A Lovely Day

Today's high temperature was: 75 degrees

Sunny, slight breeze, humidity at 20%

The most perfect day!!!

=================================

Now--don't feel bad for me and my finger.  Yes--a lot of us didn't have the perfect "Leave It To Beaver" childhood.  I don't think our parents necessarily thought each day how they could be uncaring, unloving or just down right mean to us.  It's just that, when it is a seemingly unloving PARENT--it makes it so much worse and influences our adult lives much more.  I really am glad that it was my Daddy and not my Mother who was so strict and uncaring--so, I'm lucky that way.

I suppose Jennifer feels the same way about me.  My Daddy's strictness is one reason I got married and got out of his house, the week after graduation.

I can remember my sister and I standing by Daddy's bed, when he was in Hospice and completely drugged out of it.  Susan said, "Just say it!  Just say it once, before it is too late!"  Meaning, just say I love you---but it didn't happen.      About two weeks after my Daddy died, I was sitting out on the front porch--in the middle of the night.  I felt my Daddy's presence real strong.  Now--I'm not one for believing that dead people's spirits come around and visit us--although I have had a "sighting" of my Grandmother after she died.  I just felt my Daddy's presence.  So I just said, "Daddy, I forgive you."  and then I said, "Dear God, please forgive my father."  Strangest thing--for two weeks I had sleepless nights or nights filled with nightmares.

When I said those few words, a feeling when through me of such peace.  I can't describe it.  It was a total relaxation of my shoulders and peace in my insides--everything just very still.  Now, unless asked, I rarely think of my Daddy's treatment of me.  It doesn't matter.

The same when my step-mother died.  I had a good enough reason to dislike that woman and what she had done to my family and the fact that she lied to my sister and I.  Sure, I wanted to see if there was a trust fund for us, like she had promised, but, when I found out she had lied, it was like....I just forgave her and now, it doesn't really matter.

Forgiveness is such a powerful thing.  Not for the person we forgive, but for ourselves.  It doesn't mean that they get away with what they've done, it's just that we aren't going to let the way they treated us, poison our minds and souls.    That person doesn't even have to know we have forgiven them.  People say, "I can forgive, but not forget," well, it was real strange for me.  When I did forgive.  I did forget.  I rarely think of those people at all.

I am hoping Jennifer can forgive me.  I know we won't ever have a close relationship, like Pammie and Karen and I have,  I have felt intimidated by Jennifer ever since she was about 16 years old.  At least we can be pleasant to each other and loving in some kind of way.

The other day when Pammie called, one thing she said, "I think now would be a providential time to send that card to Jennifer."  So, I did.  I made a "Missing You" card and mailed it this morning, so she will get it tomorrow, when she is home alone.

Inside, my words were carefully chosen.

"I miss you so much."  <not, "I miss the kids", or "I miss our times together,"  simply I miss "YOU.">

"I'm sorry I hurt you."  <not, "I'm sorry IF I hurt you," or "I'm sorry I MAY have hurt you," simply, "I'm sorry I hurt YOU.">

"Please forgive me."  <not "I hope you can forgive me," or "Forgive me because I was wrong," simply, "Please forgive ME.">

It has to be ME taking all the blame, and that's all right.  I will not imply that she misunderstood, even if she did.  There is no need here to score points or try and reason/explain to her.  That is not at all necessary.  I want my child back.  She feels I was wrong and that is that.  It's all good.
============================

I ordered 2 pair of dress pants for summer wear.  One white and one sort of khaki color.  The white ones have a fabric stripe running down them--really quite chic looking.  

I've always worn Tall sizes.  My inseam is 34 inches.  I know--it is ridiculous!  I am short from shoulder to bottom and long the rest of the way.  Fred wore a 32 length and he was taller than me.  My friend Ernie was only 5'8" and yet when we sat down, he was taller than me.

The last couple of pairs of Jeans I have ordered were 14T--misses size.  They fit perfectly in length and not too baggy in seat and thighs.  I order the slim cut.

So, last week, I ordered these two pair of Worthington dress slacks.  14T.  They arrived today and are at least 2 inches too long!  I suppose nowadays, women wear 3 inches spikes with their trousers?  Why anyone nearly six feet tall would want to wear 3 inch spikes is beyond me, but................

