div>
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We are all familiar with that old saying, "It's time to cut the apron strings". What do you think of when you hear this expression? Most of us would agree that it means for a parent to cut the child loose, so to speak—so they can become responsible and independent adults—to make their own choices. This is what she did. As little children, she lovingly nurtured us as only a mother could and when we became adults and left the nest to start our own families, there was never any interference of any kind. She didn't ever butt in or try to push her ways of doing things off on to us as we raised our kids. She knew that part of her "job" had been accomplished. She was though, always there with answers to our questions, to give advice when we asked for it and to offer solutions to our problems whenever we came to her with them. </div>
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There is a song that keeps coming to mind as I ponder these thoughts about apron strings and the symbolism they represent. It is an old, old, OLD hymn that was written in 1777 by John Fawcett titled <i>"Blest Be the Tie That Binds".</i> I remember singing it at the Old German Baptist church that we attended. There were no instruments in the church, only the human voices beautifully blending together—most of them anyway :) When I close my eyes in quiet reflection, I can almost hear them singing....</div>
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<em>"Blest be the tie that binds, o</em><em>ur hearts in Christian love; </em></div>
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<em>The fellowship of kindred minds i</em><em>s like to that above."</em></div>
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<em>"Before our Father's throne, w</em><em>e pour our ardent prayers;</em></div>
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<em>"We share each other's woes, o</em><em>ur mutual burdens bear;</em></div>
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<em>"When we asunder part, i</em><em>t gives us inward pain;</em></div>
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<em>But we shall still be joined in heart, a</em><em>nd hope to meet again."</em></div>
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<em>"This glorious hope revives, o</em><em>ur courage by the way;</em></div>
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<em>"From sorrow, toil and pain, a</em><em>nd sin, we shall be free,</em></div>
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<em>And perfect love and friendship reign t</em><em>hrough all eternity."</em></div>
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So yes, I feel like Mom did cut those apron strings at the appropriate time. It's funny though, those same ties that were severed have also become the <em>ties that bind...</em>the ties that bind me to those people and blessed memories of where I came from—who made me who I am today. Those whose examples I try to follow. </div>
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I would like to take this opportunity to say Happy Mother's Day, especially to all of you moms today. But whether you have ever had children <em>or not...</em>whether you had a great relationship with your mother <em>or not...</em>I pray that everyone will still be able to celebrate this day and honor someone who has stepped into that role for you in one way or another. She doesn't have to be <em>your</em> mom—or a mom at all! Maybe <i>you</i> are someone who has stepped into that role for someone else. And finally, for those of us whose mothers have already left us, may we celebrate their lives today by always cherishing the precious moments we shared together!</div>
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I am so looking forward to the day when I see my sweet mom again... and if she's wearing an apron, I'm sure it will be one of her finest!</div>
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-64770821938660036882013-09-02T06:24:00.000-07:002014-02-27T06:20:09.728-08:00Fresh Country Air<div style="text-align: justify;">
Fresh country air. What does that mean to you? Is it the smell of freshly mowed hay as it swirls through the wind? Maybe it's the sweet scent of honeysuckle in the breeze as it whips through the trees. Or maybe it's the stench reeking from the hog farm down the road! Maybe it's all of the above! Regardless of what you classify as fresh country air, that term will always conjure up sweet childhood remembrances of a beloved aunt and the visits to her country home on Cowpath Road...that's right,<i> Cowpath Road, </i>(not Cow Patty :)<i> </i>near Christiansburg, Ohio. But here's the best part. <b>Aunt Clara is 103 years old today!</b> Isn't that amazing?!</div>
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Aunt Clara, a.k.a. Clara Davis Stagner, is the only living sister of my sweet mother who went on to be with the Lord a little over three years ago. She and the baby of the family, my Uncle Amos, are the only surviving siblings out of seven. As families go, we were quite close. There were eight children in my family and Aunt Clara and her husband, Mier, or Bud as everyone called him, were parents to seven and all pretty close in age to us. That made for lots of fun get-togethers, especially between our two families since we lived only a short drive away.</div>
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This picture was taken before my time on the porch of our home.<br />
My mom is in the middle holding my sister, Barbara.<br />
Aunt Edna, (Mom's twin) is on the left and that is Aunt Clara on the right.</div>
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This photo was taken on the same day as the one above...</div>
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...a bunch of cousins from the three families... </div>
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...really, just a drop in the bucket...not nearly everyone got in the picture!</div>
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I can still visualize the house...with its wrap-around porch and how the swing would slam into the side of the house if you swung just a little too high. It sat pretty close to the narrow road which was lined with cornfields on either side and most of the traffic consisted of tractors or other farm vehicles...not much worry about getting out on the road and getting hit by a speeding car. It was pure country as far as the eye could see. The term "fresh country air" was really kind of a joke we kids made up because of that hog farm which was was just a short distance down the road! It was a thing we would always do...no matter where we were and we happened to notice the smell of fresh manure in the air, any one of us would never fail to say, <i>"Ahhhh.</i>...<i>smell that fresh country air!" </i>And while on the subject, there was no inside bathroom in Aunt Clara's house for several years so having to use the outhouse added to the fond memories! Just ask my sister, Barbara, she'll tell you all about it. It seems she was an uninvited guest one day when she had to go to the outhouse to sit for a spell. The yellow jackets who had made their home under the rim of the seat were not happy campers when someone came in and invaded their space! She came running out of there and into the house screaming bloody murder, bare butt and all! I don't know how many times she got stung...<i>but </i>(pun intended)...it really didn't matter. Have you ever been stung by a yellow jacket??? YEOWWW! At night time, an old enamelware chamber pot sat at the bottom of the stairway along with a roll of toilet paper in case someone had to "go".</div>
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There are many things I see that spark a memory of those days. Here are a couple more examples:</div>
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Duplex sandwich cookies could always be found in the cookie jar. She would serve them to us with tall glasses of milk poured into <i>glass </i>glasses with designs on them—unlike getting a half glass at home and we could get more if we drank it all. As funny as it sounds, this seemed like a real luxury to me. At home, Mom was always very cautious about giving us<i> glass </i>glasses to drink from. How can a glass be anything other than glass, you might be asking? Well, at our house, we drank from either metal or plastic cups...even though we called them glasses :) Am I confusing you? Regardless, the point being she let us drink <i>full glasses of milk </i>from glasses something like these you see below.</div>
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We would also love playing upstairs in our cousin, Sharon's room. It's always more fun to play with someone else's toys, right? I will never forget her doll house—it was the coolest doll house ever with the coolest furniture ever. We would play with it for hours and hours. When we got a little older and were young teens, we had a blast singing and dancing with Sharon as we listened to her collection of 45's on her record player up in her room. And I will never forget hot summer days as we worked on our "tans", slathering ourselves with Crisco... <i>yes, pure Crisco</i>... and proceeded to fry as we laid on blankets out in the yard!</div>
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Through the years, being able to visit with Aunt Clara was always a special treat for me, especially after I moved away from Ohio. My Uncle Bud had passed away several years before so she had been widowed for quite some time. I always looked forward to seeing her sweet smile and loved being greeted by her gentle, soft spoken demeanor. As the years passed, Mom's health started to fail and she was in and out of the hospitals and the nursing home on several occasions. Aunt Clara, being two years older had also started to decline a bit and was unable to stay at home alone after a while. As God would have it and to soften the blow, the sisters who had been so close all of their lives were "roomies" at the nursing home! Here are a few photos of us taken in 2009 when all of my children and grandchildren came for a visit. Mom looks like she could use a nap :)</div>
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Unfortunately, Mom went home to be with the Lord in the spring of 2010. </div>
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She didn't get to witness her sweet sister reach her milestone birthday of 100 years...</div>
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... but I know she was rejoicing in heaven.</div>
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Oh, I just love this picture of her! Look at the joy on her face!</div>
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Here she is with her "baby brother", my Uncle Amos, </div>
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who I think is now about 97 or 98 years young :)</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Just look at that sweet smile and those bright, cheerful eyes!</span></div>
<span style="text-align: left;">I think this was taken a few days after the "Big 100" party and that was three years ago! </span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;">I haven't been able to get up to see her for a while but my sis, Barb keeps me posted on how she's doing... </span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;">and from what I hear, she is going strong!</span><br />
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There will be more partying going on today, I have no doubt. When you have lived as many days and years as she has, everyday is a gift and should be celebrated. Really, shouldn't we <i>all</i> be living like that regardless of our age? We are never guaranteed tomorrow...some of us are just blessed with more of them than others!</div>
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I thank the Lord for blessing this sweet woman with so many years of life. I am also thankful for all of those simple little things I have spoken of here that remind me of her. The memories of my childhood would not be complete without them!</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Happy 103rd Birthday, dear sweet Aunt Clara! </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I love you!</span></i></div>
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UPDATE: It saddens me to say that less than 2 months after writing this post, my sweet Aunt Clara went home to be with Jesus. She is finally reunited with her loved one who went on before her.<br />
