Gather around Grandma’s Rocking Chair, is a blog designed for both men and women who like to be inspired, humored, encouraged, empowered, and seek out advice from others who have experienced difficulties in life. It contains article, short stories, poems, cartoons, photographs, scripture reflections and an advice column written by multigenerational Grandmothers. Please drop in and enjoy an uplifting visit with Grandma over your morning coffee.

Grandma Julia died at the age of 92- A great woman of faith

Some of my earliest memories are the family gathering around my Grandmother’s kitchen table, where my Grandmother sat in a wooden rocking chair at the kitchen table. Here we sat on chairs and on the floor to listen to Grandma’s stories.  Here one could hear laughter, celebration, disagreements, politics and even some entertaining neighborhood gossip.

Grandma’s kitchen was at the back of her shotgun brick bungalow in south St. Louis. It was set squarely between the pocket doors sectioning off the dining room and the closed in back porch that doubled as a summer sleeping room.

The gas stove proudly boasted four burners and a large grill in the center. The single enameled sink was 

skillfully dropped into the painted wood countertop, which hid the plumbing with a Sunkist yellow curtain on a rope.

In the far corner, was the pantry closet in which  Grandma kept her summer stash of tomato jelly, apple butter, corn chowder and watermelon pickles.

The kitchen consisted of a large rectangular table with six chairs. It was covered in a brightly summer array of flowers imprinted boldly on an oilcloth, the forerunner of the vinyl tablecloth. A small radio was always on and tuned to either a ballgame or the local news.

Here, children and grandchildren would gather to spend time with Grandma as she prepared the family meals. While she worked, and we helped, the conversation would invariably turn to the problems of the day. Grandma would listen intently with a few nods as the advice seeker spewed forth the problem or share the events of their lives.

Misty, Another Crazy Cat Story

by 

Grandma Rosemary

Misty, our mischievous cat, was always causing me trouble. This particular day, I was doing laundry, always a huge task with six children.

I had just placed a load of laundry from the washer into the dryer, when the telephone rang.

I sprinted out of the utility room into the kitchen to grab the wall phone.

“Hello”, I puffed into the receiver.

“Hi, Mom!”, my son said, calling from school. “ I need to be picked up today at 5:30pm because we have band practice. Can you pick me up?”

“Sure”, I responded. “Meet me in the front of the school. I have to have your sister at Brownies by 6:30 so be there as soon as you finish practice.”

“Ok, Mom. I will.” he said as he hung up.

I returned to the laundry room and quickly closed the dryer door and turn it on. Then I loaded up my arms with the folded clothes to make the rounds of the kids’ rooms to put them away.

A short time later, I returned once again to the laundry room and heard a peculiar thump! Thump! Thump! It was coming from the dryer.

I yanked open the door and peered inside. To my surprise, I saw two red eyes peering back and heard a pant, pant, pant!

“Oh NO!”, I thought, “I’ve killed the cat!”

“Misty! Misty! Oh, you poor thing. Come here, little one.” I said as I gently reached in and removed her from the dryer. Her poor little body was limp and she was panting hard. I ran to get some cool wet towels and wrapped her body to bring down the temp.

As she laid there, I quickly called my husband at work.

“Oh dear, I think I killed Misty! She must have darted into the dryer when I went to answer the phone. I think I better take her to the vet!” I cried.

“Calm down”, he said. “ Keep her cool and see how she does. If you need to take her to the vet do it! Please call me back and let me know!”

After our good-byes, I quickly went back to check on Misty. I could see that she had revived and was trying to shed the towels. I thanked God for a small miracle. Misty seemed to be recovering without any repercussions.

I went to the fridge and fetched her a cold bowl of milk. As she drank heartily, I knew the crisis was indeed over but I also knew that I would never again leave the dryer door open even for a minute!

Misty, One Crazy Cat
By
Grandma Rosemary

“Mom! Please! She is so ugly that no one will want her. Please! Can we take her home with us?” Robert pleaded as he reached into the box of kittens marked “Free to Good Home”.

I had to admit that Robert had a point. This small female runt of the litter was ugly with her mixed fur of black, gray and orange strands arranged without rhyme or reason. I had never seen so many colors in one coat without it being a spotted calico.

“Robert, you will have to take responsibility for her care. I simply can’t take on any more work right now.” I said already softening to the small cuddly bundle purring in my son’s hands but I had no idea that inside this sweet little ball was lying an ornery mischievous nature that would plague me in the coming years!