Anyway, I have been hemming these pants all afternoon.  Quite luckily, they were hemmed with a nice hem tape, so all I had to do was cut away the stitches that held them to the pants, move the hem up a bit and re-stitch them with tiny little stitches.  I have always enjoyed hand stitching and my mother taught me how to put in a hem that stitches wouldn't show on the outside of the pants.

It occurred to me this afternoon that I have no dress shoes to wear with the pants.  I can't very well wear my New Balance sneakers to some of the graduation celebrations--for example, Baccalaureate.  I need a nice sandal to wear.  

Because of my hips and having to wear lifts in one or the other shoe, I haven't worn anything except sneakers and loafers for the last five years.  I do have a pair of sandals--probably 15 years old.  Tomorrow I am going to get them out of the closet and see if I can clean and polish them up.  If not--it will be a quick trip to Wal-Mart to see what they might have.  My feet are not pretty anymore, even though I still polish my toe nails--I can't remember if my sandals have a full heel or not.  Oh botheration!!!

I have very few dress up clothes for summer!!! and don't really need them, other than for this next weeks festivities.  

It was such a lovely day,

I spent some time out here

reading.

  

Throw Back Thursday--The Finger

 Odd looking little digit isn't it?

Background:

My Daddy was a farmer.  He wore bib overalls all the time.  He didn't wear a belt that he could just yank out of the loops and use when punishment was meted out.  We DID have a Willow tree, which could have been used for switches I suppose, but apparently Daddy wanted something that was within reach and handy.

It was called THE RUBBER HOSE.  It was the hose part off an old tire pump.  Luckily, the metal ends had been cut off or it would have been deadly.  As it was, when wielded, THE RUBBER HOSE stung like a hundred bees and left welts, but no cuts.

In the kitchen, there was a ledge with coat hooks on it, right near the table.  THE RUBBER HOSE lay, straight as a big, black snake on top of that ledge. All Daddy had to do was reach up and get it.

Usually, it wasn't ever used at the table.  A heavy, silver table knife handle was sufficient to rap knuckles if I reached for something without asking for it to be passed to me.

Our kitchen table was only about six feet long.  Daddy sat on one end, Mother on the other, nearest the stove, and I sat in the middle of the side.  Here we sat--within easy reach of each other AND the food, but, there was no reaching for food.  You had to ask, "Please pass me the bread," although it was about six inches from the top of Daddy's plate.  

I was the much awaited first girl child born to my Daddy's family in three generations.  I suppose there was much weight put on me to be brought up to be obedient, have impeccable manners, and quiet.  This darling little blond haired girl with beautiful ringlets put in her hair every morning and always in a cute dress, was not living up to their concept.  Thus, the need for strict discipline to ensure that end.

One afternoon, after a whipping from THE RUBBER HOSE, for something I do not remember--I was about six at the time.  I sneaked that odious thing outside and commenced to bury it in the garden across the drive.  I must not have been a very clever minded child as I didn't take it far away to bury it and my Mother observed me through the window.

At supper, Daddy looked up at the coat hook ledge and said, "Judy, do you know where THE RUBBER HOSE is?"

By this time, I could look him square in the eye and lie--trying to get out of a whipping--it never worked however.

"No Daddy.  Maybe someone took it and threw it away."

He got up from the table, went outside and to the flower garden, reached down and pulled that snake from the dirt.  I got as far as the living room before he caught me and gave me a couple slaps on the legs with it.  Then he calmly, went back into the kitchen and sat down to eat his supper.

Fast forward to when I was eight.

October 28--we had just walked home from The Farm, where we had attended my great grandmother's 90th birthday.  It was a lovely late afternoon and we had to get home so that Daddy could milk the cows.

Mother started supper and I laid down on the couch and fell asleep.  

It seemed like only minutes and Daddy was back inside and Mother was calling me to come to supper.  I was still very drowsy, but I walked out to the kitchen, trying to rub my eyes awake.  

I reached for my glass of milk and of course, as I often did, tipped it over.  Daddy rapped my hand with the knife handle, while Mother got up to get a towel to clean up my spill.  

I was an extremely nervous child at meal times--I wonder why?  I didn't eat much because my throat would close up and my tummy would feel sick.

Daddy looked at me and said, "Did  you wash your hands before supper?"

I looked down and they looked clean so I said, "Yes."