The events that surrounded the day she died inspired to write <a href="http://debbysfavoritethings.blogspot.com/2013/10/bittersweet.html">Bittersweet</a>, a post on my main blog. </div>
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sharing at:<br />
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<a href="http://www.dwellings-theheartofyourhome.com/2013/09/amaze-me-monday-22.html">http://www.dwellings-theheartofyourhome.com/2013/09/amaze-me-monday-22.html</a><br />
<a href="http://www.adornedfromabove.com/2013/09/wednesdays-adorned-from-above-link.html">http://www.adornedfromabove.com/2013/09/wednesdays-adorned-from-above-link.html</a><br />
<a href="http://ivyandelephants.blogspot.com/2013/09/salt-of-earth.html">http://ivyandelephants.blogspot.com/2013/09/salt-of-earth.html</a><br />
<a href="http://www.savvysouthernstyle.net/2013/09/wow-us-wednesdays-134.html">http://www.savvysouthernstyle.net/2013/09/wow-us-wednesdays-134.html</a><br />
<a href="http://www.impartinggrace.com/2013/09/grace-at-home-no-72.html">http://www.impartinggrace.com/2013/09/grace-at-home-no-72.html</a></div>
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-10137640448915759932013-08-07T15:47:00.000-07:002017-06-18T03:14:23.818-07:00The Softer Side of Sandpaper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Can you imagine what life would have been like in 1911? That's the year that my dad, Joe Billheimer, was born. He worked hard from the time he was a kid growing up on the family farm until he suffered a stroke when he was 90...nearly 91. The cancer that was running rampant inside his body hadn't become evident to anyone yet until he was hospitalized for that stroke in the spring of 2002. About six weeks later, he would pass from this life, into the next. We hear all the time about how the Lord works in mysterious ways. The Lord was surely at work here. You see, the stroke my dad suffered had robbed him of his speech. Anyone who knew him would also know that just wouldn't work for him. Not only was he not able to do what he loved to do almost more than anything ...talk ...<em>and whistle</em>...(he did both all the time), he knew that the weakness that had taken over the one side of his body would also keep him from taking care of Mom, his princess. His queen. His precious bride of nearly 70 years. Now, if there was ever anyone who wouldn't consider herself anything even remotely close to royalty, that would be Mom. It didn't matter though. She was <em>everything</em> to him. We didn't know it but the cancer had already progressed to the stage where his time left would be only be a matter of weeks. I actually feel like the cancer was a blessing in disguise. <i>Really? </i>How could I possibly think that? How could we imagine Dad without a voice? How could we imagine how totally helpless he would feel not to be able to do his day to day tasks, and most importantly, take care of his beloved life-long mate?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One thing I always remember about him were his hands and how big and strong they were. Remember the popular song, "Daddy's Hands"? I think about him everytime I hear it. One of the lines in the song says <em>"you could read quite a story in the callouses and lines, years of work and worry had left their mark behind".</em> That would describe them perfectly. If you ever shook his hand you would know what I'm talking about. My dad was a strong man and he had big ol' hands and fingers! They were as rough as sandpaper due to the fact that he was always doing <em>something</em> with them....they were rarely idle. They were either working at his regular job, where he was tool and dye maker and machinist, repairing something broken, tending to the garden or they might be helping a friend's ox out the ditch, so to speak. I remember that tough skin came in quite handy when it came to lawn mower blades. One of the few times my dad ever stepped foot into a doctor's office or hospital was when he nearly cut off three of his fingers at one time when he was working on a lawn mower ...getting in the way of the blade...<i>OUCH! </i>Many times he would just come in the house, put bandaids on them and go back out and continue what he was doing. He probably would have lost those fingers had they not been so strong and tough. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember as a small child, his hands making mine look so very small in comparison. But even though the outer surfaces of his hands were sandpaper-like, there was a softer side to these hands of his. The way he "handled" his wife is a great example of what I am referring to. It was like she was made of glass, the way he would gently touch and embrace her. She might be standing at the kitchen sink, preparing food or something and he would walk by, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek, a little squeeze or maybe pat her ever so lightly on the behind. It was a scene that we witnessed almost on a daily basis. His gentleness towards her was constant and I never heard him raise his voice to her. Now, that was a slightly different story when it came to his children. I would describe him this way - his bark was worse than is bite. I don't know how much <i>or </i>how severely he disciplined the older kids...I will admit I've heard a few stories :) I am guessing he mellowed quite a bit through the years since I don't remember him putting a hand on me (in that way) or anyone else after I came along.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These other lyrics from that song tell the rest of the story:</span></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember Daddy's hands, working 'til they bled</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">If I could do things over, I'd live my life again</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">And never take for granted the love in Daddy's hands</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember Daddy's hands, how they held my mama tight</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">And patted my back, for something done right.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are things that I've forgotten, that I loved about the man</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I'll always remember the love in Daddy's hands.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin'</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy's hands were hard as steel when I'd done wrong.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy's hands weren't always gentle but I've come to understand</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: inherit;">There was always love in Daddy's hands.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I really kind of doubt they celebrate Father's Day in heaven but just in case they do, Happy Father's Day, Dad! I love you and miss you! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You know, sometimes...I swear I can still hear him whistling :)</span></div>
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-67343602381397900512013-03-11T17:31:00.000-07:002013-06-15T18:47:16.638-07:00"P" is for....<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AC4bRjGspRk/UT4leT2BYMI/AAAAAAAAAV8/Esl4xft3FO8/s1600/p_104_md.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="200" psa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AC4bRjGspRk/UT4leT2BYMI/AAAAAAAAAV8/Esl4xft3FO8/s200/p_104_md.gif" width="153" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hello! It's been a while! The holidays are over, the earth is beginning to thaw and spring is in the air. Where does the time go? I have so many memories of when I was a little girl floating around in my head but not many of them have been making it to the surface recently... so I guess I have what you might call writer's block...well, maybe I should call it something else since I am NOT a writer. Let me just say that lately, nothing has really come to me to write about. Now, before we get too deeply into this, I must say that this post doesn't quite live up to the title of my blog, <b>"Memories of My Childhood (and other blessings)"</b>. Oh yes, these are memories alright, but <em>blessings?</em> Not so much. Even though they do bring to mind that I am thankful for<i> not </i>having that "issue" anymore. Where am I going with this?...you might be asking yourself about now. Well, I will tell you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You see, somewhere along the line, a few years after I was potty trained, this problem started. It seemed like my bladder wasn't growing quite as fast as the rest of me. I don't know if it was <em>that,</em> or if was the fear that my dear, sweet mother had instilled in me every time we were about to leave the house on any occasion... whether it would be to the grocery store, to church or maybe just for a drive in the country. I can still hear her words echoing in my brain as if it was yesterday. <em><b>"Debby....you better go pee before we leave!" </b></em>Well, here's the problem with that. I have never been one to be able to pee on cue. I mean, when I have to go, I have to go but I just can't make myself go. Oh sure, if I wanted to sit there for a while with the water running in the sink and visualizing a babbling brook, I may be able to squeeze out a few drops but the family didn't quite understand why I was taking so much time in the bathroom! Back in those days, public restrooms were sometimes hard to come by, especially in the little "mom and pop" stores that we frequented. Rides in the country could also be kind of scary since many times, we would go far out in the boondocks, where there wouldn't be a gas station or restroom for miles. I remember on one of those occasions as we were rambling through the countryside in the old Buick and the urge hit me. I knew I had to go but I didn't say a word for a long time, sitting in the back seat of the car with my sisters. I knew that Mom and Dad would scold me for not "going" before we left the house so I just sat there quietly and squeezed (squoze?) as hard as I could to hold it in. Finally, when I had no more "squeeze" left in me, I quietly and sheepishly spoke up....."I gotta pee." Silence. "I gotta pee", again, a little louder as my eyes filled with tears, now that "they" could actually hear me from the back seat. After I broke the news, I will never forget what my dad jokingly said to me after he coarsely reminded me that I should have gone before we left... "It looks like it's backing up 'cause it's comin' out of your eyes!" This is NOT what I wanted to hear at this very moment. There was no where to go except to pull off the side of the road and walk back into the high grass. Now, if you are a boy, this might work for you. Even as bad as I had to go at that very moment, nothing would come out, although eventually I do believe I was able to finally relieve myself and we resumed our drive home. There was just something about the grass tickling me and the fear of peeing on my britches that kept me from relaxing. Um...yeah!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">During those growing-up years, there would be many other occasions that the utter fear of not being able to get to a restroom would literally haunt me so much that it seemed like no matter where I was, I had to pee at the most inopportuned times! Those that remain engraved in my mind of which I shall never forget are these two in particular. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was in first grade, sitting at my desk in a dark classroom as we were learning how to tell time on a transparent clock that lit up so you could see the working gears inside. The urge hit and I asked to go to the restroom. The teacher asked me if I could wait another fifteen minutes when it was break time. Like an idiot, I said "yes". The janitor was soon called for clean-up on ailse three, desk one :(</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In second grade, during a spelling test...I didn't even ask the teacher this time, hoping that the urge would pass. It <em>didn't</em> and I <strong><em>did.</em></strong> You surely know how that story ended.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was me at our annual family reunion in Troy, Ohio when I was about five or so. I don't remember who took the picture but what I do remember is that I had to pee SO bad—I wasn't even able to walk to to the restroom in the park for fear of wetting my pants—so I decided to just sit it out for a while. That's when someone came along and snapped that picture. See that smile? It's really not a smile at all. It's a grimace as I strained to keep from leaking!