So, Misty became an added member of our growing family of six children. Misty endeared herself quickly to the children and followed them everywhere.

Misty loved milk! The children would give her a bowl each morning along with her food. Now the four boys also loved milk and would run in after a game of touch football and grab a glass of milk instead of water.

One hot humid summer I returned from work and hadn’t been home even ten minutes until our pastor stopped by for a visit. I went to the fridge to get him a cool glass of ice tea. You can imagine my horror when I opened the fridge and out jumped the cat!

I was humbled, humiliated and stunned. I glanced at the pastor sitting properly at the kitchen table with a look of dismay upon his face. There was no doubt he had seen it all!

I apologized profusely and could only imagine that one of the boys had run in for a glass of milk, took out the container, went to the cupboard to get a glass and did not see the cat, who also wanted some cold milk dash into the refrigerator. He then must have quickly closed the fridge to scurry back out to his game not noticing the cat.

As I continued to apologize, the Pastor suddenly began to laugh so hard that he could not breathe. I feared he have a heart attack and I would have to explain it all to the EMT as they hauled him away on a stretcher.

The Pastor was a good sport and needless to say, I gave the boys a piece of my mind and ordered them to drink water whenever they came inside!

Artist David Engel

Wild Streetcar Ride

(Moving to a New Home)
By
Grandma Cecilia
The summer of 1923, my Mother and Father decided to move into a new home in a north St. Louis neighborhood. Since it was not within walking distance, we were required to ride the trolley car. I was 6 years old, my sister, Mary Ann was 4 and my brother, John was only 3.

Since my Mother was what later became known in those whereabouts as a “Scrubby Dutch” of German decent, we couldn’t possibly move into a home until it was spotlessly clean. That meant that each morning, my Mother and her three children would climb onto the Trolley Car with buckets, mops, brooms, scrub brushes, and scrub rags.

To make matter much worse, the seats of the Trolley were made with straw. I was allergic to straw and after riding a short distance, I would pull the brake cord, the engineer would stop and the back door flew open and I quickly took the steps down and vomited. Then I would climb back on board and continue the ride.

When we arrived at our new home, I was sent out to clean the outhouse. It was my job to scrub the wooden seating area with lye soap and a scrub brush.

Later we would picnic on the floor with bologna and homemade bread. We would stop at the corner store and get a small bucket of cold root bear made from sassafras root. The store keeper had a barrel of the root beer with a spickit. I would carefully carry the bucket back to the house and Mom would pour us each a glass to accompany our bologna sandwiches.
When my grandfather died when I was about 9, many traveled a long distance to the funeral and had to be housed in our home and the homes of neighbors.

A black wreath was placed on the front door to signify that a death had taken place in the family. We had a day bed in the small room under the steps. Some of our family members were given this bed to sleep in while attending the wake and funeral, but they did not keep it away from the wall and it got bed bug.

My mother burned the mattress in the incinerator. She bought a can of gasoline and poured it over the springs and burned the bed bugs and was then able to re-used the springs afterwards. She put a powder around the edging of the new mattress to kill any bugs that might still be able to climb aboard. She also removed the wall paper and washed the walls before replacing the bed to kill any that might be hiding.

As it turned out, we only lived upstairs a short time until the downstairs of the house on the corner became available. We lived in the downstairs flat which had an indoor bathroom in the basement with a copper tub. Mom also had a kitchen in the basement with an ice box, a real treasure. Mom told the kids to keep out of the ice box when she went down the street to vote on Election Day.

Not long after she left, my brother decided to pull a chair over to get the glass milk bottle down from the top of the ice box. I was 13 then and John was 10. The bottle broke and John cut his leg. It was bleeding profusely. I sent my sister over across the street to the senator’s house because they had a car. I wrapped my brother’s leg in a bed sheet. The senator’s wife came over directly and took my brother to the hospital but by then my Mother was home and was able to ride with her. The hospital stitched up the wound and sent their patient home.

Artist David Engel

Who’s Afraid of the Dark
By
Grandma Bonnie & Grandpa Dave

I suppose every small boy is afraid of the dark at some point in their lives but me, no. I can honestly say to you that I was never afraid of the dark. Why should I be? I grew up in the small town of Mullikan, Michigan in the 1960’s when children trusted adults and did not have the opportunity to listen to the news on television. It was a simpler, easy going times in our Nation. That is until one particularly dark summer night…..