Daddy grabbed my hand to look at it and said, "No you didn't!" and reached up for THE RUBBER HOSE.

I took off running--this time toward the bathroom--the only room in the house with a lock on the door.  If I could just get in there and wash my hands, everything would be all right.

Just as I was about to open the door, Daddy was behind me and slammed it shut in front of me.  Then he raised his hand with THE RUBBER HOSE.  That took his hand off the door and I opened it and ran inside.  Just then, he slammed the door and the end of my right index finger was in between the door latch and the frame and it was cut off.

I started screaming from the pain and blood was spurting everywhere.

Daddy opened the door and said, "What have you done now you fool kid!?"  he turned and walked back toward the kitchen.

Mother came running in and got a washcloth wet and put it over my finger.  Of course, it wouldn't quit bleeding.  She sat me down on the toilet lid and went back out into the kitchen.

Daddy said to tie a string around it to make it stop bleeding.  Mother said we needed to go to the hospital.

This memory is as clear as if it happened yesterday.

Mother tied a string just under the cut off part and wrapped a towel around it.  Daddy picked me up and carried me to the car.  The hospital was in Durand, only about twelve miles away.  

It was a Sunday, so Mother told Daddy maybe we should stop and call and see if the hospital was open.  If it wasn't, then we would have to go on to the next town, twenty miles away.

Daddy pulled into the drive of a house of people we knew--the Foskett's- and ran inside.

When he came out he told Mother that the hospital was open and they had called the doctor to come in and meet us.

Daddy carried me in and upstairs to the operating room and laid me on the table.  The doctor and nurse were there.  I was still crying and yelling and the doctor put three numbing shot in my finger, which made me scream even louder.  Daddy almost fainted, so they made him leave.

Mother came in and sat on the other side of the table and held my left hand and kissed me and tried to comfort me.

They cleaned up the ragged wound and stitched it up.  The doctor told Mother that I probably wouldn't have a finger nail on that finger.  (Unfortunately, there must have been enough left in the nail bed to give me that awful looking, thick, nub of a nail.)

He also told Mother to keep my finger elevated above my head to help stop the throbbing pain.

They put a metal finger guard/split on my finger, wrapped it all in gauze and sent us home.

When we got home, my Grandma was there.  She had driven up, gone in the house, saw the table still set with the food.  Saw the blood all over the bathroom and knew something bad had happened, so she sat down and waited for us to get home.

Grandma pulled me onto her lap on the couch, propped my hand, high up on her shoulder and kissed my forehead and started singing softly to me.  Apparently, she stayed like that all night because when I woke up in the morning--she was still holding me in that position.
  <remember, I was her only grandchild and her Precious.>

I had to go to the doctor's office twice a week for a couple of weeks.  Each time, he'd take the bandage off, soak my finger in Iodine and then redress it.  Once or twice, he had to cut the "proud flesh" off, where it was growing out of the wound.  These visits were very painful.  The Iodine bath was awful.  

On one of these visits, when the doctor came into the room and started toward me,  I started screaming and crying and then kicked out at him.  His solution--slap me across the face.
====================
My short index finger has never hampered me.  The only change I had to make was learning how to use a pencil by gripping it with my thumb and middle finger and let my index finger lay on the top of the pencil.  

Of course people notice and ask and I just say it was the result of a childhood accident.  Kids notice it more than anyone and I use it to tell them how to be careful, to not slam doors, and make sure your fingers aren't sticking out when they close a door.  

I don't know why my Daddy was so severe with me.  He was never even spanked as a child, so he didn't grow up in an abusive atmosphere.  

He used THE RUBBER HOSE on me on many occasions.  The last time--I broke curfew a week before I was to be married.  He met me at the front door and hit me all over my shoulders and back.
====================
Remember, back in the 80's when it became popular for the psychology community to have mature children confront their parents about how they were raised?  Remember that?  

I thought that perhaps if my Daddy and I had one of those kinds of talks--it might help me.  He might be able to explain his actions and why he was so strict, critical and acted like he didn't like me.  He never treated my little sister like he had treated me.

I wasn't confrontational with him.  We were talking about things that happened back in the day and I said, "Remember when I got my finger cut off?"