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">My final and most humiliating experience was when I was a senior in high school. YES, THAT'S WHAT I SAID! My older sister along with my mom, had picked me up at school and we had stopped at a fabric store on the way home for some purpose. As I was walking the aisles of the store, I started to feel that "old" feeling again. Surely, there must be a restroom in the store, right? Nope. Not one. Not even a bucket. I hid in the back corner of the store for a while, where no one could see me with my legs crossed, bobbing from side to side. Doing the "PeePee Dance" was not helping this time! Try as I might, I tried to "contain" myself (pun intended :) but no such luck. Then I felt it....that unmistakable warm sensation that was heading south, down both of my legs. I will never forget what I was wearing that day - dark brown corduroy jeans. They had just become a darker shade of brown in certain areas. I wanted to cut and run but there was no place to hide. There I was, a teenager in the middle of a fabric store and I had just peed in my pants!! I walked with closed legs as fast as I could to find Mom and told her my sad story. Within minutes we were out of there. I don't remember how long it took me to live that one down. Luckily, I don't think the people who worked in the store noticed and even if they did find a drip or two on the floor, they would never have known it came from me. For many years, my sweet mama would remind me of that event from time to time :)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't know when it happened but one day I realized I didn't seem to have this issue anymore. I still can't pee on cue either though. Like when the doctor needs a sample from you....that's not cool. Here's what I do know...when Jim and I take a road trip and we have to pull in at all of those rest stops every so many miles, we're not stopping for me! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One day soon, I'm sure all of that will change. </span></div>
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-83852207727377582862012-12-24T18:39:00.001-08:002018-12-07T11:42:36.555-08:00Lumpy Socks and Charlie Brown Trees<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jdXSXVmIq48/UNkakFXQgoI/AAAAAAAAASk/ooeuqxBDVVI/s1600/christmas-wreath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jdXSXVmIq48/UNkakFXQgoI/AAAAAAAAASk/ooeuqxBDVVI/s200/christmas-wreath.jpg" width="198" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is Christmas Eve 2012! Where has the time gone? While many of you are making merry with your family and friends about now, it's just me and the doggies hanging out here. When you have a hubby with a crazy work schedule like mine, you get used to it. It's okay though. Most of my holiday preparations have been made and now I have time to just sit here. Quietly. Reflecting. Thinking about what an awesome God we have. He who sent His only son to earth as a little baby so we could all have this wonderful Savior! Also thinking back to the Christmases of yesteryear and how truly blessed I am to have these memories. Oh, there are so many but here are just a few that come to mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Christmas was without a doubt the most anticipated time of the year when I was a little girl. I imagine it is for most children. First of all, the Christmas season didn't even begin until Thanksgiving was over. The stores didn't put the Christmas items out on the shelves along with Halloween decorations like they do today. Isn't that just ridiculous? We had to practically beg Mom and Dad to let us put the tree up well into the second half of the month of December. I've read stories and watched old movies where families didn't put any decorations until Christmas Eve since they left them up for the twelve days of Christmas. Now I must admit that there is something kind of cool about the idea of waiting until Christmas Eve to put your tree up. It brings to mind a picture of an old Victorian Christmas card ... a family gathering together, trimming the tree with real candles (yikes!), singing carols, all the while sipping on eggnog. Something right out of a Dickens novel. Anyway, when you are an impatient little girl, it's hard to wait. What am I saying? When you are an impatient <em>big </em>girl it's hard to wait! As I remember, it was usually about two weeks before Christmas when our family would drag out all the decorations and start decking the halls. Artificial trees were unheard of when I was really young so it wasn't until several years later when we got our first <i>faux </i>tree. As you can tell by the photo, our trees had <em>c-h-a-r-a-c-t-e-r! </em>Charlie Brown's tree had nothing on ours! Charlie hadn't even been born yet so we didn't actually use his name back then to describe our trees - they were just what we were used to. I remember it being an extra luxury when we had one that was actually tall enough to sit on the floor instead of on top of the desk in the living room! Oh and see that round thing on top? It is actually and angel standing on clouds. There is a reflective, prism looking thingy (the round part) and a glittery bulb when lit, makes it all "heavenly" looking. I just found out the other day that my sis, Barb has that tree topper now and uses it every year!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was a family affair, the decorating of the tree. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad was the boss. The boys were in charge of getting the lights on. We had those big ol' bulky colored bulbs that got very hot. Back in the day, they were hooked up "on a series" meaning that when one went out, they all did. It was a pain when one would go bad and it was usually the very last that was checked that was burned out. It never failed. We all had a hand in placing ornaments, tinsel and the rest as Dad sat back and eyeballed the scene, offering his supervisory skills. Mom offered her opinion only when asked. Once the tree was up and all decorated, the excitement of Christmas <em>really </em>started to fill the air, along with the smell of Mom's homemade sugar cookies and Dad's fudge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The original Barbie Doll</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Secret trips to Woolworth's or our local dime store followed by whispers between brothers and sisters kept all of the excitement going. We didn't have a lot of money to spend on elaborate gifts, in fact, we knew nothing of such things. Each one of us kids would get maybe 2 or 3 presents each from Mom & Dad. By then, some of the older ones had jobs and did some gift-giving as well. Most of the time our gifts were something practical like much needed underwear, new night clothes or socks. I remember one year in particular when I received a new baby doll. She was the kind that didn't have any "real" hair and what she had was just a textured part of the molded plastic. That little baby doll was precious to me and I remember so well the scent of the vinyl that she was made from. To this day, I love that smell! I think it may have been sister Janet who bought Barbara and I our first and probably only Barbie Dolls. These were the original Barbies too! Remember, Barbie just recently turned 50 so we really did get some from the first batch! When we got a little older and wanted to do some shopping ourselves, I remember Mom would always save back a little money and give us each a few dollars to go buy gifts with. Sometimes, certain scents still remind me of those days ... and those large bottles of cheap toilet water (yes, that's what it was called) that we would sometimes buy for each other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before my sibs and I (the last three of us at home) actually received our first ready made Christmas stocking with our names on them, we hung our white knee socks up and woke to find them filled to the brim with oranges or tangerines, walnuts in the shells and candy canes. What a sight they were! They looked like huge stuffed sausages hanging from our make-believe mantle! Regardless of how they looked, they were also filled with love and I will always remember those lumpy socks as one of my favorite Christmas memories. Mom always made sure she put the exact same thing in all our socks because she knew we would dump it all out and compare what we got with each other. Mom was very careful not to show "partiality" as she put it, to any of us kids. I guess when you have so many children you must be careful to treat them all the same to keep fights from breaking out!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thinking back to those Christmases of the past warms my heart and I can't help but miss the simpler times. I absolutely love the story of Ebeneezer Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol" and I don't consider my yearly Christmas experiences complete without watching it ...the version with George C. Scott. The Ghost of Christmas Past came to remind Scrooge of the joy Christmastime had brought to him in years gone by...in contrast to the way he was living when the ghost visited him. His life was full of regrets because somewhere along the line he lost hope and became a lonely and bitter man. Oh sure, I too have a few regrets in my life ...most of us do, but when Jesus is your Lord and Savior, those regrets have no place because He takes them all away and replaces them with His love and grace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, the Charlie Brown trees, the lumpy socks and the smell of a plastic baby doll are all fond Christmas memories of mine. But all of those silly little things I remember would be just </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">silly little things </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">had they not have been wrapped up in a lot of love. Love for God. Love for each other. These things remind me that memories, Christmas ones especially, are the best gifts we could ever hope to receive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">Merry Christmas! And may God bless us..</span><i style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">.<b>everyone!</b></i></div>
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-37848940127836282722012-11-29T19:10:00.000-08:002014-12-08T11:40:20.245-08:00It's About Time <div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I decided that I wanted to start journaling my childhood memories, I got a tablet and started listing them as they came to mind. Most of them came quickly. Some I had to ponder more. But they came to me, knowing that as time went on, others would make it to the forefront of my brain. It has been nearly nine months since I started this blog and it wasn't until just a couple of days ago that I inadvertently came across something that popped up on the internet. Something that I actually grew up with, yet somehow, I had forgotten completely about it! I guess that's how the mind works when we get...uh-hum....more mature :) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, some of you who visit my Facebook page, might have gathered that I am always doing some sort of decorating project in my home. You may have also seen my fireplace re-do and the large round clock hanging above the mantle. Well, I was looking on Google Images for some Christmas decorating ideas and typed in something like "Christmas fireplace with clock" in the search box. Of course all these pictures appeared and<em> then</em> ... I saw IT. The heck with the Christmas decorating ideas. What I saw stopped me in my tracks and it nearly brought tears to my eyes.</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s2pzztoUwnw/ULfNQ-UyzFI/AAAAAAAAAPo/Ixf3UinsP1Y/s1600/%2524%2528KGrHqJ%252C%2521ogFBvJtGIbJBQqB%252CVgPw%2521%257E%257E60_57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s2pzztoUwnw/ULfNQ-UyzFI/AAAAAAAAAPo/Ixf3UinsP1Y/s400/%2524%2528KGrHqJ%252C%2521ogFBvJtGIbJBQqB%252CVgPw%2521%257E%257E60_57.jpg" height="320" tea="true" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">The search of images for "fireplace and clock" brought up exactly just that - a clock shaped like a fireplace. OMW! Where had this memory been all of these years? When I was a little girl, this identical clock sat on the desk in the livingroom. Sometimes I think I remember it on the end table as well. After finding some old pictures, I noticed that it kind of shows up in several places throughout the room. As you can see, it is a darling little clock. The fire in the fireplace actually lit up and a revolving something-or-other behind the logs made it look just like a real miniature fire that was burning. I remember gazing into those flames and wishing that I could somehow shrink down so that I could sit in front of it and warm myself. Or hang Christmas stockings from the mantle. Or toast marshmallows. I envisioned a cozy little cottage with this little fireplace creating a warm, comfy atmosphere. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We didn't have a fireplace in our home and I remember wishing so much that we did...you know, so Santa could come down the chimney, of course! Instead, I just imagined that the old wooden desk in the living room which was always where we sat up our Christmas tree—as well as hung our stockings from—was really a fireplace in disguise. Don't ask me how, okay? I was just a little girl with a vivid imagination!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here it sits on the old treadle sewing machine cabinet behind Mom's chair...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">...and on the bookshelf behind Mom and Dad...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">...and on top of the TV. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, and let's not forget... there's that imaginary fireplace (the desk) I was mentioning before :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, the day the picture of this clock appeared on my computer screen, not only did it surprise me but also puzzled me. How could I have forgotten such a fond memory from my childhood days? Isn't it funny how some things just seem to get lost in the deepest recesses of our brain? It doesn't happen to me often but it really surprised me that I had forgotten about that little clock. I immediately clicked on the picture to find out why this clock was even on the internet...OK what <em>isn't </em>on the internet, right? It opened up a whole page of them on ebay! I found out quite a bit of information about this little fireplace clock that day. First of all I discovered that this is one popular little collector's item. The clocks were manufactured in 1957 by Mastercrafters Clocks. The company actually made many different and unique types of clocks using various other whimsical elements. The main part of the body was made from <em>bakelite,</em> if you know what that is. I didn't before but I do now, thanks to Wikipedia as you see below.</span></div>
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<b>Bakelite</b> (<span class="nowrap"><span title="pronunciation:"><img alt="play" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8a/Loudspeaker.svg/11px-Loudspeaker.svg.png" height="11" srcset="//upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8a/Loudspeaker.svg/17px-Loudspeaker.svg.png 1.5x, //upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8a/Loudspeaker.svg/22px-Loudspeaker.svg.png 2x" width="11" /></span> <span class="IPA" title="Representation in the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA)"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">/</span></a></span><span class="IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English#Key" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px;" title="/ˈ/ primary stress follows"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">ˈ</span></span></a></span><span class="IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English#Key" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px;" title="'b' in 'buy'"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">b</span></span></a></span><span class="IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English#Key" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px;" title="/eɪ/ long 'a' in 'base'"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">eɪ</span></span></a></span><span class="IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English#Key" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px;" title="'k' in 'kind'"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">k</span></span></a></span><span class="IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English#Key" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px;" title="/ə/ 'a' in 'about'"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">ə</span></span></a></span><span class="IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English#Key" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px;" title="'l' in 'lie'"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">l</span></span></a></span><span class="IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English#Key" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px;" title="/aɪ/ long 'i' in 'bide'"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">aɪ</span></span></a></span><span class="IPA"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English#Key" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="border-bottom-color: currentColor; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px;" title="'t' in 'tie'"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">t</span></span></a></span><span class="IPA" title="Representation in the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA)"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_English" title="Help:IPA for English"><span style="font-family: Lucida Sans Unicode;">/</span></a></span></span> <span class="Unicode" title="English pronunciation respelling"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Pronunciation_respelling_key" title="Wikipedia:Pronunciation respelling key"><i><span style="font-family: Arial Unicode MS;"><b><span class="smallcaps"><span class="SMALLCAPS" style="font-variant: small-caps;"><span class="NOCAPS" style="text-transform: lowercase;">BAY</span></span></span></b>-kə-lyt</span></i></a></span>), or <b>polyoxybenzylmethylenglycolanhydride</b>, is an early <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plastic" title="Plastic">plastic</a>. It is a <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thermosetting_plastic" title="Thermosetting plastic">thermosetting</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phenol_formaldehyde_resin" title="Phenol formaldehyde resin">phenol formaldehyde resin</a>, formed from an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elimination_reaction" title="Elimination reaction">elimination reaction</a> of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phenol" title="Phenol">phenol</a> with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Formaldehyde" title="Formaldehyde">formaldehyde</a>. It was developed by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demographics_of_Belgium" title="Demographics of Belgium">Belgian</a>-born chemist <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leo_Baekeland" title="Leo Baekeland">Leo Baekeland</a> in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York" title="New York">New York</a> in 1907.</div>
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One of the first <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plastics" title="Plastics">plastics</a> made from synthetic components, Bakelite was used for its electrical <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonconductor" title="Nonconductor">nonconductivity</a> and heat-resistant properties in electrical <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Insulator_(electricity)" title="Insulator (electricity)">insulators</a>, radio and telephone casings, and such diverse products as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitchenware" title="Kitchenware">kitchenware</a>, <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jewelry" title="Jewelry">jewelry</a>, pipe stems, and children's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toy" title="Toy">toys</a>. Bakelite was designated a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Historic_Chemical_Landmarks" title="National Historic Chemical Landmarks">National Historic Chemical Landmark</a> in 1993 by the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Chemical_Society" title="American Chemical Society">American Chemical Society</a> in recognition of its significance as the world's first synthetic plastic.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1" jquery182015565768171346356="25"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bakelite#cite_note-1">[1]</a></sup> The "<a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Retro" title="Retro">retro</a>" appeal of old Bakelite products have made them collectible.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now that we have all been educated about bakelite and it's history, don't you just feel so enlightened? Anyway, back to the story...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ebay has many of them to bid on and I got so excited when I went down through the list and found a couple for under $10.00! A closer look at the description and I was disappointed to see that they were not in working order but just selling them for parts. There was one for $149.95 that was in very good condition and another in mint condtion for $265.00! Wow! I couldn't believe that we owned such a gem! I don't know how my family acquired this clock but I know Dad surely didn't spend a lot of money on it...probably didn't cost more than $10.00 back then. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I checked with all seven of my siblings and no one seems to know what became of this sweet little clock. It makes me kind of sad to think about it getting away from the family but it sure has blessed my heart for the memory of it to have re-surfaced.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After all these years, it<i> is </i>about <i>time </i>:)</span></div>
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-9929854633973659002012-09-14T18:41:00.000-07:002012-09-14T18:41:36.088-07:00Music To My Ears<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mnAsJGEblOQ/UBB-Unny6YI/AAAAAAAAAK8/JOzM34Ig_EQ/s1600/treble%252Bclef.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mnAsJGEblOQ/UBB-Unny6YI/AAAAAAAAAK8/JOzM34Ig_EQ/s200/treble%252Bclef.png" width="131" /></a>Music has always played an important part of my life, especially as I was growing up in the Billheimer family. I think I was about three or four years old when I joined in with my brothers and sisters and learned "my part" in the family harmony. Now, family harmony is a little different than the typical harmonies that are learned in music classes or choir. Anyone who sings with family knows exactly what I'm talking about. The melody or lead part is always the same but there is no perfect tenor, alto or barritone. Sometimes anyone singing a part other than lead usually crosses over onto another one's part at one point ... just at the exact same time the other crosses over onto theirs. There is no written music to follow...I can't really explain it. It just happens. Somehow it just blends together perfectly. Finger nails on a chalkboard come to mind when I think of harmonies that don't blend together well...kind of like the music from the movie "Psycho"...if you follow. Many years later when I started singing in the choir at church and since I couldn't read music, I had a hard time staying on my part when I wasn't singing the melody. That's why I decided to sing soprano. </div>
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By the time I was probably about four, I had already recorded my first solo (hehe). The name of the song was "I Love My Rooster" and it was recorded in our livingroom on our family's reel-to-reel tape recording machine that weighed about 100 pounds...state-of-the-art technology, to be sure. Actually, at the time, it probably was! The following are the touching, heartfelt lyrics to that song:</div>
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<em> I love my rooster, my rooster loves me</em></div>
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<em> I cherish my rooster on the green bay tree</em> ... (what?)</div>
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<em> My little rooster goes cock-a-doo-doo</em></div>
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<em> De-doodle-ee, doodle-ee, doodle-ee-doo</em></div>