I loved my Aunt Tyke and Uncle Marvin more than I loved my bicycle which was my key to freedom. I would ride my bike down the street to their house whenever I got the chance. They were a beautiful, kind hearted and generous pair who offered me and my brother unconditional love.

As a boy of twelve, I would walk down to Aunt Tykes whenever my Mother had to be away during the evening for a social function or meeting. After spending several hours there, it was customary for me to venture out to the three way stop, that formed a T in the road near a huge stately oak tree. Just a few yards past this, I would be able to see if the lights were on in our house. If they were, I knew that I could go on home and if the house was still dark, I would return to my Aunt and Uncle’s home.

This particular evening, my uncle Marvin began to speak about things people are afraid of such as monsters and robbers. He told me about the gypsies that frequented our area and worked for the local farmers. He said they would lie in wait to capture boys like me and carry them off in bondage to work for their camps.

“Oh, Uncle Marvin, do you really expect me to believe that?” I said as the young brave boy I was.

“No, its true.” put in my Aunt Tyke. “Don’t you ever let me catch you near one of those camps!”

“Huh! I’m not afraid of them or robbers or monsters. I am not afraid of anything!” I assured them.

It wasn’t long after that conversation, that it was time for me to check and see if my Mother had returned home.

“Be back in a minute.” I called to Aunt Tyke who was clearing up the kitchen.

I quietly went out the front door and began the trek down the road. Now, I have to admit to you, dear readers, that all that conversation about being afraid began to get to me as I walked that night. I wondered about being kidnapped by robbers or gypsies and what I would do to fend them off.

It didn’t take long to reach the road just beyond the big oak tree and all had gone well. I began to relax and shortly reached the spot where I could see our house. It was dark. Mom had not returned home. I would have to walk back to Uncle Marvin’s.

I turned around and stopped momentarily to case the neighborhood. Nope, I could not see anything out of the ordinary. The coast was clear of all things that go bump in the night and I began to whistle, just to keep myself calm.

As I came upon the old oak tree, I was aware of the spooky shadows it cast upon the sidewalk from the streetlight at the corner for the first time. I began to see what looked like creature lurking in the branches. I picked up my pace and began to sprint past the tree. Just as I was abut past, I heard the loudest scariest blood curdling roar I had ever heard before or since!

Artist David Engel

I began to run as I felt moisture gathering between my legs. I ran like a dedicated marathon runner approaching the finish line. Up the steps of my Uncle’s home to the front door. Safety at last! But, in my fear I opened the door and willed my legs to go inside. They would not obey and I kept opening and closing the door on my fingers! I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
My dear Aunt Tyke finally arrived and I knew I was safe.

“Gypsies!” I tried to yell between sobs and hic-ups. “A Gypsy is out there! Lock the door!”

Then as if looking through a river fog in slow motion, I saw my Aunt’s face materialize. She was laughing! Laughing? What was going on here. I was confused! Didn’t she hear me? Wasn’t I making any sense? Couldn’t she see the fear in my eyes?

I remember turning and seeing a dark figure coming up the walk. I grabbed hold of my aunt’s apron as I watched horrified as my Uncle Marvin came historically up the front steps.He began to tell me how he had sneaked out of the house and hid behind the oak tree to scare me.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything there Davy.” he said. “ I guess I scared you good out there tonight.”

I felt my fist ball up uncontrollably at the end of my left arm but lucky for me, I quickly came to my senses.

“Oh that, I was just playing along so you wouldn’t be disappointed that’s all.” I said trying to look smug.

“Well, that may be so Davy”, he said, “but if I were you, I’d have Aunt Tyke take a look at those fingers.”

I knew that Aunt Tyke and Uncle Marvin were not fooled by the brave front I tried to master and I knew that Uncle Marvin felt remorse when he saw how afraid I really had become but Aunt Tyke always knew how to fix any awkward moment.

“Ice Cream, anyone?” she asked.

Artist David Engel

Our small Michigan farm was a distance from the nearest neighbor. It was home for myself and my two brothers. We loved farm life and it gave us a kind of freedom most city children never experience. It also taught us responsibilities and self discipline because we each had our own chores and we knew that it took us all working together to make the farm ‘work’.