"Nope," he said.  "Your Mother took care of that.  I was up north deer hunting."
            <say what?>

"Daddy, it was the night of Great Grandma's ninetieth birthday.  It was on a Sunday.  October twenty-eighth.  You couldn't have been deer hunting.  Deer season doesn't open until November fifteenth."

"Well, I was gone somewhere, because I don't remember it, except what your Mother told me."

Pretty difficult to have a confrontation or even a conversation when the other person claims they weren't even there.
======================
So--the moral of this story is:  there is none.  

If you had a Daddy that treated you like you were his Princess and loved you and let you know it--be very grateful.  Because if you had a critical, what you felt was an unloving Daddy, it has influenced the rest of your adult life--in the way you relate to important men in your life..and those relationships, most probably, haven't been good!

Tuesday--I Think

Today's high temperature was:  82

Muggy

A small shower this evening

==================================

Bella--I have a bone to pick with you (that's a weird saying, isn't it?)--anyway, I started reading "The Age of Miracles" last evening.  You are right.  2:00 a.m. and I finally made myself put it down and go to bed.  WOW!!  It is a fascinating read!!
=====================
Last Friday was Maddie's last day of school.  Most of the Seniors last day of school--if they had a certain GPA, they didn't have to take final exams.

This is a picture of the Maddie plays in--the Wind Ensemble.  The band director is going to lose her entire Horn section.

Matt is laying down and lookie who is sitting right beside him.  Apparently they are still liking each other. :-)

Sadly, I did not get to the Memorial Day parade uptown.  I would have had to park and walk

at least five blocks and there is no way I could.

            but pictures were posted on Face Book.

There's Maddie--down at the end

Matt, bringing the band to Attention!

...and you want to know how seriously

he takes his Drum Major job?

It is up to him to control all

250 kids in the marching band. 

He never smiles when he is on duty.

Oh--I love this boy!!!

It is a strange pose,

Maddie, stretching for ballet practice.

Her last ballet recital is this Saturday.

I think she might have long legs like Gramma?

...and this is Pure Michigan!

Lake Superior, still filled with ice, while people sun bathe on the beach.

Ah-hh, da Yoopers are weird!

========================================

<if you have been reading my blog for awhile, you know.  

There is no need to use names here>

They have left their church.  Apparently the head minister has been involved in something suspicious, or corrupt or.......

They have also found that the church school was using an old way of testing the children, (Iowa testing) so their grades and GPA's were inflated.  Many teacher's left and now a lot of classes are taught by mother's.  Many families have pulled their children from the school and have also left the church.

The influential families that were paying for the schooling, the wealthy families are leaving in droves, so....the future doesn't look good.

To me this is a real tragedy.  To realize after all this time that you thought your child was getting a superior education only to find out, they are far behind other children their age.  How are they ever to catch up in public school.  

The kids are thrilled to be going to public school this next fall.  Their classes, especially this last year, have been chaotic to say the least.  There has been a large influx of troubled children enrolled.  Children that other schools had refused to take because they needed a different, special atmosphere--for the Autistic, or the developmentally challenged, or emotionally troubled.  

There has been much sadness and shocking news to the family that had embedded themselves and their money and time in the church and school.  As the Mother said, "We have been drinking the Kool-Aid for five years and now we find...it was poisoned all along."

For the fifth time in 14 years, the parents had thought to move and the father to go to work for his father.  The Grandfather is very wealthy.  He has many offices and he has wanted his son to take over the business, but...he won't release his hold. He won't allow his son to come in with new ways of treatment.  Ways that are more modern and have proved to be better.  He still wants control.

Each time, the son has realized this and in the end, decided to stay where he was.  The Grandfather took the son and two of his children on spring vacation to Aruba, where he had long talks with the son.  Promising the son many things.  The son thought, perhaps this time, his father was ready.  He and the Mother thought to move.

Two weeks ago, the Grandfather has started reneging on his promises.  Salary pay was lowered.  Control was back in his favor, so the Father and Mother decided to keep their family here.  With their eldest son starting high school next fall, they wanted to be in a permanent location so as not to disturb the children during their school years.  So here they will stay.

Because the children will be going to public school, the Mother may not have to work such long hours to pay for tuition at a private school--this is a good thing!!

The Mother and her older sister had a long talk last week.  They were in the home alone, so they had a lot of time to talk uninterrupted.