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I swear, these are the words. After this first verse, it went on about a duckie that goes quack, quack, quack and a hennie that goes cluck, cluck, cluck. Really, I'm serious. I never did understand how one cherishes <em>anything </em>on a green bay tree. I don't even know what a green bay tree is, although they must grow somewhere in the state of Wisconsin :) All I know is the song must have bored me silly because during the recording, I was actually falling asleep...no kidding...I still have that recording to prove it. My voice would just trail off to places unknown every now and then. God bless those brothers though...they just kept on playing the accompaniment, slowing down and then speeding up to follow my every lead.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doug and Jerry, all ready to perform</td></tr>
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All three of my brothers played musical instruments. In fact, I think everyone one of us kids have played (or tried to play) a guitar or mandolin at one time in our lives. But the boys were our true instrumentalists. When Jerry and Doug were very young, they "toured" (I use that term loosely) with a local country-western singer from our area named Kenny Roberts and did a few performances on local TV and radio. Jerry used to have an old poster in his guitar case (I'm sure it's still there) from when he and brother Doug's performance followed the <em>Zig-Zag Mountain Boys</em>...I mean, we're talking about some big named talent here! In reality, it <em>was </em>"big time" for them! When they played their music at home, Dad would often join in on his harmonica, which he played very well. Mom just sat back and took it all in with a quiet smile.</div>
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My oldest brother, Bob, was married and living in South Carolina by then and it was always such a special treat when he and his family would come home for a visit because that meant only one thing...we would be having one of our infamous "jam sessions". When the weather was warm, we would gather out in the front yard - sitting on lawn chairs, the picnic table, the porch or where ever we could find a place. Sometimes our neighbors would come over into our yard or sit out in their own so they could enjoy the music too. Oh, it was so much fun...everyone singing and playing, acting crazy and just having a grand time! We all had our own special songs that we sang....some were solos, some duets or trios and then those that we all joined in on. Some were silly songs, some were love songs and many were hymns. When I was bit older, Janet, Barbara and I sang a Spanish love song titled "More". If we were to get together today, we could <em>still </em>sing every word to that song and <em>still </em>not pronounce them all correctly! We learned many of the songs we sang by watching "The Lawrence Welk Show" every Saturday night. The Lennon Sisters from that show were our idols. Out of all the of songs the family sang though, Mom's favorites were the hymns and sacred songs.</div>
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The Christmas season was without a doubt the most anticipated time of the year, at least for me when I was a little girl. On Thanksgiving Day, without fail, my family would usher in the season right by having what would become a Billheimer family tradition. Right after everyone had eaten and tummies were full, anyone who wasn't helping clean up the kitchen would find a seat in the living room and the boys would break out their instruments. We girls would chime in from the kitchen as we finished up the dishes and then made our way into the crowded space to join the others. Before too long, we had sung every Christmas song that was in our repertoire. I will never forget one certain Thanksgiving when while we were singing, the first snow of the season started to fall and by the time we were finished, the ground was covered in white! Never doubt the power of the song, "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas"!</div>
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As the years passed and everyone was becoming busier with their own families, these special times of getting together became fewer and farther between. Our annual family reunions (on both Mom's and Dad's sides) were also times I remember looking forward to, knowing that we would all be together to sing as a family and the anticipation of it all thrilled me. These days, I don't get to enjoy those get togethers very often since moving away from Ohio in 1981. They are more special to me now than ever before.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Janet, me and Barb singing at church</td></tr>
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Today, music still plays a major role in all of our lives. Bob was minister of music in his church for many years and still has a prison ministry. He has worked up many different musical monologues that he performs which also opens the door to share the love of Christ with them. Jerry is currently and has been the worship leader at his church for many years as well. Doug and his wife, Iris, along with their daughters when they were young, sang together as "The Billheimer Family"....what a unique name! He has also written many really good gospel songs that are yet unpublished. Maybe someday, right Doug? Janet had lead roles in musicals in her high school days and in later years went on to become worship leader for a time. Lois, Ruby, Janet, Barbara and myself all add to each of our church choirs and praise teams.</div>
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I consider it a gift from the Father - this musical heritage. In life, we face all kinds of trials and sometimes even tragedies. Speaking for myself, there have been many situations when I have been unable to even utter a word of prayer to God. When those times occur, I am so thankful for beautiful, uplifting worship songs that I have learned through the years. Somehow the songs will come when spoken words won't and often times I have found so much peace just by singing a chorus or two. We all have used the phrase or <em>idiom</em> (a new word I just learned :) <em>"music to my ears"</em> probably many times in our lives. Well, I got a little curious and decided to see what Google had to say about it. Here are some definitions that I found:</div>
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a welcome sound </div>
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very pleasing information to hear</div>
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<li>excellent news</li>
<li>a favorable outcome after some initial confusion or delay</li>
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I think these are all examples of how our Lord feels when we come to him, whether in spoken prayer or lifting our voices in song. Whether it is in a time of sadness, desperation, uncertainty or when we just want to worship and praise Him for who He is... <i>this</i> is music to<em> His </em>ears!<br />
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-29772572677717919452012-07-31T17:04:00.000-07:002013-06-15T19:11:25.573-07:00Things that make me go "aaahhhh"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Back in the day, it didn't take much to excite us Billheimer kids. Sometimes, all it took was for my dad or one of the older ones to drive down to Notter's Market, our little neighborhood grocery store and bring back a few cartons of "pop". That's what we called it in Ohio. It would usually be on a Saturday or Sunday evening when we were awarded this special treat. These were the 6 or 8 pack returnable bottles that at the time were worth 10 cents each. Everyone had their favorite one. Mom's was 7-Up. Dad loved Barq's Red Cream Soda or Frostie Root Beer. I remember Pepsi and Coke were favorites of some of the older kids but for me, Sun Crest Orange was my choice. When I was really little, I couldn't quite tolerate the "bite" of a carbonated drink because it burned my throat when I swallowed. I remember wanting so badly to drink something more "grown up" but I just drank my Sun Crest or occasionally a Choc-ola. Remember Choc-ola? (<em>love</em> that stuff!) I remember considering it quite an accomplishment when I was able to graduate to a more mature drink! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">On many of these occasions, we might enjoy</span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"> a huge bowl of freshly popped popcorn... <i>not </i>the microwave kind. What in the world was a microwave, anyway? We made it a family affair...some made their drinks into a root beer or cream soda float and some drank right from the bottle...like me! Compared to what families do for excitement and entertainment today, I'm sure this seems pretty dull to some folks. We took nothing for granted. Special things like bottles of pop were actually just that ..</span><i style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">.</i><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><i style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">special things</i><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ah, yes... those were the days! There was absolutely nothing that could cool you off better though, on a hot summer evening, than a tall glass of ice cold root beer poured from a frosty gallon jug - the glass kind - that came from our local "root beer stand". That's what we called it. I'm sure it had a real name ... I can't remember to tell you he truth. It was actually a drive-in type restaurant that had a ginormous revolving root beer mug on the roof where you get other things such as burgers or hotdogs. Root beer never tasted as good as it did back then! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We lived in a area that was at one time a summer resort called Crystal Lake. The area was developed around two small lakes and at the main part of the lake was a swimming beach with a concession stand that was open during the summer months. Another treat that I remember thrilling me so was when someone would go down to the "beach" and bring back a huge box of Popsicles...the kind with 2 sticks in them that you broke apart down the middle. These were the</span><em style="font-family: inherit;"> real</em><span style="font-family: inherit;"> thing. I still remember the wrappers with red polka dots...every flavor that they ever made. Not just the cherry, orange and grape that come in most boxes today - we're talking blue raspberry, lemon-lime, and Dad's favorite, root beer!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Loading up the old Buick, also known as "Old Soapy" (I'll explain later) for a drive in the country on a Sunday afternoon was just about as good as life got. It was great fun. We would all pile in after Sunday dinner (that would be the noon-time meal) and Dad would drive us around to places not that far away, even though when I was little, any place other than our neighborhood seemed far away. Heck, just walking down to the end of our dead-end street seemed far away to me back then! Sometimes during our rides we would go by the houses where my parents had lived previously when my older siblings were youngsters....actually, some of the houses were their birthplaces as well. Out of eight children, Mom gave birth to the first four or five at home. I remember riding by a little house - <em>not</em> on the prairie - but way out in the country somewhere near Castown, Ohio comes to mind, and Mom and Dad referred to it as "where we went-to-housekeepin". That term of course, referred to where they lived when they first got married in case you didn't get it :) Or maybe we would set out for one of our aunt and uncles' homes to visit. We had tons of cousins because Mom and Dad both had large families of their own. Most of the relatives that we had the closest relationships with lived in small farming towns and rural areas not too far from Troy, Ohio....if you know where that is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On these Sundays when we would go out riding, one thing was required of my dad - that he would find as many roads with the steepest hills as he possibly could and to drive down them as<em> fast</em> as he possibly could (safely of course). This was not an easy thing to do in the part of Ohio where we lived. It is pretty much flatter than a pancake around there and you can see for miles and miles in most rural areas. My dad was awesome though...he knew exactly where the hilly roads were! We didn't have amusement parks to go to - maybe an occasional visit to the Clark County Fair if we were lucky. Well, let me tell you...the thrill of riding down a semi-steep hill at probably 55-60 mph and losing your stomach at the bottom was all it took to satisfy our need for dare-devil activities! Stopping by Bobo's in New Carlisle on our way back home for a hand-dipped ice cream cone topped off the afternoon. Before I forget...the reason the Buick was named "Old Soapy" was because once upon a time, the transmission started slipping or something and my dad, the fixer of <em>all</em> things, put some Joy dishwashing liquid in the transmission fluid. Don't ask me how he knew to do this (Al Gore hadn't invented the internet yet :) but it fixed 'er right up! From that day forward, that's what he called her! A few years later, after there was no more life in her, Dad traded her in on a big old Ford station wagon the size of a Sherman tank. It had a third seat in it that faced backwards and Barbara, Janet and I had many memorable moments making faces at the people traveling behind us!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I couldn't mention sweet treats without including Mom's homemade ice cream. There was nothing like it. I remember the old hand-crank ice cream freezer with the wooden bucket...that bucket which now sits on the front porch of our cabin in the mountains! Later on, after getting enough of all that cranking (all the older kids took turns as well) it was replaced by an electric one. We would enjoy this white fluffy stuff quite often, especially when the family would get together to sing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I could go on and on but I would probably only bore you. These things I have described here are just a few of the simple pleasures from my childhood that have special meaning to me.... <em>so </em>if you are reading this, I hope that it sparks a special memory for you - to brighten your day and to remind you to ask <em>yourself </em>...."What are the things make <em>me </em>go "aahhhh?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Until next time.....</span></div>
