Stephanie says

We drove eleven slow, slow miles up a winding and rutted logging road hewn out of a Douglas Fir forest. Afternoon light dappled through a tree canopy illuminating oxalis and fern on the shady forest floor. An autumnal splash of orange and yellow Vine Maple leaves provided contrast to the palette of green in the thick forest. The air was heavenly with the singular fragrance of Port Orford cedar. I was indeed in the land of my childhood. My cousins, Jeanne, Betsy, and Gayle, and I were on an impromptu road trip to the Rogue River by way of Powers, hometown of my late grandmother. We’d stopped at Jack’s Fountain for pie. I spent plenty of time in that shabby diner over the years. It looked the same as it had for decades, sprung vinyl seats in the booths, mismatched chairs. They are deservedly known for good pie however. We’d just about finished when the door opened and in walked Danny Dement. I'm pretty sure I never met him until right then although he was a schoolmate of my ...

Notation on back of postcard (in my grandmother’s hand) “My father W.C. Billings & son George A. Billings taken in 1897 at Custer, South Dakota. Modern Woodmen” Modern Woodmen is a fraternal organization founded in 1883 by Joseph Cullen Root in Lyons, Iowa. It is still in existence today. The society is organized around a lodge system called “Camps” that offer fellowship and community service for members. One of the most visible elements of the organization was its drill teams, which came to be known as Foresters. The first drill team was organized in Hutchinson, Kansas, in 1893; and became nationally known for entertaining crowds at parades and other events from 1890 to the late 1930s. The Foresters were even honored by Herbert Hoover at the White House. I surmise based on this photo that my great grandfather and uncle were photographed in costume for the Custer South Dakota club. Photo and caption below courtesy of the National Heritage Museum. “….set your minds ba...

She’d had a minor vein surgery. She’d never had an i.v. drip and didn’t figure to get one just for the convenience of the doc. She went with a local anesthetic, the surgeon muttering about control issues. “And your point being?” she thought. It was a bit unsettling lying on the surgery table wide awake and discussing movies with the doc while he sliced and stitched away. She could feel skin being pulled about and it was creepy. While unwilling to get an i.v., she was very willing to fill a pain pill prescription. Once home, ensconced on the couch and being waited upon by her family she took full advantage. The surgery site wasn’t painful but she took the pills anyway enjoying a dopey relaxation. She had three days off and spent most of that time lounging in front of the tv watching old movies. By the third day she was down to the last few pills. She’d been thinking “good thing I don’t have access to prescription drugs, I’d be tempted to abuse them.” Then, “sometimes drugs ARE the ans...

My grandparents Charles and Francis Thompson, Carol and Bob on wedding day, Carol's parents, Jesse Hoover (and right now I don't recall his name.) The photo taken at the Hoover farm. This photo was hand colored. Carol and Gayle Thompson Carol was my aunt by marriage. I've always been delighted Uncle Bob had the good sense to marry her. She was a corker. Carol was a most loving and generous person. She welcomed all comers into her life and especially made her family feel loved. Plus she was just brilliant. Michael and I often spent weekends at Bob and Carol’s ranch in Broadbent. Poor Uncle Bob, four women in the household and only one bathroom, an array of Avon products like a yellow bottle of Topaz lotion, decorating the counter, the bathroom always smelled sweet. Broadbent had one store/gas station, a community church, and a grade school. Betsy, Jeanne and Gayle had, wonder of wonders, a charge account at the market. The market had a small selection of toys and so...

The day came when it was time to dispose of my mother’s belongings following her death. It was hard and it was sad. Amazing how many objects a person collects over a lifetime. The decisions on disposal were left to me and my oldest brother. There were so many belongings to claim, give away, or donate to charity. Some of our family came to help; the grandkids and some cousins, thankfully. There were all manner of things: The large (piano), the small (delicate crystal BELL), books, dishes, pots and pans, computer, furniture, garden tools, costume jewelry, photos. We loaded up a borrowed cube-van and found homes for it all. I laid claim to an ancient set of aluminum measuring cups. Those cups, around some 60 years since my parent’s marriage, had constant use whether measuring dry goods in the kitchen or a multitude of other uses by me and my brothers. We might be playing cowboys and Indians under the blanket-draped kitchen table, the humidifier blasting moist Vicks vapor-rub air in...

