Harriet Ellen Fitzpatrick

<p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; background-color: #edeff4">From Delphine:</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #edeff4">S</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; background-color: #edeff4">peaking of chickens did your mom ever tell you about grandpa putting a double yoked egg under a hen just to see what would happen. Mom told me this. it hatched and they got a chick and a half. LOL 2 chickens hatched out of it one was normal but the other one just had one wing and one leg but mom said the wing was on one side and the leg on the other so it used the wing to balance and hobbled around on one leg with the wind touching the ground for balance. She cried when it came to butchering time and grandpa even butchered the half chicken. LOL</span></p>

_Delphine on Aug 23:

I made a typing error should be with the "wing" touching the ground not the wind. LOL

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<div style="text-align: center">Fitzpatrick - Short</div><div style="text-align: center">&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: ">Miss Harriet Fitzpatrick, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Albert Fitzpatrick of St. Vincent, Minn. became the bride of P.F.C. Gordon Short of Camp Bowie, Taxas, son of Mr. and Mrs. Homer Short of McIntosh, Minn. in a ceremony read by Rev. Lee W. Heaton in Trinity Episcopal Church, Saturday, February the thirteenth.</div><div style="text-align: ">&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: ">The Bride wore a gown of white military twill, white satin shoes with blue hat and matching blue accessories. &nbsp;She carried a three flower bouquet of red &quot;mums&quot;. &nbsp;Attendants were Mrs. H.B. Lucas and Mrs. Vivian E. Heaton.</div><div style="text-align: ">&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: ">Mrs. Short will stay with her husband as long as he is stationed at Camp Bowie. &nbsp;They were fortunate to secure house keeping quarters within walking distance of Camp Bowie. &nbsp;Their many friends wish them joy and happiness.</div><div style="text-align: ">&nbsp;</div>

<p><span style="font-family: verdana; color: black; font-size: 7pt"><font face="arial,helvetica,sans-serif" size="3">FITZPATRICK - SHORT</font></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; color: black; font-size: 7pt"><font face="arial,helvetica,sans-serif" size="3">Miss Harriet Fitzpatrick, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Albert Fitzpatrick of St. Vincent, Minn. became the bride of P.F.C. Gordon Short of Camp Bowie, Texas, son of Mr. and Mrs. Homer Short of McIntosh, Minn. in a ceremony read by Rev. Lee W. Heaton in Trinity Episcopal Church, Saturday February the thirteenth</font></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; color: black; font-size: 7pt"><font face="arial,helvetica,sans-serif" size="3">The bride wore a gown of white military twill, white satin shoes with blue hat and matching blue accessories.&nbsp; She carried a three flower bouquet of red &quot;mums&quot;.&nbsp; Attendants were Mrs. H.B. Lucas and Mrs. Vivian E. Heaton.</font></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; color: black; font-size: 7pt"><font face="arial,helvetica,sans-serif" size="3">Mrs. Short will stay with her husband as long as he is stationed at Camp Bowie.&nbsp; They were fortunate to secure housekeeping quarters within walking distance camp Bowie.&nbsp; Their many friends wish them joy and happiness.</font></span></p>

How quickly things change...On June 30th, Mom and Dad called. Mom scared. Took Dad to ER. Had heart attack. Released after testing July 4th. On July 13th, second bad attack. This time, the Cardiologist, Dr. Evans, did an angiogram, angioplasty, and echocardiogram. Dad is in ICU with breathing tube, IV feeding him, catheterized, with a blood pump. Also had to have dialysis for awhile. By July 16th, breathing tube removed. Two days now has has slept, moving around and trying to turn this way and that. Who knows what dreams he dreams? <br><br>Mom cried when Chris and I drove to the hospital. &#39;No more Hawkeye and Chingascook...&#39; was all she could say, over and over. In ER, Dad motioned us over to his bedside, saying if he doesn&#39;t come out of this, he knows he&#39;ll see us on the other side. I&#39;m so glad I took their photos on Saturday, July 7th, as I did. Images of them kidding with each other, smiling at each other, goofing off, holding hands, kissing, or just gazing into the camera naturally. <br><br>As I write this, I am alone in the ICU waiting room except for one solitary woman, and Mom. Mom plays solitaire quietly, across the room on the coffee table. She keeps asking me, when I go over to her, why she&#39;s paying two months&#39; rent for the old apartment. I explain we&#39;re late this month and we need to give notice. Where are we moving to, she asks. I tell her, but a few moments later, she has forgotten and asks again. &#39;Oh yes,...where Dad needs to go...&#39; I smile inwardly as the solitary woman leaves us alone. <br><br>Mom remembers enough of a conversation a few days before when we told her and Dad they had to move to a nursing home. Then, I could see Dad&#39;s face become relaxed and visibly relieved, knowing finally that someone could be there to help them. <br><br>My ears notice that Mom is whistling as she plays cards. Cards and whistling - how appropriate. Two things burned into my mind from my earliest memories that I associate with Mom. <br><br>I hear Mom moan...she says she has eaten too much, and decides to quit playing cards, and lay down for awhile. <br><br>Sharon and Bill, arriving in the afternoon, are with Bill and Betty running errands. <br><br>The hours as this goes by seem surreal. Time passes differently. You don&#39;t acknowledge it. Instead, you ignore it, withdrawing into a safe, emotional cocoon. At one and the same time, you reflect superficially on memories that surface unbidden but don&#39;t surprise you, but you never let them manipulate you into giving way to any emotional release. This is your way, you say. Maybe so. Maybe it&#39;s just your defense against facing mortality head on instead of intellectually, the way most of us most of the time deal with it, if we deal with it at all...&quot;

Mom emailed me tonight... <blockquote>From: harrietshort <br>To: trishymouse@hotmail.com <br>Date: Fri, 07 Jun 2002 22:17:35 <br><br><em>i am trying to practice on this little gizmo to see if i can learn how to master it. i am determined t0 do so and will probly do so before i kick the bucket . i spelled probaly wrond and still do not k now for sure if i got it write . there i did it again. i can hear you giggle. smarty. i must get tobed and see if i can get to sleep tonite. love you and wish i could give you a good nite kiss and hug and tuck you in love mom</em></blockquote>

When I was growing up, I was in awe of my Mom. I didn&#39;t think of it as awe at the beginning. At the beginning I just thought, &quot;She&#39;s so tall compared to me...&quot;* As I was growing up, she always seemed so confident, so strong. Little did I know that while this was true, it was also false. <br><br>Her bravado masked a weakness. She was vulnerable. Only through time did I and my sisters come to realize that our mother was more than just our mother, but a person. A person as complex as any of us. She had a story, and it was utterly fascinating. <br><br>I&#39;m not sure where it came from, this vulnerability. Grandma Fitzpatrick, our mother&#39;s mother, was a very strong, independent woman. Circumstance necessitated that she was. Eventually she was married to my grandfather, Sheldon Albert Fitzpatrick. My grandfather was a man with a great sense of himself - confident, gentle, and a devilish sense of humour. Despite her independence, they were a great fit for one another. Their combined intelligence, resourcefulness, depth of faith, and sense of the work ethic passed to my mother. <br><br>However, despite this foundation, Mom was vulnerable. It manifested itself during times of emotional stress. The first time we became aware of it was from stories told to us years later...about when Dad and Mom were first married, and Mom was carrying her first child - what would have been our older brother. She miscarried, and the resulting circumstances became a blur to her, Dad taking her on a train trip home that she doesn&#39;t remember. Years after that, Dad was working away from home. Mom had two small children on her own, and despite the support she had from her parents, it became too much for her. Once again, she became overwhelmed, and had a nervous breakdown. <br><br>Now, since Dad died last year, she&#39;s showing this vulnerability again. I&#39;m convinced that it&#39;s not just her age. No, it&#39;s more than that. She&#39;s devastated from Dad&#39;s loss. She&#39;s coping the best she can. We&#39;re a source of strength and support to her, but she still misses him terribly. The sincerity of her pain is physically palpable when you&#39;re in her presence. It&#39;s not every day that you witness a love and devotion so utter, so strong, so <em>elemental</em>, that you know that the person&#39;s grieving will not have a quiet, neat ending, a moving on...Rather, it will continue to the end of their lives. The depth of the connection between them and their loved one passed on is such that it cannot be any other way. <br><br>It makes those of us living life at a younger pace uncomfortable. We don&#39;t know what to say, or what to do. I smile when I think of it. My mother is a fantastic person. She worked SO hard all her life, in the shadow of a woman she greatly admired and never felt she lived up to, her own mother. I feel the same way about Mom, as she has about her own mother. I don&#39;t know how much more of a compliment you can give another person. <br><br>Despite our times of conflict (mostly due to the fact that we&#39;re both intelligent, strong-willed people), I love my mother more than anything. Exasperating, frustrating, yes. But inspiring, loving, supporting, yes too. That&#39;s my Mom. Harriet Short... <br><br>*(Now I think, &quot;She&#39;s so small compared to me...&quot;)