The older sister mentioned, "This minister that you now find out is mentally unstable, is the same one that told you not to forgive your Mom.  That "honor thy Mother," did not come into play." 

The Mother, nodded her head and said, "It probably would be a good idea if I made up with Mom."

The sister agreed. 

Hope

Today's high temperature was:  84

Sunny and nice breeze all day

=============================

Briefly--Pammie called me today.  We talked for almost two hours.

There may be a "thaw" and reconciliation.

I am not going to say anything--still praying.

A Simple Sunday

Today's high temperature was: 80 degrees

Sunny with a pleasant breeze.

==============================

I did very little today.  I had a nice day yesterday and went to bed at my normal time, feeling peaceful and content.

This morning I did not wake up until 11:00!! and with this inexplicable feeling of sadness, depression and a bit of anger.

This happens from time to time and I can't figure it out.  What happened during the night that caused me to wake up feeling these emotions--when there is NO REASON for me to have these emotions?  It makes no sense!

I have had a couple of therapists tell me that when we sleep, our sub-conscious mind awakes and tries to work out and deal with what we do not address in our waking moments.  Apparently there is something going on in my mind that I am not thinking of or trying to ignore in my wakeful moments?  Just weird!!

I missed church and really didn't care.  My neighbor's were mowing their lawns and that angered me.  Why do they have to do that on a Sunday.  They were home yesterday, why didn't they mow then?  In my state of mind today--all sorts of little things make me angry.

I ordered this and it arrived Saturday, so I decided after lunch to go out and try it.  Works great!!!  I cannot get down on the ground to weed with my hand trowel.  I cannot get down on my Scoot 'n Do little wheeled seat to weed with my hand trowel.  This works and after I loosen up the dirt, I only have to bend down once to pull out the weed/grass.

I also ordered this long handled weeder and will give it to Pearl to store in her shed, with the understanding we can share it and also share the trowel.

I came in and sat down to watch the baseball game and decided to cross stitch.  It just doesn't feel right to be doing hand-work in this kind of weather.  Being nestled inside during the winter months, is conducive to stitching or crocheting, but...not in this kind of weather.

So, I read a few chapters of a new book I have, the last in the "Walk" series by Richard Paul Evans.  This has been a very good series of books--I have enjoyed them immensely.  They read so easily.

For some reason, I started crying, so I put down the book, turned off the TV, flipped the recliner back and slept for two hours!

I should drive up to my hometown tomorrow and watch the parade and go to the cemeteries, but....I have no real yearning to do it.

The plants on my porch are looking real good--pots filling out nicely.  The gardening centers around here refuse to sell Impatiens because a couple of years ago they ran into a dust mold thingie.  I bought mine at Lowe's and there is not one thing wrong with them.  Next year, I go to Lowes and Wal-Mart first to get my annuals.  The fancy gardening centers will not be visited unless I cannot find exactly what I want at the other places.

9:00 and still light out.  Don't you love this time of year?

  

.  

Pleasant

Today's high temperature was:  72 degrees

Sunny all day--so pleasant

==============================

I walked up to visit Pearl this morning and she was in a really bad mood!  

"I've been married fifty-nine years!  Merle has never been one to ever compliment me, but now....that man is getting so mean!"

"Merle?"

"Oh yes.  He doesn't show it to the world, but.....  It exasperates me when I ask him a question and he doesn't answer.  I know he hears me--he just won't answer.  All it would take it a Yes or No or I don't know.  He just sits there reading."

"Men get so used to hearing their wives blab that after awhile...they just kind of quit listening."

       <so glad I live alone>

"I am in the process of sanding the top of the dining room table.  It needs to be refinished.  He comes in from work and tells me I'm doing it all wrong.  I'm seventy-eight years old and have done this sort of thing for over forty years and HE is telling me I don't know what I'm doing?"

   <I remember that kind of criticism--so glad I live alone>

"Remember me telling you Pammie felt so good when she patched her roof because, 'Momma--there was no one looking over my shoulder telling me I wasn't doing it right.' "

"It's just all the time now.  He told me the other day that I should just throw out the cell phone and the laptop because I was too stupid to use them.  I had plants that I needed to get in the pots and I asked him if he'd pick up the heavy bag of dirt and pour some in the pots and he said, "Next year I don't think you should plant anything if you have to ask for help'"

"Merle!?  This is sweet Merle you are talking about?"