In the pre-dawn hours of one Saturday morning we learned a valuable lesson about how important each of us were to the safety of the others.

“Raymond, Ronnie, Bonnie! Come quick!!” was the dream penetrating scream of my Mother from the foot of the stairs. “Hurry, your Dad’s in trouble! Raymond, Ronnie, Bonnie, Help!”

We took the stairs at record breaking speed.

“What’s up, Mom?” Raymond asked as he was pulling on his last pant leg.
“Is Dad hurt?”

Mom seemed to be locked in a time warp, moving in slow exaggerated motions, as she pointed to the kitchen window, while she alternated the wringing of her hands with wiping them repeatedly on her apron.

The three of us looked out just in time to see my father fly through the air and over his tool shed!

“Oh my God!” I remember saying in disbelief. “What’s going on?”

Then we saw him, Bill!

Bill was not an ordinary bull. He was simply full of Bull. A short stoutly Angus with a temper to rival a charging African Rhino! I watched as he lowered his head and slung it side to side slinging steam and saliva in a 40 inch arc while his hoofs stomped the ground under him shaking it like a freight train speeding down the track.

“Oh no! Not Bill! He attacking Dad!” I heard Ronnie shout as we all ran out to try to rescue our Father. My heart was beating as fast as an Indian shaman on his tom-tom. I began to pray as I ran towards him, “God, please help my Dad! I can’t think of living without him. I love him so much. Please God!”

Just then my brother grabbed a solid three inch iron rod and stormed Bill whacking him squarely between the eyes. Nothing! Bill was not even fazed.
Now what?

The air was saturated with tension. It was us against Bill as he cornered my father against the shed his life as fragile as a spider’s web. My brother Ronnie suddenly began to run towards the field yelling and shouting as he tried to distract Bill. Ronnie grabbed the electric fence and bounded over it without hesitating or being phased by it current, he was so focused on saving Dad!

It was a long pregnant pause until Bill noticed Ronnie and momentarily stopped mulling my father. After a few seconds, Bill turned and began to run after Ronnie. As soon as Bill took off, we ran to my Father and helped him out of harms way.

“Help!” we heard Ronnie shout. As we turned our attention towards him, we were just in time to see Ronnie soar over the fence leaving Bill trapped in the field away from us!

As Mom and I were continuing to help my father into the house to bandage his broken ribs and dress his many scrapes and bruises, my brother breezed by in a flash of color.

“Raymond! Stop!” my father yelled. “Don’t shoot Bill!”

“He’s and ornery cuss and needs to be shown who’s boss!”, my Father laughed. “and I’ll have him at the stockyards this afternoon, I promise”

We all laughed with relief knowing that Bill would not be Bull much longer!!