When mom visited me [Sharon] this past June and July, we often sat out in the evenings on the front stoop or in the back yard under a canopy tent set up with wicker and metal furniture. Mom took a great interest in watching the airplanes flying overhead that were headed to O&#39;Hare airport and in watching the fireflies when it became dark outside. She&#39;d often marvel at how those planes stayed aloft quoting the law of aerodynamics. During these times as well as when traveling in the car, we talked about dad, about her earlier life, about Bill&#39;s current job situation, Rachel, Paul etc. <br><br>In one of her wistful moments sitting on the front stoop, an interesting, previously unknown fact slipped out about mom. If she had had her druthers, the money and opportunity, she would like to have been a scientist. I always thought she had been interested in being a science technician. But, no, she was very clear about the dream of being a scientist. No doubt, she regrets not getting that opportunity but has since resigned herself to it. She said she always liked science more than English when in school. In a different generation such as ours, she would have had that opportunity to see her dream materialize. <br><br>From things she said and intimated, I believe that she is very proud of the accomplishments of each of her daughters and the fact that they really care what happens to her (that she is really blessed to have such loving and caring daughters). <br><br>She reminded me also of the history of the small round table and chair set that came from the soda fountain place in Pembina and how Grandma bought the set for less than $5.00. It came with only 3 chairs. Grandma put new masonite boards in the seats and painted the metal black and the seats silver. <br><br>I didn&#39;t realize how close mom and grandma were til she was sharing how dad would often laugh that they could be down to Grandma and Grandpa&#39;s for a meal and then mom would be on the phone with her just after she got home. Grandma had a chance to see Dad work at the Short&#39;s cafe and told mom that he would be a good provider for whoever he married. Also, dad really <br>thought a lot of Grandma too. <br><br>Mom recalled some of the funnier aspects of their married military life in the service. When stationed either in Texas or California, dad overslept one morning and didn&#39;t make it in for roll call at the camp. He was really scared that he would be charged with AWOL but fortunately one of his buddies covered and answered for him at the roll call. <br><br>Mom said several times she wished she could have given dad a boy. She went on to talk about losing the baby boy in California and the trip home when she was having a nervous breakdown. The train stopped in Des Moine, Iowa and dad thought of putting mom into mental hospital because she was in such bad condition. He contacted his Aunt Ragnil and she told him that if it were her spouse, she definitely would not put him in one of those places. She advised him to take her home to Grandma as he originally <br>planned.

On my way to work this morning, I heard Leon Redbone&#39;s band doing &quot;The Whistling Generals&quot;. Now there&#39;s a man who knows how to whistle beautifully. It puts a smile on your face and lightens the heart. <br><br>Why don&#39;t people whistle anymore? As Stuart Butler says in his poem, &quot;Whistling&quot;, maybe it&#39;s because <blockquote>&quot;...Today there is less silence to break, <br>Less listless boredom to shake, <br>With Muzak attacking our heads <br>And radio alarms invading our beds...&quot;</blockquote>As long as I can remember, Mom has been a whistler. In fact, my earliest memories are of hearing my mother whistling. The tunes she whistled were sometimes borrowed, but as many times as not, they were made up on the fly as she went along. Her whistles were so strong and clear, you could <font color="#956839">hear them from some distance away</font>. <br><br>I haven&#39;t heard Mom whistle for a long time. I hadn&#39;t thought about it until I heard that song this morning. I can only speculate as to why, but I think it&#39;s partly due to her grieving, and partly due to physical condition ... Sometimes it&#39;s like watching a clock running down. Just the other day she told me that she wants to crochet and embroider, still having the interest, but her motivation is just not there. She&#39;ll pick up a project, work on it a bit, then put it down. She glances at them, but the mood just isn&#39;t there. <br><br>I think if I was in her shoes, it would be very tough to feel motivated. Despite being in a facility where you can interact with others, there is still a lot of isolation that&#39;s difficult to get past. Every individual there has their own concerns, memories, and physical challenges to deal with. That takes a lot of emotional strength from a person, leaving them drained. Unless interaction comes to them in the form of caring friends and family, it&#39;s all too easy to fall into patterns of complacency, or even despondency. <br><br>Mom enjoys talking on the phone, and in person, just chatting about everyday things, or how she feels, or how others are. She calls each of my sisters and I regularly, and we talk. None of us probably feels we give her enough time. It&#39;s a tough balance. I don&#39;t want to someday look back and wish I had given more of my time. Mom is with us now.