1907 My maternal great grandparents and my grandmother. She was the youngest of six children and the only one born in Oregon. 1908 1917 1918 Calistenics at Triangle High School On back of photo - in Ethel's hand: Triangle Lake Blachley, Oregon 1918 Now houses are built around the lake - roads were muddy in winter - mail delivered 2 times a week - all had telephones - a horse-drawn stage was one way to go to Junction City. Bobbed hair and ankles visible. The times a changing. She went off to Oregon Normal School in Monmouth and graduated a school teacher in 1927. She taught elementary school for many years then switched to special education in the later years of her career. She taught until she was over 70. Upon retirement she became a volunteer for adult literacy. She was the only grandmother I ever knew - and she was a very good one. We were a tightknit bunch right until she died in 1997, shortly before her 94th birthday. A heartening number of her former ...

A man is a room. There are no doors or windows. The only things in the room (besides the man) Are a table and a mirror. How can he escape? Simple. He looks into the mirror And sees what he saw. With that saw he cuts the table in half. Two halves make a whole. So he climbs out the hole. This story problem just popped into my head, I remember it from 7th grade algebra. Really, does that seem like a math lesson? Or logic? Hmmm, not sure if it was worth using gray matter all these many years – but there it was, waiting for just this moment in my life. This Is A Theme Thursday Post. Click this link to check out what others have written on the subject of "Mirror".

Ah, poor boy is starving to death. Just wasting away...

7/17/1917 - 3/03/1998 Marjorie and her father, George Billings, my maternal grandmother's eldest brother. George was 18 when my grandmother was born. My grandmother was 14 when Marjorie was born and they spent a lot of time together. Marjorie was an only child. Marjorie and her mother Mina on a picnic. Marjory was the Lebanon Strawberry Queen. Marjorie never married. She had one serious suitor but her parents didn't think he was good enough for her, much to my grandmother's chagrin. Marjorie and George in 1960 This Is A Sepia Saturday Post. Click this link to check out what treasures others have posted on the subject.

The day began with a rush of excitement. She’d gotten all dolled up for the trip this morning, full makeup, great dress, and high, high heels. Tossing her long RED hair over her shoulder, gold highlights glinting in the sun, she’d set out to catch the Caltrain to San Francisco to spend the day in the city. It was a perfect spring day: fluffy clouds scudding across blue skies; light wind gusts; throngs of people walking the sidewalks; street cars zipping by; fascinating buildings and storefronts. She’d dreamed about this adventure for so long. Now a reality! San Francisco was such a sophisticated city. Now here she was. Her best friend was madly in love and wouldn’t come along on this trip – so she said “fuck it” and came alone. A friend of a friend lived in San Jose and let her stay there. San Jose was practically in San Francisco! So here she was - on an exploratory visit to the city. She’d done a modeling class back home and had a portfolio with the requisite head shots. She wa...

I actually got out my camera operational manual to prep for some shots of the Wolf Moon the other night. I miss my old SLR cameras. I KNEW how to operate them. But there is that instant gratification factor the old timers just didn't provide... And while the sky was too cloudy to get a shot of the moon I did learn how too shoot a nightsky photo. And I practiced on some rainy day shots: I learned about a nifty tool that takes a normal shot followed up by a flash shot. Then of course, I practice on my long suffering companion.

1923 – 1991 My uncle, Leland Post, was the eldest son of my grandfather Elmer Post - with his first wife. Divorce was pretty scandalous at that time. My grandfather, who had a creamery and made cheese in Blachly Oregon, had full custody. My grandparents married in 1931 when Lee was eight. He saw his mother only infrequently. Ethel and Elmer had three children, my mother Helene, and uncles Lynn and Howard. When Leland was a young boy, he was angry at his father and planned to run away from home. He didn’t have any money so he loaded up a wagon with cheese wheels and went around selling cheese for cheap. Elmer heard tell of it when one of the neighbors asked if something was wrong with the cheese since Leland was selling it for so little. In 1941 my grandfather sold the creamery and started a logging business in Powers Oregon. Leland was 18 and moved with the family to help with the new business. Poaching was commonplace in Coos County. A Powers cop stopped by for a chat ...