Artist David Engel

An Unforgettable Picnic in the Park
By
Grandma Rosemary
The carefree spontaneous summer excursion of an unplanned picnic in a park can create lingering childhood memories.
That is exactly what my sister-in-law and I had planned for our eight combined children near the end of a fun filled vacation in New Mexico. Little did we know then that it would be a bizarre and extraordinary experience for us all!
The day began with breakfast at the campground followed by the sharing of the day’s plans.
“What are you two planning for the day, since we’re playing golf?” my husband inquired.
“Oh, Jean and I are taking the laundry into Las Vegas and then we will pick up some chicken and have a picnic at that beautiful city park we passed yesterday. You know the one in front of that lovely Victorian court house.” I answered as I cleared the dishes from the table.
“Yes,” said Jean. “It‘ll give the kids a chance to play and we can sit and relax for a while.”
“Sounds like a plan”, my brother added. “We should be back by 5pm. See you then.”
The short drive into town was an uneventful prelude to what we had planned to be a pleasant day ahead. I was enjoying the vacation immensely which offered a break from my career as a hospital chaplain.
We pulled into a parking spot and unloaded. We commented that there were more people milling around than we’d seen on the previous day but they all seemed to be enjoying themselves as they walked the meandering sidewalks among the garden.
Soon, we had pacified the hungry and eager bunch with chicken, potato salad, coleslaw and drinks. I was busy feeding my small baby, when I looked over at Jean sitting across from me. To my surprise, her brown eyes were as wide as fifty cent pieces and her summer tan had faded three shades as an appearance of horror crept up her face like a thermometer rising.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked half jokingly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” I laughed but Jean did not move. She simply pointed over my head. I looked around and saw what I believed to be a homeless man, unshaven and disheveled. His face hosted a broad smile, revealing 3 brown tobacco stained teeth. He did not speak but just kept pointing at my baby.
My external calm belied my internal panic as I hesitantly turned and held the baby up where he could see her. He did not offer to reach out but merely nodded and walked on. I realized that I had judged the poor fellow hastily. Perhaps he hadn’t seen a baby for awhile nor had the opportunity to hear the laughter of children.
“Well, that was odd,” Jean said, somewhat relieved. “I was afraid that he was going to cause trouble.”
“One never knows these days but I think he just wanted to see the baby.” I offered as I continued to wait on the children.
A few minutes later, Jean said, “Look at that! There is a lady over there urinating on the grass!”
I turned around again and watched the people meandering around the grounds. Several would stop and stare at the family that had come to visit. As my eyes perused the environment, I was drawn to the large Victorian building where I saw carved in the white sandstone above the heavy wooden entry door the words, “Insane Asylum.”
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed. “Quick, pack up! We’ve got to leave!”
“What is it?” Jean asked.
“Look at that sign!” I pointed towards the building. “This is not a court house! “
Unknowingly, we had trespassed upon the rights of the patients by entering their private space. Yet, they did not try to shoo us away but welcomed as guests in their limited environment.
Later, as I reflected on the memory of our strange picnic, I realized once again how the stigma of mental illness influences us. One in suffers from some type of mental illness, a debilitating disease that affects the brain. This can lead to difficulty expressing emotions; interfere with one’s thought processes and cause irregular behavior of those afflicted.
Unlike other illness such as heart disease, diabetes or cancer, one can’t see the physical effects of mental illness and can lead some to believe that it signifies a weakness in the character of those inflicted. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have found the mentally ill to be intelligent, extremely generous and faith filled. They are slow to judge since they, themselves, have cruelly experienced the pain of being judged unfairly.
Our picnic may not have ended as we had planned, but it was a carefree spontaneous summer excursion that changed my life and left me with a lingering memory of people who accepted our strange behavior on a warm afternoon.

Artist David Engel

A New Toy for Blaine
By
Bonnie Engel

I am the mother of three beautiful, intelligent and charming children as all mothers seem to be, and I want you to know that I believe that they stay up nights trying to come up with ways to turn my hair prematurely grey!

My oldest son, Blaine, has always been athletic and fascinated with sports of all kinds. One summer day, my son and his younger sister, Katy, were playing in the living room of our home. I could hear them laughing and apparently having a very good time.

It wasn’t long until my three year old son, Mike, a Shirley Temple look a like, came into the kitchen without his clothes. He had proudly stripped to only his diaper. I don’t know why but he seemed to be proud of his accomplishment. I placed the pan of cookies I was making into the oven and picked my son up to snuggle, as we often did. As I hugged him, I felt that tell tale sign of a messy diaper.

It was at the same time, that I heard my oldest son shout, “ I found a ball! Look, sis, it is a little hard round ball” Suddenly the light bulb flashed above my head and I ran into the living room just as Blaine was warming up his pitch.
“Blaine! Wait, that’s not a ball!” I screamed.

Blaine stopped mid swing and looked at me with a bewildered look as if to say, “What do you mean?” I saw the dawn of realization slowly ebb across his little face. He quickly dropped the ‘ball’ and ran into the bathroom where I could hear him mumbling as he washed his hands.

A short time latter, Blaine returned to the living room where I was cleaning up the aftermath and said very matter of fact, “Whew, that was a close one!”
I had to agree as I pulled all three children towards me and we all had a great belly laughed.

“I believe it is time for some cookies. What do you think?” I purposed.