<p><em><font size="3" color="#808000">My mother, a widow late in life, terribly lonely in her grief, and suffering from depression and the onset of dementia, wrote many of her thoughts down on notepads as they came to her.&nbsp; We would find them now and again when visiting her and going through her papers in case there was mail we needed to see to.&nbsp; Here are some of them, written mostly between 2002 and 2006...</font></em></p><p>Betty you can read this, also let Sharon see it...Patricia (later written, &quot;&amp; Betty,&quot;), I love you still even tho you sometimes treat me like dirt.&nbsp; Dad and I went through hell to bring you back from California and away from Tom the devils cohort. It really tore your Dad apart to see you in the conditions you were living in.&nbsp; Estelle gives me a pain in the ass.&nbsp; She should have stayed at home and raised her kids properly.&nbsp; She thinks she is so smart.&nbsp; She sits and puffs away on her cigarette and thinks everything will be okay if she dishes the money out to those no good boys of hers.&nbsp; I&#39;ve news for her.&nbsp; She is just helping them to get into lucifers hands deeper and deeper.&nbsp; I thank God we got you away from there but don&#39;t know for sure if you are glad we did or not.&nbsp; </p><p>I pray that Daniel tries to walk the right path.&nbsp; Eva is sort of off the right path but pray she turns back before its too late!&nbsp; I&#39;m sure glad my mother is not alive to see all this as it would break her heart.&nbsp; I&#39;m so thankful that I did all the right things for her even tho she and I always had our arguments.&nbsp; We loved each other immensely.&nbsp; She was not just my mother, she was my best friend I ever had on earth!&nbsp; When I needed to talk to someone she was always ready to listen and to encourage me to go on!! </p><p>She did not have it easy as a child.&nbsp; Her father was a drunkard!&nbsp; I don&#39;t know where he would end up after death.&nbsp; He died long before I was born so never knew him.&nbsp; My other grandpa, Grandpa Fitzpatrick, was wonderful and loved all the grandchildren.&nbsp; He always had a pocketful of pink peppermints.&nbsp; I was 4 1/2 when he died so can&#39;t really remember him too well.&nbsp; I remember his big white beard.&nbsp; I do believe I&#39;ll see him and my grandma in heaven!&nbsp; What a wonderful reunion that will be!!!&nbsp; </p><p>When the Lord calls me I hope I don&#39;t struggle to live as I want to drift into the arms of Jesus nice and easy.&nbsp; Betty I&#39;d love to talk with you someday.&nbsp; Trish, too if she wants to listen to me.&nbsp; I was so delighted to have 3 little girls and it was so fun to sew all of your clothes.&nbsp; I sure spent hours at that machine.&nbsp; Dad was so pleased that he would sneak up behind me and give me a peck on the cheek.&nbsp; He loved me so tenderly! </p><p>[No one to talk to that sounds like they have an ounce of sense!&nbsp; My brain is still in good working order!]&nbsp; </p><p>Sure we had our arguments but they never cme to blows.&nbsp; Grandpa Short was so cruel to Grandma Short.&nbsp; I don&#39;t know why she stayed with him as she was a teacher.&nbsp; But of course the wages were so low I suppose she couldn&#39;t make it.&nbsp; So she just stayed and kept having kids.&nbsp; Can you imagine - he blamed her for that too as if he didn&#39;t have any part in it, the miserable bastard!&nbsp; I wouldn&#39;t take anything from him.&nbsp; He said you think you&#39;re smart.&nbsp; I said you&#39;re darn right and a lot smarter than you.&nbsp; I bet your Dad could have told you things that would make your blood curdle of how his Dad treated your Grandma Short.&nbsp; </p><p>[The food is unbearable as it is not my kind of food.&nbsp; If I were along I&#39;d cook what I like!]&nbsp; </p><p>NO man has a right to treat a wife like a child!&nbsp; A wife is a grown intelligent adult and should be treated as such.&nbsp; </p><p>[My hand is getting tried so better quit and finish this later...]</p><p>There are lots of men around today like Homer but women can get a lot better help if they aren&#39;t too afraid to act. </p><p>[I hate this place as there doesn&#39;t seem to be an intelligent person here - even the workers seem stupid!] </p><p>Some days I wish I&#39;d never been born.&nbsp; Happiness is an illusive visitor to me.&nbsp; I&#39;ve struggled with that all my life.&nbsp; The happiest time was with you 3 girls and your Dad!!!&nbsp; Your Dad was a prince!!!</p>

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">This is a private recollection that I found recently, written by my mother on a small notepad in her room. &nbsp; I was there to tidy her room and get her up for supper. &nbsp; While she was still sleeping, I found her writings on the pad, thankful I didn&#39;t just throw it without looking closer. &nbsp; It is obvious from the way it is written that she hoped we would find it, part of it addressed directly to us...</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Your Dad meant more than anything else to me in this world. Perhaps I loved him too much, and that is why the Lord took him away from me. Your Dad was a super person I think!!!</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I remember the first time I saw him at Short&rsquo;s Caf&eacute;. I thought how lucky I&rsquo;d be to have him as a boyfriend. But I also thought that would never be as he was so handsome he could have all the girls he wanted and not pick an ugly duckling like me. Low and behold I was the first and only one he ever dated. When he left without any warning because he had a chance for a free ride home, I thought I would curl up and die. I felt I&rsquo;d never see him again. But God had other plans. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I cried myself to sleep every night. Then I got a letter from him saying he was coming to his Uncle Gail&rsquo;s for a visit and wanted a date with me. I never slept for a week just thinking about it. That&rsquo;s when your Dad told me he loved me and wanted to marry me when he could get a job so he could support us. You will never know how excited and happy I was. I could hardly believe it was true. God sure had our lives planned for us as you can see.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Then WWII broke out and he was drafted before we could get married. His furlough home was what clenched it and I was back to Texas with him and the first 3-day pass he could get we got married!</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">He was so good to me; a married man could have leave from base at night with a pass but had to be back in camp at 4:30am!! He was so tired by the time I returned to Minnesota that he was almost glad to see me go! Life was so hectic and everyone wanted to make the most of every minute as you didn&rsquo;t really know if you would have another day together. Hope you never had to go through that in your lives!</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I just have to write it over and over how much I love you, my dearest Gordon. You will forever live on in my heart. You loved me so tenderly and treated me like a queen. Why didn&rsquo;t God let us live on a little longer? Guess he had other plans for us.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">But God wanted some of your Dad&rsquo;s seed upon the earth so he did return and we had three dear daughters. Your Dad worshiped the ground you walked on. Oh, how I love your father. He was so good to me and worked so hard to support us and give us a home.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">He will always live on in my memory. He will never die as long as I live. Remember him as an honest and true man. May the Lord bless him with many jewels in his crown.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Gordon, I love you truly, truly I do, and always will forever and ever.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">&nbsp;</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">&nbsp;</p>

A message from our mother, to her daughters (Sharon, Betty, and Patricia)... <blockquote>I love you still even though you sometimes treat me like dirt. Dad &amp; I went through hell to bring you back from California and away from Tom the devil&#39;s cohort. It really tore your Dad apart to see you in the condition you were living in. Estelle gives me a pain in the ass. She should have stayed at home and raised her kids properly. She thinks she is so smart. She sits and puffs away on her cigarette and thinks everything will be okay if she dishes the money out to those no good boys of her&#39;s. I&#39;ve got news for her. She is just helping them to get into Lucifer&#39;s hands deeper and deeper.<br><br>I thank God we got you away from there but don&#39;t know for sure if you are glad we did or not.<br><br>I pray that Daniel tries to walk the right path. Eva is sort of off the right path but pray she turns back before it&#39;s too late!<br><br>I&#39;m sure glad my mother is not alive to see all this as it would break her heart. I&#39;m so thankful that I did all the right things for her even though she and I always had our arguments. We loved each other immensely! She was not just my mother, she was the best friend I ever had on earth! When I needed to talk to someone she was always ready to listen and to encourage me to go on!!<br><br>She did not have it easy as a child. Her father was a drunkard! I don&#39;t know where he would end up after death. He died long before I was born so never knew him. My other grandpa, Grandpa Fitzpatrick, was wonderful and loved all the grandchildren. He always had a pocketful of pink peppermints. I was 4 1/2 when he died so can&#39;t really remember him too well. <br><br>I remember his big white beard. I do believe I&#39;ll see him and my grandma in heaven! What a wonderful reunion that will be!!! <br><br>When the Lord calls me I hope I don&#39;t struggle to live as I want to drift into the arms of Jesus nice and easy. Betty, I&#39;d love to talk with you someday. Trish, too, if she wants to listen to me. <br><br>I was so delighted to have three little girls, and it was so fun to sew all of your clothes. I sure spent hours at that machine. <em>Dad was so pleased that he would sneak up behind me, give me a peck on the cheek. He loved me so tenderly!</em> Sure we had our arguments but they never came to blows. <br><br>Grandpa Short was so cruel to Grandma Short. I don&#39;t know why she stayed with him as she was a teacher. But of course the wages were so low I supposed she couldn&#39;t make it. So she just stayed and kept having kids. Can you imagine - he blamed HER for that, too, as if he didn&#39;t have any part in it, the miserable bastard! <br><br>I wouldn&#39;t take anything from him. He said, &#39;You think you&#39;re so smart.&#39; I said, &#39;You&#39;re damned right, and a lot smarter than you.&#39; I bet your Dad could have told you things that would make your blood curdle of how his Dad treated your Grandma Short. <br><br>There are lots of men around today that take part, but women can get a lot better help if they aren&#39;t afraid to ask. <br><br><em>Some days I wish I&#39;d never been born. Happiness is an illusive visitor to me. I&#39;ve struggled with that all my life.</em> The happiest time was with you three girls and your Dad!!! Your Dad was a prince!!! <br><br>No man has a right to treat a wife like a child! A wife is a grown intelligent adult and should be treated as such. <br><br>My hand is getting tired so better quit and finish this later...</blockquote>I found the notes above written on scraps of paper while tidying up her room once...