"Sweet?  I'd like to bash him up side the head.  Sometimes I get sort of shaky, I am so angry at him.  I want to throw something at him.  We sit here at night...three feet apart...and he won't talk...won't answer me if I ask a question...just ignores me.  I just want to get up and slap him!"

   <I am soooo glad I live alone>

"Is it too late to get a divorce?" she asked with tears in her eyes.

"Yes "

I regularly see many long time marriages that seem to get very dysfunctional as people retire, and get older.

He was supposed to put up a railing on their steps---two years ago--hasn't done it yet.  No wonder Pearl fell--even I have a hard time getting up and down their front steps.

He was supposed to help her weed her front garden--two weeks ago--hasn't done it yet.  I am going down next week and do it.  Pearl can't bend over.  Pearl is still dizzy from her fall.  I can't bend over very well, but I can do it better than her.

======================

When I went out at 2:00 to do a walk about and look over my Kingdom, Yappy Dog was on her porch.  She started in and I walked over to have a one-on-one chat with her.

"Now Gidget, you know me and you don't have to bark every time I come out here."

She was up on the raised porch so we were face-to-face.  She started licking my nose and cheeks and bouncing around.

I petted her and kept telling her "Ah, she's a good dog".  Her Momma was sitting there and having a good laugh.

I walked away and of course, Gidget went nuts again and her Momma told her to "Be still.  Judy is a nice person.  No barking!"

Later, around 4:00, I crept very quietly out toward the shed and Gidget saw me and started in and wiggling like crazy.  Now she barks--not at a stranger, but at a friend.

Guess I will just have to put up with yappy dog!!!

==================

Everyone is showing pictures of their beautiful Lilac bushes.  Here's my picture:

So very sad

Tonight I went outside to see if I could see the Meteor Shower.  I stood and looked up so long that I made myself dizzy.  Can you still stand and look up and not feel unsteady?  I saw a few, zipping through space, but the one thing I did notice...the star that connects the cup to the handle of the Big Dipper is very dim.  I know, it has been 30 years since I used to lay outside on the lawn, at night and look at the stars and it was bright them, but.....knowing it is fading, sort of made me sad.

My Forsythia didn't bloom.  My Lilacs hardly bloomed.  My Privet hedge looks dead, as do my Rose Of Sharon bushes.  Stars are growing dim and dying...and so am I.   

I think I need to go to bed, instead of pondering!

Remember Decoration Day and why it is--have a great weekend!

Catching Up

Today's high temperature was: 65

Breezy, cool, but sunny

============================

Last night it was 82 degrees in here and I turned on the A/C for an hour before I went to bed.  Left the bedroom window open and woke up this morning freezing!!
=================
Yesterday, I got my hair cut.  I went grocery shopping.  I have baking ingredients I need for making Mississippi Mud Brownies for Maddie's open house.  I ALWAYS make them for the kids open house.  Karen's friends ALWAYS look for them.  So...........hope I remember how, LOL.

Why are my eyes always red around them?

My lids are getting droopy.

My right eye (your left) is starting to look like a lazy eye--

must be that lid droops more than the other?

I'd like to use make-up to look a bit better, but for some reason,

I seem to be allergic to shadow, mascara and concealer

even though I have non-allergenic types.

I am really showing my age!!

I found some pictures of me going to a couple of Proms.

My Grandma got me this dress.  

She was shopping one day, saw it and called

my mother to ask if she could get it for me.

It was the loveliest shade of blue!

Really quite beautiful--satin and net

Note the cow in the left background, LOL

Country hick?

Moi?

 My Senior Prom formal.

It was the palest of blue-all very soft nylon.

The bands above and under the bodice

were silver.  It had a soft nylon strap across my

right shoulder.

It was Grecian style.

Did any of you wear the elbow length white gloves?

I think I thought I was Grace Kelly.

In those days, we had what we called the Junior and Senior Banquet and Prom.  It was held in our decorated gymnasium  The Sophomore class served us at the banquet--food prepared by our school cafeteria cooks.  Of course, with only 30-40 kids in each class, and a lot of us dating each other, it wasn't a very large group.  

My girls played dress-up with my formals and what is really neat, Maddie has both these formals in her dress-up box and her friends come up to me and tell me that the soft blue one (pictured above) was always their favorite to wear.  