Artist David Engel

Once, I Was a Worm Farmer…..
By
Grandma Rosemary
I have given birth to many ideas but raising Red Wigglers was definitely not the best one. It began a warm spring day in 1975 as I sat in the office of my obstetrician waiting for my routine check-up. The magazine article was about the advantages of raising fishing worms. By the time I finished the article, I knew I was trapped hook, line and sinker. My sons and I were going to raise Red Wigglers for a summer project!
“But honey,” I explained, “Fishermen love worms and there good for our compost pile. All you have to do in build us some worm bins in that old shed out back. The boys and I will do the rest!”
“Look, you and the boys love to fish.” I continued,” Just think of how much money you’ll save and the boys will earn a little spending money besides. It’s a win-win situation!”
“Ok, if you can get the boys enthused, I’ll build you two bins. I think I have enough scrap wood to do the job.” He sighed.
“Awe, Mom,” my ten year old twins retorted in unison. “Why do we need a summer project? Can’t you just give us an allowance like normal parents?”
“We’ve been through that before. Your Dad and I believe in teaching you the value and satisfaction of earning a paycheck. Besides, when you get older and want to continue fishing, you’ll you appreciate the work that goes into that fishing bait you take for granted.” I responded with all the wisdom I could muster.
The “How to grow Red Wigglers” booklet advertised in the magazine article arrived just as my husband finished the bins and, according to this Red Wiggler ‘bible’, the first thing the boys and I needed to tackle was making the beds by shredding and soaking newspaper. According to the directions, it would be easy and quick. Wrong! Do you know how much time it takes to shred a two by two foot stack of newspapers? Four hours! Plus the added benefit of leaving news print on the faces, hands and clothing of three young boys.
The boys had already figured out that rolling the paper into Samurai swords and striking each other in a battle for their Dad’s recliner was much more fun! Something had to be done! After some thought, I hit upon an idea! I could crumple the newspaper and stuff it into my washer machine thus eliminating the shredding time and combining it with the soaking! Brilliant, I thought. I really was an idea person.
The washer and dryer in our old farm house were in the bathroom the previous owners had added on many years ago. It didn’t take long and the boys and I had the claw foot tub overflowing with crumbled up newsprint. This was going great! I stuffed the paper into my washer and set it on the rinse cycle. Perfect! After the cycle was complete, I just raked out the soggy pulp and threw it into the buckets. The boys then carried it out to the bins and returned for more. The whole process was running smoothly when to my surprise my husband’s grandmother arrived for a visit!
“Hi, I just stopped by on my way back from town to see the boys. Where are they?” she asked.
“Oh, their busy outside but they should be back inside soon.” I said as panic rose within me like water in the lung of a drowning man. How was I going to explain to her what was going on!
“Good,” she said, as she headed towards the bathroom. “It’ll give me time to freshen up before the barrage of sweet little hugs.”
I just stood there numb and silent like Joan of Arc before they lit the fire around her feet. I knew what was coming but I was helpless to stop it!
“Oh my God!” she screamed! “Do you know what your boys have done? Come here quick! You won’t believe it!”
“Hey,” I thought, “She thinks it’s the boys! Good, all I have to do is let them take the blame and she won’t think I’m an idiot!” but, my over developed conscience kicked in before I reached the bathroom door.
“Wait till I tell you about our latest project. You will love it!” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but she just looked at me with this intense fear on her sun wrinkled face. I knew she was thinking that her grandson’s wife had finally been driven to the brink of madness!
“Come on, Nana. Let’s sit down and I’ll fix some tea and tell you all about it.” I said as I led the shocked woman into the dining room. I silently opened the china cabinet and removed my best china cups. “This situation calls for drastic measures,” I was thinking, “Better try to butter her up! Get the cloth napkins too.”
By the time the tea kettle sang, the boys had returned with their buckets and surrounded their great grandmother with enthusiastic voices each explaining the fun they were having creating their worm farm. Their great grandmother could never resist giving into them, so she soon reconciled herself to the project.
The worms arrived Fed-ex a few days later and all was well. The worms grew and multiplied. We had worms for fishing, composting, and neighbors’ composts and even managed to sell 250 Styrofoam cartons to the local bait shop. Over the course of the summer, I learned more about Red Wigglers than I ever wanted to know. Then the cool winds of fall arrived!
My husband added a small gas stove into the shed to provide heat for the fattened red wigglers. While I was shopping one fall day, we had an unexpected rise in temperature and I knew I was in trouble because I had left the heater on in the worm shed. I hurried home, ran to the shed, flip the light switch and was horrified by the sight of hundreds of red wigglers standing at attention with their mouths gapping for air! I threw open the door, turned off the heat and realized ten minutes later, when I came to my senses that I had been standing there tearfully, apologizing with great remorse to a bunch of worms! Fall was in the air, and after a family conference, we agreed it was time to set our Red Wigglers free. It was with pomp and ceremony that we moved the contents of the worm bins to the garden and bid farewell to our worm farm.
Little known worm facts:
· Worms have toothless mouths on the underside of their heads
· Worms are hermaphrodites. This means that they possess both sexes and cross fertilize.
· Worms can turn over 6 feet of top soil every twenty years
· Worms do not have eyes but respond to light with photoreceptors and prefer to live in the dark
· Red Wigglers make the best compost worms because they thrive in highly populated environments and do not burrow.