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-46357358532898130982012-07-03T15:38:00.000-07:002012-07-03T15:38:51.654-07:00Goodbye, Old Friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It all started in 1960. Once a week, that familiar whistling theme song echoed throughout the Billheimer household. Yes, believe it or not, it was<i> </i>only on <i>once</i> a week back then.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">When I was growing up, having a TV was kind of a luxury. The first set that I barely have memories of (actually, I think I just remember it from old photos) was a teeny tiny little box with a round screen! Later on we got a more up-to-date model with an oval screen...a little larger though! No color set in our house...it hadn't even been invented yet I don't think. All of the old shows were in black and white anyway, so it didn't matter. There were very few shows to watch back then, compared to what we have today and we only had three networks, CBS, ABC and NBC. Back in the day, there were a few TV shows that I was basically raised with, one of them being a story about a sheriff of a small town in North Carolina (who knew I'd actually be living there one day?) and a cast of characters that we grew to love...we almost considered them part of the family. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Fast forward to Tuesday, July 3, 2012. This morning as I went through my usual ritual of reading the internet news pages, intermingled among all of the other bad news of the day was one story that stood out above all the others. I almost feel a sense of guilt that this sad story stood out. I mean, we are talking about terrible, out of control wildfires, horrific storms, record breaking heat with millions without power, etc., etc. And that is not counting all of the other negative stuff, including the awful stories of crime that has become the norm. But the one story that stirred my heart the most today was the story about the loss of one of the most admired men in television history - Andy Griffith. Now, this doesn't mean that my heart doesn't go out to everyone whose lives have been disrupted and torn apart due to these tragedies - it's just just that on top of all of the other "bad news", anyone that was a fan of Andy's ...well, I'm sure their hearts were broken as this news came to light as well. My brother, Jerry comes to mind. He loves Andy, Barney, Gomer and everything Mayberry. I think he has every season of the show on DVD.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There aren't many days that go by that I don't get to catch at least one episode of the Andy Griffith Show that plays repeatedly on TV Land and many local channels. On the days I am working, I get off at 5:00 and when I have the television to myself, which is about half of the time due to Jim's work schedule, one of the first things I do after I get home is turn the TV to our local Channel 2 and get set to watch "Andy" at 5:30...either before or during the time I am eating my dinner. I never seem to tire of watching those old shows. There was always an example to be set and a lesson to be learned....for the young and old alike. We even had a small group Bible Study at church called "Lessons Learned From Mayberry" that was based on right and wrong...something that too many people these days don't seem to relate to. It makes me sad that those types of shows aren't being made today - actually, they haven't been made in a very long time. Television shows reflect life. Is it any wonder why our airwaves are are crammed full of junk when we look at our world today? OK...I won't go any further with that one...but I could!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Anyway, back to Andy...and Mayberry. Out of all of the cast members of the show, there are only a few who are still living. Betty Lynn, who is the actress that played the part of Thelma Lou, Barney's girlfriend, is in her upper 80's and is living in Mt. Airy, NC, the town Mayberry was patterned after...also Andy's place of birth. Of course, most everyone knows it also as a well-known historical site for anyone who is an Andy junkie. Most of the others except for Opie and Gomer are gone now. Goober left us a few months ago and Barney and Aunt Bea have been gone for a good while now. Of course, Mayberry and everyone associated with it is fictional...we all know that. But what those wonderful actors portrayed was about life...life as we knew it back in a more simple and innocent time. I hope the Andy Griffith Show reruns will be played on TV for a long time to come. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Rest in peace, Andy. You and Barney are a team once again.</span></div>Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-49033799424755598742012-06-14T11:59:00.000-07:002014-06-15T02:58:01.810-07:00My Father's Healing Breath<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No, you didn't read the title of this wrong. It is just as it says. I really don't know what else to call it. From the time I first started remembering </span><em style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">anything</em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> about my life, I have memories of this. My dad had the God-given ability to make or repair almost anything...if it was broken, he could fix it. It seems his gifts went beyond this, yet I or no one in my family can explain it...only God knows how or why. Let me explain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can almost still hear the telephone ringing, sometimes late at night. They always seem to ring louder at night for some reason, don't they? The next thing I knew, my dad would be out of the house and in his car, driving down the road. Or someone might just stop by, anxiously asking for Joe (a.k.a my dad) and he would take them out into his shop or off to the side of the house, out of view, noticing that they were often wincing with pain. Sometimes it would be one of my brothers or sisters that urgently needed him in this way. Sometimes it was me. It was a strange thing that he was able to do by most folk's standards but that didn't keep them from calling on him when they needed him. To me, it was just something that my daddy did. Something that I probably thought every little girl's daddy did. You see, my dad had been handed down a "gift" from</span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> his </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">dad and it may have been handed down from</span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> his</i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> dad as well...I'm really not sure who passed this on to him. This gift, for the lack of a better word, was the ability to blow the "fire" out of burns to the skin. Some of you are probably thinking, </span><em style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"uh.....OK...if you say so"</em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> right about now. I would find it hard to believe if I hadn't experienced it for myself...even I would probably think I was crazy! Well, I will tell you that just about anybody who knew the Billheimers could attest to it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I decided to write about this, I realized that there would be some people who might read it and think that I had lost all my marbles so I decided to do some research on the subject by Googling ... uh ... hmm ... what exactly do you call this strange phenomenon? I thought about it for a minute and typed in the search box just what it was - "blowing the fire out of burns". Not that I needed any proof that this was actually something my father was able do but I will admit that I was a bit curious to see if others had experienced it and what, if any information was out there regarding it. I have to say that I wasn't terribly surprised when I found what I was looking for on my first try...I didn't have to search any further. There are actually several websites with information on the subject and they all pretty much said the same thing. Here is an example from one website based right here in North Carolina:</span></div>
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<i><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> A 21-year-old student at East Carolina University gave this account of his father's special healing ability in 1992. "My father knows how to talk the fire out...I was a skeptic until the day I burned my hand. We were freezing corn one summer and I had the job of blanching the corn so I removed a bowl of corn from the microwave and when I attempted to remove the plastic wrap from the top of the bowl, the steam escaped and scalded my hand. I was in terrible pain and wanted very badly to believe that my dad could talk out the fire. My dad performed a rubbing motion over my hand while silently repeating a verse or chant. Dad told me that I must believe in order for the process to work. Within 15 minutes after he had tried talking the fire out, the sting was completely gone and left no blister at all. Needless to say, I'm a firm believer in this practice of talking the fire out."</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></i><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The tradition of talking out the fire, also known as blowing out the fire or drawing out the fire, is at least 1000 years old. It still exists in Europe and many parts of the United States.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></i><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To heal a burn victim, fire talkers generally chant or repeat a certain verse from the Bible. At the same time, they make rubbing motions or gently blow on the burn. According to many of the burn victims, the pain disappears soon afterward and the burn heals without leaving scars in most cases.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As I read this, pictures from my past started revolving around in my brain. One of the first ones that came to mind was when one of my sisters...either Ruby or Lois... had been riding the motor bike that belonged to one of the boys. I can remember the incident pretty clearly except I'm not really sure which girl it was... anyway, the sister in question, got a little too close to the muffler and received a pretty nasty burn to the calf of her leg. Dad came to her rescue. Back in the day, my dad was a smoker (glad to report he was able to quit later on) and there was a time ...OK...two or three maybe...when I got too close to one of his cigarettes and was burned when the ashes dropped on me. Dad came to <em>my </em>rescue. I specifically remember the telephone ringing late at night after we had all gone to bed and someone on the other end of the line had experienced some sort of emergency and suffered a burn ...I don't remember the details...I just know that whoever it was knew who to call. Again, Dad to the rescue. There were many more occasions - probably many that I knew nothing about - but I'm pretty sure that just about everyone of my siblings needed his "services"<em> </em>at one time or another.