<p>When I saw Mom last, on Saturday, we didn&rsquo;t go out, but I was there for 2.5 hours visiting*. She was in very good spirits. Earlier in the day, not feeling well, but was about to go to supper when I left. No, not bad at all. I&rsquo;m very encouraged by her demeanor all around. Her biggest concern is that she vacillates between fear and anger about being forgotten by us. She feels she is a burden, but at the same time doesn&rsquo;t want to have to beg for our attention. Although I haven&rsquo;t been through what she&rsquo;s going through, it&rsquo;s easy to imagine that it would be tough. At this vulnerable time in her life, it&rsquo;s not surprising she needs more support than ever&hellip; <br><br>*<em>During my visit, Mom compared caring for her mother with her own situation now. Although I lived through it with her, it was helpful when she reminded me how her and Aunt Pat decided to jointly care for Grandma once Grandma couldn&#39;t be on her own. Mom had Grandma spring to fall, and Aunt Pat from fall to spring. It was as fair as they could arrange it. <br><br>Towards the end of Grandma&#39;s life (1973 or so), she entered a nursing home. Mom said, &quot;I have never forgotten or forgiven Pat for what she did.&quot; I blinked, a dim memory of hearing this before in the back of my brain. &quot;Never forgotten or forgiven what, Mom?&quot; &quot;What she did to Grandma.&quot; <br><br>She went on to explain that Aunt Pat drove up to Hallock one day to have Dr. Larter look at Grandma, left her there, and went home. Dr. Larter called Mom and asked, &quot;What are you going to do about your Mother?&quot; She had to learn from Dr. Larter what had transpired to this point since she had not be called by Aunt Pat. &quot;She was left sitting in her chair in the hallway of the hospital,&quot; Mom told me. After learning the circumstances, it was arranged for Grandma to enter the nursing home. Paperwork had to be taken care of by Mom later. As you might imagine, Mom was not amused at having this dumped in her lap, as she called it. She didn&#39;t resent her mother, nor helping her, but it was how it happened. As you also might imagine, loving her sister as she did and does, she hasn&#39;t stopped loving her. But, Mom is Irish, and she has a looong memory!</em></p>

_Delphine on Oct 16:

Aunt Harriet sort of mentioned this to me but never heard it that way. I heard that they said Mom dumped Grandma in the nursing home without their knowledge. I know Grandmas diabetis got way out of hand and she could no longer be taken care of in home. It was after one day my dad had come home from the body shop to go to the bathroom as he had no toilet in his shop. When arriving home he found grandma laying on the bathroom floor. She had tried to go to the bathroom and fell and had messed all over herself and on the floor etc. My Dad helped her up and cleaned up all the mess and never told Mom about it. It was grandma who later told her what John did for her. Grandma's functions were out of control because of the diabetis and she was told grandma needed to be closer to the Dr. so Mom and dad took her up to Hallock and put her in the nursing home. There was an incident at the Drs. office too but my story is different. Mom always tells how she took Grandma to the Dr. and they told her that the wheel chair grandma had was theirs and they needed it and they offered Mom a different wheel chair. She says it was an old old relic of a wheel chair and so big it would never have worked in her house. So she told grandma not to pay attention to what she was going to say and she told the Dr. and staff that she was leaving grandma right where she was and she started to walk out. The Dr. said what are we to do with Mrs. Fitzpatrick if you leave her here and Mom told them that is up to you but I cannot get that antique wheel chair through the doors of my house. So he said O.K. you can have the other wheel chair so they kept the wheel chair grandma was in and went back home. It wasn't until Grandma's diabetis got out of control that grandma was put in the nursing home and mom says she and dad took her to Hallock and put her in the nursing home and Aunt Harriet wasn't informed of that and found out later I guess. I know she had told me she was upset because Mom didn't consult her before putting grandma in the nursing home. So I wonder which story is the true story. They both sure told it differently. When I had to put my Mom in the nursing home she constantly told me how Harriet had put grandma in the nursing home because she no longer wanted to care for her and grandma begged my Mom to take her out so Mom and Dad went to Hallock immediately and got Grandma and brought her to Bemidji. But I kept reminding Mom that she took grandma from her home to care for her. Not from the nursing home. I do know Mom and Dad had to put Grandma in the nursing home eventually but she wasn't there to begin with. This was a ruse by Mom to get me to release "her" from the nursing home. Anyhow now we have the "other side of the story" LOL

Trish Lewis on Oct 16:

That is very interesting to read, Delphine. Memory is a funny thing and I often wondered about the story because it sure didn't sound like something your Mom would do, just leave Grandma. I figured there had to be more to the story. I think Mom was making some assumptions and just upset.

_Delphine on Oct 19:

as I remember it seems there were things both of them remembered differntly. But that is true of all siblings I think. You wouldn't know this but my Mom held terrible guilt about your mom. She blamed herself for some of things your Mom couldn't cope with and for her break downs etc. Mom was 10 years older than your Mom so when she left for nurses training to Mpls. your Mom was only 8. They were very close and did a lot of things together. Grandma told my Mom how Harriet cried and cried for days she was so lonesome for her big sister. Mom felt so guilty and always thought she should never have left home and left Harriet all alone. That she would have been O.K. had she stayed til Harriet was older. She really went on this guilt trip right after Mom herself had to go into the nursing home. She insisted she had to get out and go to Minn. to help Harriet.

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Here are some sayings that my mother, or her parents, were known to often say by those of us who knew them...These are all done either from memory or how my mother recalls them. &nbsp; I _know_ I missing some (not to mention some of the ones I mention below are incomplete...), so would greatly appreciate anyone reading this that knew my grandparents, Al and Liz Fitzpatrick, or my mother Harriet Short, feel free to jump in and add to this! &nbsp; (see below)<br>__________________<br><br>fart in a mitt huntin&#39; for the thumbhole<br><br>He can go piss up a rope and slide down the dry side<br><br>It&#39;s so cold you shake and shiver like a dog shitting razors<br><br>Cold as a witch&#39;s tit<br><br>As nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs<br><br>[It&#39;s a slippery] - as a cat covering a hardwood floor<br><br>slower than molasses in January<br><br>so cold it would freeze the balls off a brass monkey<br><br>better to fart and bear the shame than not and bear the pain

When I was 8 or 9 years old and my sister Alberta left home to go to nurses training, I was so lonely without her. &nbsp; When Christmas time came she wrote home that she would come home on the train and had one big wish. &nbsp; The wish was that Dad would come meet the train with the sleigh and horses. &nbsp; So Dad put the big grain box on the four-runner sleigh and put harness on the horses. &nbsp; The harness had all kinds of silver bells on it. &nbsp; Mom heated up bricks to keep our feet warm and we got in the sleigh and had the fur robe with us to cover our feet and legs. &nbsp; The horses trotted over the snow and the rhythm of their trot made the bells ring out a beautiful melody that only you can remember if you can remember if once heard! &nbsp; Just writing about it I can still hear those bells jingling in my memory. &nbsp; It makes tears come to my eyes thinking of what we are missing today!<br><br>My Dad loved to play pranks. &nbsp; Alberta and I had been uptown one evening and came home. &nbsp; There was no one home and we came in and lit the kerosene lamp and sat at the kitchen table by the window. &nbsp; She was reading stories to me. &nbsp; I was listening really good but also had my eye on a coat that was on the door knob of the door going into the dining room. &nbsp; I saw the coat move and told Alberta and she said it didn&#39;t and to be quiet and listen to the story. &nbsp; Previous to this something kept hitting the window and I was scared and Alberta said it&#39;s just acorns as it was the fall of the year. &nbsp; She went on reading and I listened and all of a sudden I looked and the coat was gone. &nbsp; I said how come the coat is gone now. &nbsp; Alberta picked up the lamp and held the bottom of the globe with me behind her, and bravely walked toward the dining room door. &nbsp; Just as she entered out popped our Dad with a big BOO!