Artist David Engel

Growing up in St. Louis MO
1917- 1929
By
Grandma Cecilia
I was born as the second child in a house on Bacon Street, delivered by the local midwife. My first years were spent on Angelrodt Rd. in a four family flat. We lived both upstairs and later downstairs. Out back, in our all brick backyard, we had a fire pit for trash and a two-hole outhouse. Before the invention of toilet tissue, we used pages from the Sears Roebuck Catalog. First we’d read it then we’d wipe with it! If you saw something you wanted to order, you’d better save the page!
One day, when I was about three, my father brought home a surprise, a puppy! I was dressed up and my father took me and the puppy for a long walk. I loved my little dog, that I called “puppy”. One day someone forgot to put the ‘lid’ over one of the outhouse holes and puppy fell in. I ran to the house to tell my mother. She quickly got my father and he got the neighbors and together, they rescued Puppy.
Mother then sprayed him off with the hose and bathed him in a large tin tub. Puppy was not happy and neither was my Mother. After that, I always checked to see that both holes were covered.

Artist David Engel

It was an exciting day when I waited with the anxious anticipation only a four year old could muster, to see my first ‘flush’ toilet. It was installed on the wooden back porch and closed in by a closet. The water box was high up and you had to pull the chain to flush the toilet. It wasn’t much warmer out on the porch, but it was closer than walking through the snow to the outhouse at the back and didn’t smell as bad. At night we used what they called ‘slop buckets’ and you would see all the neighbors empting them each morning.

Artist David Engel

I remember when they first put the electric lights in the house. Before that, we had gas light that hung on the ceilings and each evening my mother would go through the house lighting the fixtures with a long match. Mother always told Dad to be careful when he struck the match because one false move could set the whole box of matches on fire. Even the street lights were gas and the ‘lamplighter’ man would light each one and return early in the morning to turn them off again. The policeman would hit the street lights with his baton as he walked his beat to signal his partner where he was on the block and that he had passed each one safely on his watch.

Artist David Engel

A Very Special Memory
By
Grandma Cecilia
Some say that we cannot remember things that happen when we were only 2 years old but, perhaps because it affected me so, one of my earliest memories was of my older sister, Helen. If you are blessed to have a sister, especially an older sister, you can understand why I remember her. She was a year older than I and I learned from her how to talk, play and see life around me. At the gentle age three, she died on a Wednesday, September 17, 1919 from the Spanish Flu epidemic that went through St. Louis.
I remember she was sick and couldn’t play dolls with me. Two days later, just 20 days short of my 2nd birthday, I watched as my Mother and a friend were washing and dressing Helen on my Mother’s bed. My mother dressed her all in white and laid her in a wooden box in the living room of our house. Mother and Father were crying and my grandparents came to see my sister.
There was a black wreath of flowers hanging on our front door. The next morning, I stood at the window and cried because they were taking Helen away in my Grandfather’s car and I couldn’t go with them. Even at such a young age, I knew that my beautiful sister was never coming back. I later found out that the black wreath meant that our house had been quarantined and that none of us were able to leave or have visitors. It was a sad time for us all and yet, my Mother was already expecting another child, my sister, Mary Ann who would be born just a few months later. I had a new sister to play with but I never forgot Helen and I miss her to this day, 94 years later.

A quote from the then Mayor of St. Louis, “”…Spanish influenza is now present and probably will become epidemic in the City of St. Louis. In view of this proclamation, and under the authority vested in me by the City Charter of the City of St. Louis, after such proclamation in order to prevent all unnecessary public gatherings through the medium by which this disease is disseminated, I hereby order that all theaters, moving picture shows, schools, pool and billiard halls, Sunday schools, cabarets, lodges, societies, public funerals, open air meetings, dance halls and conventions to be at once closed and discontinued until further notice.” –Mayor Henry Keil (October 7, 1918)
The quick action of Mayor Keil saved many lives in St. Louis. Over all, there were 600,000 deaths in the US from this epidemic.