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: left;">When I think about it, our home was actually a pretty easy place to get burned! Back when I was really little, our heat source was an old free-standing oil stove - you know, the kind with a big fat pipe that went up through the ceiling. That thing got HOT and we were always warned to stay clear of it when those flames were burning. Later on, after the natural gas line was available in our neighborhood, Dad installed a big floor furnace with a huge grate which was nearly as wide as the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. During the cooler months when the furnace was running, that got </span><em style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: left;">really </em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: left;">hot too. It was quite important to be wearing shoes or slippers when you "crossed over" to the other side. This posed a problem for the next generation of Billheimers... also known as the grand kids. There were times when having a houseful of visiting toddlers running here and there ended in disaster and several of them over the years wore those perfect "grill marks" on various parts of their little bodies like medals of honor! Dear sweet niece, Kim (West)...if you are reading this, you are living proof. In fact, I recall an Olan Mills portrait in the Billheimer Family Archives of you, proudly displaying yours on the back of your little arm. Once again... GRANDPA TO THE RESCUE!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, I am not one of those people who puts any stock in psychic powers and all of that mumbo-jumbo <em>but </em>I do believe the the supernatural...you have to if you believe in God. Of course, no human being actually holds that kind of power in his or her hands...or in this case, breath...to heal. Healing comes from God, Himself, and I am a firm believer that <em>He</em> works through<em> His</em> people to help accomplish <em>His </em>work. I can't explain why my dad was able to blow the fire out of a burn or that he was only one among many it seems that have been given the ability to do so. What I do know is that God's ways are not<em> our</em> ways and that He is a mystery. I think He likes it that way to keep us humble... so we don't get so smart and think that we have everything all figured out...He<em> is</em> God after all. My dad wasn't some ultra-spiritual man who oozed Jesus. He was proud, sometimes loud, a little rough around the edges, and at times pretty ornery (I <em>am </em>my father's daughter :) He loved his family and loved and respected his Lord even more. He worshiped Him in his own private way... more ways than I will ever know, I'm sure. He was also kind and caring and was always helping folks out in one way or another. It never seemed to bother him when someone would call for his help - whether their lawn mower wouldn't start or they burned their hand on a hot pan - it didn't really matter. He was ready to serve his fellow man (or woman) however he was needed. That was my dad. That's who God made him to be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To this day, I'm not sure if Dad ever passed this on to anyone else in the family. If he did, they have kept it a deep, dark secret. My sis, Barb thought it was supposed to be passed on to the oldest daughter. That would be you, dear sister Lois :) Well....? I have a feeling he may have gone to meet his Creator without sharing the secret. We may never know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I struggled somewhat with the title of this post..."My Father's Healing Breath". When I pondered and pondered how else to title it, I couldn't think of any other possibility. Maybe it's because I know who did the the blowing...or breathing...that was my earthly father. But I also know who actually did the healing. That was my Heavenly Father.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Breathe on me, Breath of God,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>fill me with life anew</i></span></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">that I may love what Thou dost love</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and do what Thou wouldst do.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Breathe on me, Breath of God,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">until my heart is pure,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">until with Thee I will one will</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to do and to endure.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Breathe on me, Breath of God,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Blend all my soul with Thine</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Until this earthly part of me</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Breathe on me, Breath of God,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">so shall I never die,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">but live with Thee the perfect life</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">of Thine eternity.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Edwin Hatch, 1835 - 1889</span></div>
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-46526309077426173552012-05-13T15:58:00.000-07:002012-05-19T10:08:13.099-07:00Black Patent Leather Shoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Being raised in a large family with seven other children was really quite a joy for me and I will never forget those wonderful years of my childhood. By the time I came along, my oldest brother Bob, who is twenty years older than me, was already out of the house and in the Air Force. My two oldest sisters, Lois and Ruby, were in high school and they were actually more like extra mothers to me...kinda like the Duggar Family but on a smaller scale. My dad worked hard at his manufacturing job in a small machine shop and when he was finished for the day he was usually out in his own shop where he worked on lawn mowers, rototillers and such. Almost everyone around the area knew my dad and by word of mouth he had more than enough work to keep him busy. Folks would call him for all kinds of things...water pumps and heaters, appliances...you name it. There wasn't much he didn't know how to fix. Mom never worked a job outside of the home but raising eight children and running a household which she did so well, was more than enough to keep her busy. Any money that my dad made from the side jobs helped to pay the bills and buy things that we needed for our large family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><i>Me, Janet and Barbara all dressed up... </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mom made all of her own and nearly all of us girls' dresses when we were little. I remember making many trips to the fabric store where she would be sure to buy plenty of yardage to allow for the dresses...many times, we had matching ones since it was easier to just buy the same kind of fabric. As a little girl, I loved getting all dressed up for church and special occasions (still do!) </span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One special memory that I keep in my "treasure box" is when I got a brand new pair of black patent leather shoes. I had gotten new shoes before but they were not like these. New shoes sometimes meant that they were just new to me...that they were actually just handed down to me since they no longer fit my older sister. The times were<i> </i>few and far between when they were actually new but when they were they were usually the very practical and very ugly brown oxfords that I wore to school and to play in. It was always a special treat to get something new to wear because when you are the baby of the family and have four older sisters, you get a lot of hand-me-downs throughout your life. Don't get me wrong....I was very glad to finally grow into my sisters' clothes and shoes but it was much more exciting to get something new...just for yourself...something that no one had ever worn before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, the day came when I got "THE SHOES"....oh my goodness... it was like I had the most amazing treasure in the whole world! They were shiny black with a thin strap that buckled at the ankle and I also remember a little "bling" of some kind on the toe . I thought they were the prettiest shoes I had ever seen. I remember the first thing I did after getting home from the shoe store was opening the box, putting them on and prancing around the house in them, little white anklets and all. I felt like I was the luckiest little girl in the world with these pretty little shoes on and couldn't wait for the first occasion to get to wear them out of the house! I didn't want to let them out of my sight. That night - and probably many more nights until the newness wore off - I placed those shoes under my bed, at the head with the toes sticking out to where I could see them when I looked down. They were the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning and the last thing I saw before I went to sleep at night! If I was lucky, Mom would allow me wear them around the house for a bit but never was I allowed to walk outside, let alone play outside in them unless I was wearing them to church or some place like that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As time went on and long after I grew out of those little shoes, I'm sure there were other new pairs... perhaps not black patent leather... and some surely handed down from my sisters with Kleenex stuffed in the toes so they would stay on my feet! I'm not really sure what made those little shoes so special to me. I guess it was because they had been purchased especially for me and they hadn't been handed down from my older sister. Back in those days, we pretty much shared everything. It was just how we lived. It saddens my heart a little that so many kids today are </span><em style="font-family: inherit;">given</em><span style="font-family: inherit;"> so many things and may be missing out on learning what it's like to share - let alone thinking they must get everything their hearts desire. I realize we live in a completely different world now...it was even different for my own children when they were growing up.... the grandkids, a different story even more so. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So...I don't know why it is that certain memories are clearer in my mind more than others. I remember some things in my childhood as if they happened yesterday and other things have gotten a little fuzzy through the years. I like to think that they are given to me by God to remind me of where I came from and how blessed I am to be part of a family who shared so much love, all under that one roof. No, it's not just about the little black patent leather shoes that were so special to me... but the history behind them and the sweet family memories surrounding them. It was a different day and time. The world was a different place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The irony in all of this is that after receiving hand-me-downs all throughout my childhood, these days I make my weekly rounds to several of the local thrift stores. I sometimes even refer to myself as the "Goodwill Queen". I actually dressed up as her last Halloween...oh my, she was a sight! Now, on any given day, you can pretty much find me wearing one or more of my many bargains...and yes, I'm pretty sure you may even find a pair of black patent leather shoes in the mix!</span></div>