<font face="Batang" size="4" color="#cc0000">MY MOTHER TALKS ABOUT HER FAMILY</font><hr>First of all, a little of my family&hellip; <br><br>I was the youngest of 5 children &ndash; 3 older sisters and one older brother. The sister next to me was 10 years older than I. I was an afterthought, a caboose so to speak. <br><br>However, I did not get spoiled as mother had too much to do. I learned how to be responsible and had my chores to do. Praise the Lord for that as I was taught many useful things to get through life. Mother always taught me that there was no such word as &ldquo;can&rsquo;t&rdquo;. It took awhile as a younger child to understand what she meant. <br><br>Mother was a born-again Christian. She was loving, kind, joyful, and many things of good report. She was not able to attend school beyond third grade, but she taught herself how to read and write because she had been taught phonetics. She loved reading her Bible and read it daily. <br><br>When I was a Sophomore in high school our school was consolidated with a larger school. It was quite a change after the small school I had attended. Sometime after Christmas that year, the English teacher told us we were going to have six weeks of public speaking. The second week into this she told us we had to prepare a 3-5 minute speech. I was terrified! How could I get up in front of this class and talk when I was afraid to talk with most of them in the hallway? <br><br>I came home that evening and told mother I was quitting school. The tears streamed down her face as she said, &ldquo;Harriet, I never had the opportunities you have, so please don&rsquo;t quit&hellip;&rdquo; She said, &ldquo;You prepare your speech and then practice in front of me until you can rattle it off.&rdquo; I did, and I remained in school, graduating thanks to my mother. <br><br>Raised in the English church (Presbyterian, later Episcopal), I was baptized as a baby, and then confirmed when 14 years old. I learned many good things in confirmation classes prior to the confirmation; however, there really was not the clear understanding that I have today of accepting Christ as a personal savior, at least I didn&rsquo;t understand it that way. <br><br>After graduating from high school, I got a job with Northwestern Bell as an operator. I strayed from the best things in life. I smoked and drank &ndash; praise God I didn&rsquo;t become a full-blown alcoholic. <br><br>Gordon and I got married after a 5 year on-again-off-again courtship. We had three daughters &ndash; Sharon, Betty, and Patricia. Before Patricia was born and Sharon was 6 and Betty was 4, a set of tragic events took place in our little town in our family. At that time, they had what they called &lsquo;release time classes&rsquo; where they allowed children to go to the church once a week for religious instruction. This was 1954. They were released according to the grades they were in. <br><br>This particular day &ndash; March 3, 1954 to be exact &ndash; one group was returning to school while the other group was on its way to the church. A car came speeding down the highway with a drunken man driving it. He ran into one group, then crossed over and hit the other group. Two children died and many were injured. It was a cold blustery day &ndash; typical of our area. One of the children was a niece of mine who died at the scene. She had a twin sister, and an older sister, who escaped injury. It was hard to face this, to see my brother&rsquo;s grief and loss, but it was not the end. Three and a half months later, my brother and his other two daughters were accidentally drowned. <br><br>That&rsquo;s when it finally awakened me to how short life is, and precious the time is that we have, and I accepted the Lord as my savior&hellip;I had been attending a church called Valley Community Church. My life changed, but I feel God is still working on me and will until I go home to meet my Lord. I do not smoke or drink alcohol as the Lord released me from these shackles &ndash; Praise God! <br><br>My father was also a Christian and had great influence on my life. He was a very patient man; someday I hope to have his patience and kind traits &ndash; the Lord is still working on me! <br><br>One thing I vividly remember is the time I was sharpening a pencil. I had taken a large knife from the kitchen and went out on the step to sharpen my pencil. When I finished the job, I wondered how much of a cut I could make in the wooden step if I hit it with the knife. Raising my arm high, I hit the knife on the step &ndash; to my amazement the blade broke in two. I wondered, what will I do now? Then Dad came by and said, &ldquo;How did you break the knife?&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;Sharpening my pencil.&rdquo; I must have thought him to be stupid. He never said a word. Believe it or not I never confessed to that lie until I was married. Guess what my Dad said? He said, &ldquo;I knew you would tell me someday&hellip;&rdquo;

<p>Trish, I was digging through my wallet today and found this. Mom wrote this little poem on a scrap piece of paper years ago while visiting at our house. She has doodles all over the piece of paper, but I never <em>had the heart</em> to throw it away...<br> <br>Little finger<br>print smudges<br>love them one<br>and all<br>Haven&#39;t the<br>heart to wash<br>them off the wall<br><br>See the little<br>finger prints<br>Love them one<br>and all<br>Haven&#39;t got the heart<br>to wash them<br>off the wall<br><br>NOTE: The poem above was shared with me by my sister Betty. Our Mom, Harriet Short, wrote the poem as memories just happened to be running through her mind one day...We&#39;re a sentimental lot, the women in my family, and despite the day to day tensions, moments of warmth like this are not unusual, coming when we least expect them...like little gifts from God, to remind us of what&#39;s really important...<br></p><p>&nbsp;</p><p>GRANDMA&#39;S COOKIE JAR<br>by Harriet Short <br><br>Grandma&#39;s cookie jar sitting on the shelf<br>So lonely all by itself<br>Nary a little hand to go fishing<br>For a cookie and a wishing<br><br>Brownies, raisin drops, and chocolate chips<br>The little ones just smack theirs lips<br>Then their little hands go looking for more<br>Everytime they come to Grandmas door<br><br>The patter of their little feet<br>To Grandmas ears is so sweet<br>Otherwise no one is around to break the silence<br>That hovers over the house in defiance<br><br>The trouble is that Grandmas cookie jar<br>Sets back on the shelf so far<br>And remains quite empty<br>When it would be better full and tempty<br><br>The children live too far away<br>To run to Grandmas house to play<br>And come to go a fishin<br>In the cookie jar while wishin.<br><br>MEMORIES<br>by Harriet Short<br><br>Someone we love so dearly<br>lives so very far away.<br>If the Lord could see clearly<br>how we need this dear one each day<br><br>it would take the ache from our heart...<br>if only they lived a block or two away<br>so when we would depart<br>knowing as we visit them we&#39;ll soon see them another day<br><br>The grandchildren would grow<br>to know us for real,<br>not just a picture to show<br>but our live flesh to feel<br><br>Grandpa&#39;s whiskers to pull<br>Grandma&#39;s skirt to tug<br>oh, to feel the love so full<br>as we would kiss and hug<br><br>Those days seem so afar<br>something out of the past<br>that happened in yesteryear<br>and could never hope for it to last<br><br>Progress changes everything...<br>Children marry and move away...<br>The old town and home is fading<br>into the nostalgic era of yesterday<br><br>Oh the memories are perfectly clear<br>of the children playing and swinging<br>while in the house I loved so dear<br>supper I&#39;d be preparing<br><br>Those days can never return<br>but the memories will remain forever<br>a treasure forever to yearn<br>that only death can sever</p>