It is dark and dank in this place. And scary. The smell of pigeon shit and fusty soil are stuck in my nasal passages as I crouch, a loaded AK47 grasped so tightly in my right hand it makes an IMPRESSION. Heavy mud caked on my overalls weighs me down as I inch along toward safety. Flashes of gunfire light up the night sky behind me, followed abruptly by the cacophony of automatic weapons discharging. In that brief instant of light I can see I’m on the right path. My heart beats rapidly, fear makes my breathing hard. I hear a whisper. “Susan. Keep coming this way. Keep down.” Thank God, it’s Kevin. Kevin, my fearless and athletic lover, leads me through a maze of crumbling buildings away from our enemies. I stay at his heels as we slither through oozing mud, bird crap, and who knows what else, to a nearby two-story house, our reconnaissance point. I send a silent pray of thankfulness to the heavens when we reach the interior unscathed. A wave of light from another burst of gunfire expo...

A little drizzle Then a downpour

Dear Jeanne: There you are in the Middle Kingdom - craving French food. Certainly by now you've had the finest Chinese food available - something you'll be unable to get once you get home. But for now you're craving glorious butter. There is a certain irony in this... I recall being so sick of Italian food after one mere month... I craved - get ready for it - Kentucky Fried Chicken - got a bucket from the colonel when I got home. That was probably the last time I've eaten at KFC... They do make an excellent coleslaw. Speaking of irony, I'm reading Julia and cooking from Weight Watchers. I think it's your cookbook actually that I've ended up with somehow. Been doing the soups and the minestrone recipe therein is pretty damn good. So is the clam chowder. Your cuz

My grandmother Ethel’s family travelled the Oregon Trail near the end of the great migration west. They left from Neligh Nebraska and made their way gradually to Oregon. Grandmother, born in 1903, was the only one of six siblings born in Oregon. Her brother Minor Billings, born in 1890, was old enough to recall events from the time of the family journey. (I typed up some stories for him but will have to delve further to find them. I have not been as organized as I would wish.) Minor was an avid fisherman from the get go. Here is his 1915 hunting license - I do have some of his fishing licenses. Portrait of Minor in 1917 On the back of this photo is a notation in my grandmother's hand "A very fine person". Franked enveloped dated Oct. 7, 1918 from Minor at Fort Lewis, Wa. Addressed to Miss Ethel Billings, Blachley, OR. And it made it! Following WWI, Minor worked for the forest service until he retired at age 60. He married along the way although it was ...

King's Hawaiian Bakery Sweet Bread, ono delicious bro! I lived on the windward side of Oahu, with my husband Jim and my brother Michael. We were in our mid-twenties and having a roaring good time living in Hawaii. We didn’t have a car in the early days but our apartment wasn’t far from the ocean. We’d jog over and have a swim or do a little boogie boarding. We bought Hawaiian sling spears, rubber band propelled eight-foot metal tubes with three long prongs that spear the fish. I carted that sling around for miles and miles over the years but my single catch was a sea cucumber, a very sluggish creature creeping to its doom on the ocean floor. Jim and Michael quickly mastered the sling, Michael in particular caught lots of mahnini, elusive octopi and claw-less lobster. Once he killed a Moray eel and stuck it in the kitchen sink when he got home. The eel was only playing dead however. It slithered out of the sink and hid behind the refrigerator. I was fortunate to arrive in tim...

I walk my dogs at this pioneer cemetary. Fog is so deceptive and somehow elegant. Here's my big guy - running off-leash! A two-year old who never avoids a mud puddle.

I'm busily scanning family photos, a task that I've finally begun. My grandmother was a school teacher so there are a number of school photos of her. To my horror I look just like her. Change the hair color to dark brown and there I am. Accckkkkkkk.