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<br /></div>Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-22621929746378874762012-04-15T19:15:00.001-07:002013-04-29T18:16:35.984-07:00Her Crowning Glory<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em>"but long hair is a woman's glory. Long hair is given to her as a covering." <span style="font-size: xx-small;">1 Corinthians 11:15</span></em></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Mary Elma Davis Billheimer </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: left;"></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: left;">She would have been ninety-eight if she would have lived a few more months. Mom was without a doubt the most meek, mild and humble woman I have ever known. If there were ever angels living here on earth, she would have definitely been one of them. You know the saying "if you can't say anything nice about so</span><span style="text-align: left;">meone ...'', you know the rest....well, she lived it. There have been times when I have wondered how I could even be her daughter because I didn't seem to inherit any part of her quiet humility. Our personalities were so different. I guess God decided to bless me with the Billheimer genes instead :) My dad's sense of humor and out-spoken mannerisms are still alive and well, living in me! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />I have so many special memories of Mom but there is one in particular that stands out. Actually, it isn't just a one time memory but something that we shared on many occasions. It had to do with her "crowning glory" or in other words, her very long hair. As far back as my mind allows me to go, I can remember Mom's hair streaming down her back, past her waist, to where she could practically sit on it...in fact, I'm sure she could at one point. This was not something that she would display to just anyone - this vision was reserved only for those of us in the family, in the privacy of our home. She would never have been seen with her hair down in a public place. She always wore it pulled back with somewhat of a little "poof" in the front and twisted around into a bun at the back of her head, usually covering it with a thin, white net cap which fit the shape of it perfectly. The cap was part of who Mom was - she had been born into a family of the Old German Baptist culture where this was part of the church's uniform of dress for the women. The only times she was ever without it was when she was doing some heavy housework, at bedtime or when she washed her hair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: left;">Saturday was the day she set aside to wash her long brown hair and because it was so very long, it was quite an ordeal and drying it was another thing all together. I don't think we had an electric hair dryer when I was very young so after washing it and wringing it dry i</span><span style="text-align: left;">n a towel, she would comb it and and let it air dry. As she would sit in her favorite chair, waiting for it to dry completely, my sisters and I would take turns brushing those long strands, helping it to dry before she wound it back up into the bun. She would pull her hair around to the side or hang it over the back of the chair so we could reach the full length of it. The more we combed and brushed, the sleepier she got - it was unusual if she was able to stay awake during the process. I remember on more than one occasion when it was my turn to do the brushing, I would scoot into the chair next to her after I was finished, snuggle up to her and say, "Mommy, can I always stay here with you? I <i><b>never </b></i>want to leave you!" She would remind me of those times later on...especially when I got to that smart-alecky teenage stage in life when it wasn't cool to snuggle with Mommy anymore!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mom was forty-two when I was born so by the time I was an adolescent, she was in her mid-fifties. Even as she got into her early seventies, she was still mostly a brunette with only a small amount of gray around the temples. I moved away from Ohio in 1981 and it seemed like each time I saw her after that, her brown hairs were slowly being replaced by some gray ones. Little by little, over the next twenty-five years or so, her thick, brown hair that used to be down past her waist had been transformed into a mixture of gray and white wispy strands - still long by most standards - but not at all like I remembered it as a little girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I remember the last time I saw her before she died. She had been in and out of hospitals and nursing homes for several months where she had been very sick and then recovered a little, each time making her more weak and feeble. It was Easter weekend of 2010 and I was blessed to have a good visit with her in her hospital room where she was in isolation due to contracting a "hospital bug". I was supposed to be wearing a gown, gloves and a mask but being the head-strong, stubborn girl that my daddy helped create, I chose not to wear the gloves and mask. I had a strong feeling that this would be our last time together on this earth and I wasn't going to let anything come between us...literally! I found her sleeping when I got there and after waking her with a kiss to the forehead, proceeded to "fix" her up a bit to prepare her for other company I knew she'd be receiving later on that Easter Sunday. Her white, wispy hair was all over the place, totally unkempt and I knew she wouldn't want to be seen like that so I began brushing her thin and not-so-long hair. As I was brushing, I was joined by two of my sisters, Ruby and Barbara, and we finished by pulling her hair to the side and into a small, wimpy looking little braid - the little white cap nowhere in sight by then. Thinking back on it now, I find it ironic but also consider it a precious gift that God gave just to me on that day - that I was able to brush her hair for her one more time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />A little over a month later, I would tell her goodbye as my siblings who were gathered around her bedside held a phone to her ear. She didn't speak - I could only hear the last labored breaths she was taking. Within the hour, she would go home to be with her Heavenly Father, the One whom she lived for and patterned her life after. Her white, spindly hair is now probably brunette once again (or maybe golden, who knows!) and I have no doubt in my mind that it flows down her back too. I'm wondering if she is wearing that little white cap... not sure if those rules apply in heaven... regardless of that, I will always remember that beautiful hair of hers ... her crowning glory.</span><br />
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8807078070671995705.post-90851002222918095282012-04-09T16:53:00.000-07:002013-02-13T18:04:52.258-08:00Monday is wash day.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I could feel the edges of the curtains that hung from my bedroom window as they billowed over me, tickling my foot that stuck out from under the covers and waking me, as they usually did on those summer mornings. The early, gentle breeze flowing through that window smelled of honeysuckle and echoed the chirping of every kind of bird in my neighborhood - the mourning dove especially comes to mind. I remember lying there before getting up, trying to mimic all of their assorted calls. As I wiped the sleep out my eyes, I realized it was Monday...wash day. My older sisters dreaded this day but I was kind of excited because I had gotten old enough to help and I thought it was fun...way back then. We didn't have the convenient washers and dryers that we have today but instead, an old tub-type washer with a wringer that you had to feed the clothes through. It sat right out in the kitchen because we didn't have a separate laundry room. I wasn't allowed to mess with it...way too dangerous for the littlest girl...that part of the job was left to my older sisters and of course, Mom, who all reminded me from time to time of a little child they had heard of who's arm was crippled after it had gotten "run through the wringer". The only time I was allowed to get near the washer was when one of my siblings decided to use me as an "object" to hide during one of the many times we played that game...sometimes it was me, sometimes it was a clothespin or any other random object that we all agreed on. I thought it was great fun being hidden in the tub of the washer with all the dirty laundry! It's unfortunate that most kids these days don't use their imaginations like we did back then.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3JbOOUMsif0/T4cYEwky1NI/AAAAAAAAADI/KnwimGJu0bw/s1600/model%2520110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" qda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3JbOOUMsif0/T4cYEwky1NI/AAAAAAAAADI/KnwimGJu0bw/s200/model%2520110.jpg" style="cursor: move;" unselectable="on" width="123" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In those early days when I was very young, we didn't know what an automatic dryer was. We hung our laundry on a clothesline out in the side yard. On rainy days, we had a line stretched across our bedroom upstairs. Later on, after Dad had the back patio covered, we even had a line running across the width of it. I can remember the little fold-up laundry cart with wheels like it was yesterday. The older girls would carry it down the steps out of the kitchen...full of wet clothes, sheets, or whatever was being washed that day and then rolled it out and over the driveway, into the side yard where the clothesline was planted. It had a little pocket on the side to hold the clothespins. When I was really little, my job was to hand my sisters the clothespins as they held the laundry up to line. When I finally got tall enough to reach the line myself, I thought that I had really accomplished something very important! Of course, when the laundry was all nice and dry (and somewhat stiff), we would then gather it all back in and begin the folding process. My job was folding handkerchiefs, wash cloths (we actually referred to them as "worsh rags" back then), and small kitchen and hand towels. In my opinion, there is nothing that compares to the aroma of freshly washed laundry that has been hung out to dry!<br /><br />I don't remember exactly how old I was when Mom received her first ever automatic washer and dryer. If my memory serves me correctly, I think she got them when Dad had won one of the door prizes at the annual Beach Manufacturing summer picnic. That was where he was employed as a tool and dye maker, among other things, and every summer they had this big picnic and the owner of the company, Ted Beach, donated many large household items and other very nice things that were given out as prizes. I'm sure Mom didn't know what to think when she was awarded this new luxury! I sort of remember still hanging the sheets outside so they would have that fresh smell but that new dryer made the bath towels way softer than when they were hung on the line.<br /><br />Looking back, I don't think Mondays were ever quite the same after that. Yes, the gentle breeze that I was referring to earlier still flowed through my bedroom window on summer mornings and the sounds of the birds singing and the scent of honeysuckle still filled the air. At the time, I'm sure I thought it was great having the new wash day equipment but the things I remember most are the times when we did things a little differently than we do today....a simpler time, indeed. It's those little details of how we accomplished our daily tasks and how we lived our lives...not taking much for granted, unlike today. Now that I am 50 something, I guess I have gotten somewhat reminiscent of my early childhood years...at times yearning to go back and re-visit those days....if only for a short time. I really don't want to have a wringer-type washer again, even though I think it might be fun to have one to use as a planter or something out in the yard. I really don't want to have to hang my clothes up on the line either....even though it might be fun to do it just because I want to sometimes (but of course, I never do).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wash days occur any day of the week for me now... sometimes EVERYDAY of the week! These days, I look forward to being able to afford a brand new set of the front loading, high tech washer/dryer combos that are so popular today. My only new laundry appliances were purchased right after Jim and I were married and they have gone to wherever old appliances go to die....after almost 36 years, I guess so! For now, I will get by with my used, unmatched set until the great appliance master in the sky calls them home as well. I thank God for these memories that will probably seem a little foolish to some and this is just one of many that I will always cherish and keep in the treasure box of my heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Well, until next time...gotta go finish my laundry....and yep, it's Monday!</span><br />
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Debby Rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499542865677173703noreply@blogger.com5