<p>When I was growing up, there were only a few years that I remember my sisters being around. I was the baby of the family, and my two sisters were much older than I was. Betty was nine years older, and Sharon eleven. I remember fragmented memories of them at home - Sharon&#39;s high school science project of breeding hamsters getting a bit out of control in the old barn. Taking Sharon to the depot to take the train to Illinois where she&#39;d be attending college, Mom and I very sad, crying as she stepped onto the train. Betty dating, and being picked up by her boyfriends. One boy took her to the fair and won her some stuffed animals which I eventually inherited. Another became fairly serious - Charlie was his name - and I was very sad when Betty broke his heart by breaking off with him after meeting Bill (now her husband of over 30 years!) Betty taking out the first new car my parents ever owned, my parents later finding out she had driven it in a farmer&#39;s field. <br><br>After Betty graduated in 1968, I was all alone with Mom and Dad. I was only 9 years old, and just starting to be more social, coming out of a shell where I mostly played alone. Part of that was due to my physical problems when I was younger. Part of it was due to the geographical isolation of where we lived. So, as you might imagine, quite a bit of my growing up was as an &#39;only child&#39;... <br><br>My parents didn&#39;t take vacations like many people would, where you&#39;d go on a road trip across America, or to a Lake Cabin, or to Disneyland, etc. When we did go somewhere, it was usually short trips on the weekend, to relatives living in the county - a &#39;Sunday drive&#39;. You&#39;d enjoy the drive, the country air and nature on the way, and drop in on cousins to visit, have a meal. A clear memory of these journeys were being in the back seat sleeping, awakening to sun strobing through the trees... <br><br>On the rare occasions my father had some time built up - and a bit of money saved up - we&#39;d go on trips to visit other relatives near and far. One relative we visited more often than others was my Mom&#39;s sister and her husband, Aunt Pat and Uncle John Beaudette. Uncle John was a small, wiry fellow, French ancestry, who ran a body shop fixing cars. Aunt Pat was a working woman, always seemed a bit mysterious and glamourous to me. Uncle John smoked pipes, and both he and Aunt Pat were drinkers. My parents had drank alcohol once upon a time, too, but quit it more or less before I showed up. They felt it was the right thing to do when they got serious about their religion. However, when they visited my Uncle and Aunt, inevitably they would end up playing cards, having a drink or two, and laughing the night away in Aunt Pat&#39;s small kitchen. I would be left to myself to explore their house, which always fascinated me. I would always find the licorice in the candy dish, or marvel at the beautiful bedroom set in a hallway side-bedroom.* Sometimes I would sneak down into the basement and snoop around the old trunks and boxes to see what I might find. In the end, Aunt Pat would usually make me a malted milk, which I would eat slowly, then go into the side bedroom to fall asleep listening to the grown-ups talk... <br><br>* Ironically, years later, Aunt Pat gave me that set knowing I always admired it... </p>

Arrangements were made for the <font color="#999999">cremation</font>. This morning it took place. Christopher and I met Tom at Riverside&#39;s crematorium at 8:30am.<br><br>We met the two men who do the cremations. We watched as the box with Mom&#39;s remains was taken and placed in the furnace. I thanked the men, and Tom, and we walked away.<br><br>It was gently raining, and as we approached the car to leave, I asked Chris if he&#39;d mind taking a walk through the cemetery. We got our umbrellas, and proceeded.<br><br>I don&#39;t often have a chance to walk through a cemetery when it&#39;s raining. No wind, so amazingly quiet, peaceful, and empty...except, of course, for the silent city around us.<br><br>The huge, old trees throughout the cemetery made me think of home, the home <font color="#5588aa">my mother</font> lived in most of her life. It, too, had great old trees surrounding it. There&#39;s something amazing about trees, and seeing such trees gave me comfort as I glanced back at the crematorium and saw the waves of heat rising out of the chimney on top.<br><br>As we walked past the gravestones, we noticed white-tailed deer further on, one standing, and one beyond that was laying down under a tree. Chris took photos as I watched them watch us.<br><br>We turned a corner, then another, heading back to the car, when we noticed a small flock of birds in the distance coming out from behind the mausoleum. Wild turkeys, a small band of males. We headed up the small hill and around the building, and caught them as they disappeared behind, shaking their feathers, looking up, and stepping ahead under the falling rain.<br><br>It was a magical morning walk, a very special walk I will never forget...

My Mom did a spectacular plum pudding<span style="font-size: 130%; color: #ff6600"><strong>*</strong></span> (which is somewhat similar to fruitcake...but not really...!) She was carrying on a tradition that her mother, my <font color="#999999">Grandma Fitzpatrick</font>, had done before her.<br><br>She always shopped for the best <font color="#5588aa">suet</font> fresh from the butcher&#39;s, dried fruits, etc. over in <font color="#999999">Emerson</font>. She canned some every year, and it was like wine, getting better the older you let it sit. At Thanksgiving or Christmas, we&#39;d pop open a jar, steam the pudding until it was warm and plump, and then pour one of the two homemade sauces she made - lemon and caramel/butterscotch over the top of each serving - it was amazing. Sometimes, she even <font color="#5588aa">hid a coin</font> in one of the servings to make it more fun!<br><br><span style="font-size: 130%; color: #ff6600"><strong>*</strong></span> <span style="font-size: 85%">AKA </span><span style="font-size: 85%"><font color="#5588aa">Christmas Pudding</font></span>; while my mother&#39;s pudding was heavenly, <font color="#5588aa">not all</font> puddings are created equal...

The Swing...the hours spent in it, on it, swinging, sitting and twirling, laying back hanging on looking through the trees, at the sky, at the trees, noticing the iron bar the big oak trees had grown around, that Grandpa Fitzpatrick had placed there many years ago when my mom was a little girl, the iron rings still there, never changed, only the ropes when they wore out, or the wooden seat our family would make and notch and put onto the rope just so&hellip;jeanie with the light brown hair&hellip;walk right in, sit right down, baby let your hair hang down&hellip;the woods just behind you, the tips of the trees brushing your legs and back on the backswing, dragging your feet in the well-worn dirt path to stop, jumping off into the pile of leaves in the fall that Dad would make just for you&hellip;hearing Mom whistling in the house making supper&hellip;walking from the swing to the house, crunching acorns under your feet&hellip;dew on the grass on early morning swings when Mom would be by the clothesline hanging the clothes, whistling, the bright morning sun making the white sheets so brilliant you can hardly look at them, spiderwebs gleaming, worms hanging, dandylion seed floating, distant crows cawing&hellip;year pass, and there are your own children, swinging on that same swing, the same iron bar, the same iron rings...there comes a day when the auctioneer sounds in the front yard and strangers look through your things, your memories, and you quietly walk past the crowds to the swing and take one last swing before leaving it to your past, and walking on...

<div><p><br>My Mom did a spectacular plum pudding<span style="font-size: 130%; color: #ff6600"><strong>*</strong></span> (which is somewhat similar to fruitcake...but not really...!) She was carrying on a tradition that her mother, my <font color="#999999">Grandma Fitzpatrick</font>, had done before her.<br><br>She always shopped for the best <font color="#5588aa">suet</font> fresh from the butcher&#39;s, dried fruits, etc. over in <font color="#5588aa">Emerson</font>. She canned some every year, and it was like wine, getting better the older you let it sit. At Thanksgiving or Christmas, we&#39;d pop open a jar, steam the pudding until it was warm and plump, and then pour one of the two homemade sauces she made - lemon and caramel/butterscotch over the top of each serving - it was amazing. Sometimes, she even <font color="#5588aa">hid a coin</font> in one of the servings to make it more fun!<br><br><span style="font-size: 130%; color: #ff6600"><strong>*</strong></span> <span style="font-size: 85%">AKA </span><span style="font-size: 85%"><font color="#5588aa">Christmas Pudding</font></span>; while my mother&#39;s pudding was heavenly, <font color="#5588aa">not all</font> puddings are created equal...</p></div>