=======================

I remember the day, August 21, 2009.  Maddie was starting public school for the first time.  She was going into 8th grade (age 12) and decided she wanted to play in the band.  The director had told her they needed a French Horn player and she asked if she could borrow mine.

Thrilled?  Who me?

Music was the most important thing in my life, in school.  I had taken piano lessons, until my right index finger got cut off.  I had to quit and boy, was I glad!  I hated it.  Then when I was ten, in fifth grade, I started band.  The director took each of us kids, checked our "bite" and told me I should play the Mellophone--like a French Horn, but the bell goes off to the left and you finger with your right hand.

In 7th grade, I got to play in the High School band because they needed another French Horn player!!!  The "key" was different.  The fingering was different, the bell pointed to my right--I was hooked for life!!

In the 9th grade, my cousin graduated and asked if I wanted to buy her French Horn.  It was a true brass horn.  A Holton, made in Elkhorn, WI.  A really good quality--like they used to make back then.  I saved my allowances and did work for my Grandma and neighbor and got the required fifty dollars by the end of the summer.

I was told that a French Horn is one of the most difficult instruments to play.  Each of the three keys, one key or the other pressed down,  is used for several tones. If you press down the first key, you can play a D or F or B flat.  Most of the changes in the notes is done with your embouchure--how much you tighten or relax your lips.  I have been told by quite a few guys that I am a good kisser.  I credit all my years playing the Horn, LOL.

I played that Horn all through high school.  I played it at Michigan State--got to play in the orchestra--our high school band played mostly marches and overtures.  I practiced and played so much, my two bottom teeth became loose.  It was my life!!

When I graduated and my sister started fifth grade--she played it, but she didn't love it like I did.

Pammie played it in high school--but she didn't love it like I did.

I played it in the late 60's, when I went to Mott Junior College.  I played it in the 70's with the Flint Symphony Orchestra.  I played it in the 80's in a Community Band.  I played it in the 90's when I lived in Saginaw.

None of Karen's kids had been in the band.  And now--Maddie wanted to borrow my Horn!!!

You can tell by the dark gold color that is it solid brass.

It wasn't long and we were attending her first concert.

She looked quite a bit like I did, at that same age.

It brought back memories and tears to my eyes.

 See that little Asian boy off to her left.

That is Brian Tang.

She took private lessons and progressed.  All of a sudden, she was chosen to be in the second best band in high school AND marching band.  She was given a "better" double French Horn by the school  She was better than her Gramma ever was!!

 Then, her Sophomore year, she auditioned and was picked to play in the school's "best" band.
The Wind Ensemble...and there's Brian behind her--he plays 1st chair.  She could, but she refused to challenge him :-)  Noah, Drew, Maddie and Brian

Her last concert--Tuesday night.

Sorry the picture is fuzzy.

and Gramma had tears in her eyes once again, as Maddie

played the last notes of her life, on her school owned French Horn. 

You can see by the pictures that the double French Horns the bands use nowadays are all pretty and shiny.  They aren't completely brass.  They might be pretty, but I have had a professional Horn player tell me, "There is no truer Horn sound than what we get on the old, solid brass Horns," which is what he still plays.  A new double, solid brass French Horn would now cost well into the $5K range!!!

Holton H292 Merker-Matic Double French Horn l 
$4709.00

I've never played a double Horn.  It also has a thumb valve, to make reaching the very high and the very low notes, easier.  

So--this old gal (Horn) is over sixty years old.  She has been dropped and dented.  Just like her owner.  She has had her dents removed and been restored and then dented again in a school bus accident.  She has had many times, the cork under her valves replaced, restrung with cat gut, oiled and adjusted.  She still has a beautiful tone, but her owner can't play her very well anymore.

I want to give her the honor and respect she deserves--and that is not being stored in her case in my bedroom closet!  I am trying to find someone who can make her useful once again.

This has been a project of mine for the last 2 1/2 years.  I am still looking for someone to make her a lamp.  It seems easy to me--solder a brass tube on the back for the lamp wiring to go through, put it on a base and --------there she is.  

and...if I can get this done before I die, perhaps my sister or Pammie or even Madeleine might like to put her in their home.  

<but--none of them ever loved her like I do>