<div><p><span style="font-size: 130%; color: #990000">I grew up with a piano always a part of my life.</span> Before I was even born, my family had the piano. It was first owned by my grandfather&#39;s brother, my <font color="#5588aa">great uncle Dick</font>. Eventually it found its way to my parents&#39; home, where my sisters learned how to play on it. Then one day I wandered up to the tall bench, looking up to the even taller upright, its oak wood golden, and its brass foot peddles heavy and mysterious. I crawled up and pressed the white and black keys, and was delighted by the sounds they made. My older sister showed me how to play a song with her, a silly song, but fun, and I laughed with her. She told me it was called &#39;<font color="#5588aa">Chopsticks</font>&#39;. I had learned my first song...<br><br>When I was in second grade, my mother found a piano teacher in Emerson, Mrs. Forrest. She was very strict, teaching from the <font color="#5588aa">Royal Conservatory of Music</font> (Toronto) style. She <span style="font-size: 180%; color: #336666">stressed</span> proper body posture - how I sat, how I held my arms, wrists, and hands - and never ever let me forget to keep those hands up. An arched hand was a happy hand; a lazy hand got a ruler. &quot;Never look at the keys,&quot; she would drill into me. I found out that for every song you played well, not only were hours practiced on that composition, but many more hours were spent dedicating yourself to the mechanics that underlay each piece of music: The Notes! Hours were spent learning each key white and black, each octave, how keys connect; scales, arpeggios, the Latin terminology, reading music, learning the history of the great composers.<br><br>While I initially lived a little in fear of Mrs. Forrest, I learned to respect her, and eventually realized she gave me an incredible grounding in the basics that I benefited from throughout the rest of my training.<br><br><span style="font-size: 130%; color: #990000">Back to the piano.<br></span><br>The piano was a Bush &amp; Gerts<span style="color: #990000">*</span>, one of their tall uprights. I didn&#39;t notice that right away. To me, it was just a piano. But as I learned how to play, I began taking a pride in the piano I was playing on. For instance, the piano case was made out of the most beautifully-grained oak. The white keys themselves had a swirling translucence that I learned was for a very good reason - they were made from real ivory, something that is illegal nowadays (for good reason...) It became one of my chores to dust and polish the piano, and I always made sure it was done impeccably.<br><br>I took a peek under the <font color="#5588aa">top door</font> one day...it was like another world. I pressed keys and watched the <font color="#5588aa">action</font> - the <font color="#5588aa">hammers</font>, the <font color="#5588aa">dampers</font>, the <font color="#5588aa">frame</font> itself with all the strings. It was also then that I noticed a fascinating label, in gold, that talked about the famous <font color="#5588aa">Exhibition in Chicago</font> many years ago, and how this piano was made by a company that won awards there.<br><br>It was then, when looking even deeper inside, that I discovered handwriting near the top of the <font color="#5588aa">soundboard</font>, above the strings. It was like a time capsule, <font color="#5588aa">dates and names</font> of tuners over the years all the way back to shortly after my uncle bought it, all written in pencil. <br><br><span style="font-size: 78%"><span style="font-size: 85%; color: #990000">*</span> - <em><span style="font-size: 85%">Bush &amp; Gerts pianos were manufactured in one of the largest and most thoroughly equipped factories in the world. The company controlling the Bush &amp; Gerts was one of the strongest in the piano industry and the aim was to sustain the distinction which the instruments have gained in the long and persistent reaching out for perfection in tone production. In the ware rooms of the foremost piano merchants of the world the Bush &amp; Gerts pianos were presented as instruments worthy of the highest and most discriminating trade. The Bush &amp; Gerts factory was located at Rockford, Ill.<br></span></em></span></p></div>

My Mom would go visit her big sister Alberta in Northome, Minnesota in the summers. &nbsp; While there, she met a girl named Genevieve Stranger (but everyone called her Tootie) who became a good friend to her.<br><br>Tootie had been born out of wedlock*, as they used to say, and at some point been adopted by Joe Stranger, brother to Fred Stranger from St. Vincent. &nbsp; Joe and his wife ran a tavern in Northome, and above it they stored the whiskey.<br><br>Mom and Tootie had boyfriends one summer, named Georgie Hanchett and Elmer Luceson the banker&#39;s son, respectively.<br><br>Well one day they were both mad at their boyfriends...What about, is not remembered (but it is thought to have been about the same thing...most likely they were stood up, and/or the boys had been out drinking...) &nbsp; The girls decided it was a great idea to go upstairs over the tavern and drown their sorrows as it were. &nbsp; Up they went, and proceeded to get drunk on Tootie&#39;s parents&#39; whiskey.<br><br>Awhile later, as Mom attempted to go home (which was only across the street and a little ways over...), she felt like she was watching herself as if out-of-body. &nbsp; As she did, she noticed she wandered left and right as she slowly crossed; walking a straight line appeared impossible.<br><br>Later that same day towards evening, Mom pestered her sister Pat (Alberta) to take her to the Island Lake pavilion where a dance was being held that night. &nbsp; Pat and her husband John decided they&#39;d drive her there. &nbsp; <br><br>The country in that part of the state is wooded and hilly. &nbsp; Enroute, after nearly every hill, Mom had them stop to take care of business. &nbsp; One stop, she had to relieve herself. &nbsp; Instead of using the protection of the car to shield her from being seen, she walked into the headlights and proceeded to relieve herself in full view. &nbsp; Pat made sure to scold her (probably half laughing and half angry at the same time) afterwards.<br><br>Not much is remembered after that...Mom _thinks_ she danced, but she&#39;s not entirely sure...<br><br>* At one point, when Tootie was visiting Mom in St. Vincent, she knew enough about herself that she had been born in the area. &nbsp; She asked Mom&#39;s dad, Grandpa Fitzpatrick, if he knew who her father was. &nbsp; He told her yes. &nbsp; He said her father was a trainman for the railroad. &nbsp; Her mother was a Gooselaw, whose family was intermarried with the Stranger family. &nbsp; Thus the connection and what probably led to her being adopted by Joe Stranger...

_Delphine on Oct 19:

He was always a jokester. One time Mom and Dad and your Mom, Harriet, were driving around. They went past a cemetary and Aunt Harriet said "I wonder how many dead people are in that cemetary?". My dads answer "I hope all of them are." Then she discovered a sidewalk that was along the road way out from buildings. Harriet " I wonder what that sidewalk is for?" Dad " for people to walk on" Then they were talking about someone they knew and again Harriet had to ask. She said "I wonder why they call him "mister" Black? Dad" because that's his name" Finally your Mom said "Oh why do I keep asking you questions." LOL

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<p>My grandfather, Grandpa Fitzpatrick, was a beekeeper. It was one of many talents my grandfather had. The others included carpentry, farming, and community service (he was town treasurer, mayor, and cemetery caretaker...)<br><br>Unfortunately, I don&#39;t know what his interest in keeping an apiary was, other than the practical. That is lost with him, as so many things are with our ancestors...My grandfather, Grandpa Fitzpatrick, was a beekeeper. It was one of many talents my grandfather had. The others included carpentry, farming, and community service (he was town treasurer, mayor, and cemetery caretaker...)<br><br>Unfortunately, I don&#39;t know what his interest in keeping an apiary was, other than the practical. That is lost with him, as so many things are with our ancestors...</p><p>I asked Mom about Grandpa&#39;s reasons, and she said, &quot;To make money!&quot; &nbsp; She went on to explain that there weren&#39;t a lot of ways to make money in those days (during Depression); besides selling the honey itself, he used it in his bootlegging. &nbsp; He got some of the supplies for making his brews from Emerson, and the rest he provided himself, including the honey...Mom said it was pretty strong, something like 25% alcohol, and people seemed to like it. &nbsp; He used an old shanty-roofed shed to make it in...</p><p>My cousin told that her Mom (my Aunt Pat), often talked of Grandpa &amp; his Bee&#39;s. &nbsp; Aunt Pat said in all the years he had bees he never got stung by them. They did lots of things to make money in those days. &nbsp; Grandma used to churn butter &amp; had a butter press that put some sort of design on a pound of butter &amp; they sold that to the stores too.&nbsp;&nbsp;My cousin said she sort of remembered her Mom saying something about losing them all somehow or something bad that Grandpa gave up &amp; quit the bee business. &nbsp; My cousin asked if my Mom ever have to pick potato bugs off the potato plants? &nbsp; Her Mom talks of that too. &nbsp; Got paid a penny for every 100 or some such thing that they picked off the plants. &nbsp; Also about the butter her Mom said one day when Oleo margarine came out Grandpa came home&nbsp;with a pound of that thinking they could save money by eating oleo &amp; selling all the butter. &nbsp; Grandma flatly refused &amp; said No way was she feeding her family that stuff when she worked so hard churning all that good butter. &nbsp; Her family was eating butter!</p><!-- >'"><br><font color=red size=6>&quot; or &gt; missing in user HTML. Please fix the HTML.</font> --><!-- >'"><br><font color=red size=6>&quot; or &gt; missing in user HTML. Please fix the HTML.</font> -->

Mom has shared many, many stories of her family down through the years. &nbsp; Some are a bit rough around their edges since I didn&#39;t put them on paper right away. &nbsp; I do my best here to relate them, and in this case, to relate some that were buried from public knowledge for the most part...<br><br>Like the one about my Mom&#39;s sister Irene, who went to work for a couple in Canada, ended up getting treated like a real-life Cinderella, returning home worse for the wear and expecting a child. &nbsp; The baby ended up not only my Mom&#39;s nephew, but a playmate of hers as she was growing up. &nbsp; Irene ended up marrying a wonderful guy who loved her so much that he took the child under his name.<br><br>Like the one about my Mom&#39;s sister Alberta, who when attending nurse&#39;s training in the big city became entranced with a college football player, became pregnant and had to make the hard choice of placing that child for adoption. &nbsp; And yes, she did wonder at times whatever happened to that child...<br><br>What a difference time can make. &nbsp; I found myself in the same position, expecting a child without marriage many years after my Aunts, never even knowing they had faced the same situation. &nbsp; In my case, I didn&#39;t have to marry anyone, but chose to. &nbsp; As it ended up, it wasn&#39;t for the best. &nbsp; But in the end, I am still glad I had all the experiences that came out of those difficult times, as well as my two kids, Eva and Daniel. &nbsp; Whatever we do, whatever we choose, it is what makes us who we are...

Tonight I was cleaning out a closet of mine, and as often happens, I digress from one task to another. At one point, I&#39;m at my desk rearranging and clearing out to make room for this and that (it&#39;s a long sad tale), and I come across a slip of paper taped to a cubbyhole in the desk. Document &quot;Uncle Henry&quot; and &quot;Aunt Daisy&quot; in family history it says. For a moment, I wondered what in the world, then a split second later I smiled, remembering Mom telling me last year, in the midst of her first flush of grief and confusion. &quot;I want to tell you before I forget...&quot;<br><br>&quot;Uncle Henry&quot; and &quot;Aunt Daisy&quot; were Mom and Dad&#39;s code phrases in their early love letters to each other, especially during the war when they were quite aware that many letters were read by the Army censors, for their genitalia. When they would write to one another that &quot;Uncle Henry misses Aunt Daisy&quot;, they knew exactly what the other meant without being crude or letting anything slip to the censors.<br><br>Mom has kicked herself more than once for having Dad take out the bundle of their love letters and burn them. She can&#39;t for the life of her remember why they did it, either. What she does remember is Grandpa Fitzpatrick, her father, joking that &quot;...that&#39;s the hottest fire ever seen around here...&quot; <br><br>The evidence of our existences are fragile at best. All too easily it disappears and no one knows we were ever here...

During Prohibition (1920-1933), when my mother was about 8 or 9 (1930 or 31), one day she and my grandmother went uptown to visit friends. &nbsp; <br><br>Grandpa was making home-brewed beer back then. &nbsp; Grandma wasn&#39;t thrilled about the idea, since it was illegal at the time, but she put up with it...He was even known to sell a bottle now and then to someone. &nbsp; Grandma herself, after a hard day&#39;s work, would drink a bottle against the heat. &nbsp; However, that day, Grandpa crossed a line...<br><br>Walking up the road to the house, we came upon an unbelievable scene: &nbsp; Men, women, sitting around, having a good time...drinking Grandpa&#39;s beer! &nbsp; It was a regular outdoor honkytonk. &nbsp; Well, if you only knew my Grandma, you could imagine what happened next: &nbsp; She was not amused. &nbsp; People knew my Grandma well enough that just her arrival meant they had better clear off. &nbsp; As they did, she proceeded to grab the remaining bottles of beer within her reach and smash them against the side of the shed.* <br><br>[NOTE: &nbsp; My Mom told me this story a few other times in my life when circumstances brought it up. &nbsp; Tonight (Friday, June 7, 2002), she brought it up again when talking about her sister, my Aunt Pat. &nbsp; How Aunt Pat is scared about her health, and very lonely. &nbsp; She talks about coming up here to be near Mom. &nbsp; We hope she does. &nbsp; Mom said Aunt Pat likes her bottle or two of beer every day...and it went from there...]<br><br>* This scene evokes a connection in my mind to the story of Jesus clearing the moneylenders from the temple, for some reason!

Shortly after FDR&rsquo;s first term started, and prohibition was repealed, Mom&rsquo;s father, my Grandpa Fitzpatrick, went uptown with his friend Bill Easter, to avail themselves of a pint or two. &nbsp; As the night wore on, there was much merriment, as was evidenced later that evening and into the next morning&hellip;<br><br>Earlier in the day, Grandma Fitzpatrick was repainting the stairway leading to the upstairs&rsquo; bedrooms. &nbsp; The paint back then was oil-based only, and with the high humidity to boot, it would take awhile to dry. &nbsp; Grandma blocked off the stairway, and until things dried, everyone had to get into the upstairs by a ladder leaning against the west window.<br><br>As you might be guessing by now, my grandfather had to navigate this when he came home late that evening. &nbsp; He might have made it, too, but for one thing&hellip;My grandmother was waiting for him, and as he began his ascent of the ladder to be with his love, she leaned out the window and said, &ldquo;You&rsquo;re not coming up here in that condition!&rdquo; &nbsp; He continued the climb. &nbsp; Determined that he wouldn&rsquo;t set foot in the house drunk, Grandma did the only thing she could &ndash;&nbsp; she tipped the ladder away from the house. &nbsp; <br><br>My mother, a young girl at the time, exclaimed, &ldquo;Mother! &nbsp; You might have killed him!&rdquo;<br><br>&ldquo;Better off dead than drunk&hellip;,&rdquo; was Grandma&rsquo;s reply.<br><br>Meanwhile, somewhere nearby (relatively speaking, it being a small village and all), Bill Easter was heading home. &nbsp; Alas, he never made it. &nbsp; Some of his &lsquo;friends&rsquo; thought it would be marvelously amusing to take advantage of Bill&rsquo;s inebriated state. &nbsp; Later the next morning, Bill awoke to a warm, wet tongue on his face. &nbsp; Blinking his eyes open to the blinding sunlight, he focused to find himself in the last place he expected. &nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t at home, and that wasn&rsquo;t his wife kissing him &ndash;&nbsp; he was staring into the face of a cow, and he was hanging from a fencepost, propped and tied up by his necktie&hellip;