Artist David Engel

The Old Barn Swing
By
Grandma Bonnie
Unless you’ve grown up on a farm, you’ve probably never heard of a ‘barn swing’. My Father hung one for my brothers and I in our old Amish style barn. After all the hay was in for the summer, we would climb up to the loft and swing high up over the hay on the floor below.

Every summer day, you would find us outside helping in the garden, swimming in the pond, or swinging in the hay barn. One day, while swinging and day dreaming about growing up to be a nurse, my brother snuck up behind me and grabbed the swing sending me down, down into the hay below. It seemed that I was falling for a long time but I know it was merely seconds.

Suddenly, kerr-plop, I hit the hay. Getting up while spitting straw from my mouth and brushing off the straw from my clothes, you could hear me screaming as though I had just been shot.

I grabbed the first thing available, which was the hay rake, and took after my brother. I thought that my nursing career would have to be put on hold since I would soon be in prison for assault and battery. I chased him all the way into the house where my Mother
was baking in the kitchen.

“What have you done to your sister, now?” she asked.

I took full advantage of the situation and said, “Mom! He tried to kill me in the barn! You need to ground him for 5 years!”

“Oh, she’s exaggerating. All I did was grab the barn swing. How’d I know she was going to fall off?” my brother added defiantly.

“Now stop that right now, both of you” said Mom raising her large wooden spoon in a threatening manner. This was our signal to be still but I was still angry and I reached out and picked up the bowl of frosting Mom was mixing on the counter and turned it upside down on top of my brother’s head!

“Bonnie,” shouted Mom. “Go to your room immediately young lady! I will deal with you later.”

I ran up to my room determined that whatever Mom did to me was worth the look of surprise on my brother’s face. I knew that today our relationship had changed and he would no longer see me as a helpless little girl. Yep, it had definitely worth the punishment!

When Mother came up to my room a short time later, I was ready. She gave me one of her famous lectures about behaving like a lady and gave me a whole week of washing dishes, which she knew I detested but it didn’t change how proud I was of myself. I don’t think I have ever been afraid again and I grew to be an independent self confident woman. Who would ever guess, that I owe it all to a barn swing!

Artist David Engel

Home is Where the Heart Is
By
Bonnie Engel
Youth has a way of making us courageous. When we are young, we see no obstacles to our dreams. That’s what drove my husband to accomplish his youthful dream, a ‘buy and switch!” That’s when you purchase a home in need of repair, fix it and turn around and sell it for a profit. Sounds good, right?

I was convinced that it would be a fun project and a chance for my new husband and I to grow closer while making a killing in the housing market.
That is until he drove me up to the fixer upper. Now I had left the choice up to him because after all, he would be doing most of the work.

It wasn’t long until he was sure he had found us the perfect place and was anxious to take a drive to what would be out new home. Never! Never! In my wildest dreams could I have imagine what was in store!

We arrive in a small bordering town and he pulled up in front of an old abandoned 1940’s filling station. The kind with the two antique glass pumps out front under a small canopy.

My mouth dropped as I stared at the chipped stucco exterior with the faded sign emblazoned over the door. “Jake’s Service Station” it read and my heart flipped flopped in my chest.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I said with a chuckle. I knew he was just teasing me.

“Nope!” he replied as he opened the car door and extended his hand. “This will be great when it is done. You’ll see. Just imagine how cute it will look on this corner with a flower bed and new paint. I think we’ll be the envy of the neighborhood!”

Dazed, I stood in silence trying to imagine it but my dream home with the white picket fence escaped me. As I entered the door, I was first struck with the fact that it was just one enormous room with ceilings that appeared to be 15 feet high.

“It only has one room.” I repeated over and over. “Where do you expect me to sleep?”

“Your mistaken, honey. It has another room over there.” he said leading the way.

My eyes traveled to where he was heading and I saw he was right. There was another room and it was clearly marked, “Men’s Room!”

Inside was a toilet and a tiny sink, much too small to even use to wash dishes. Needless to say, It was this room I insisted that we remodel first.

As the workmen went about the reconstruction, I followed behind with the vacuum and broom. They finally stopped and asked why I wouldn’t wait until they were done to clean but I just nodded and smiled. You see, I was afraid that if I waited until they were done, I be overwhelmed with debris and sawdust.

After a few months, the little station began to take shape and believe it or not a home appeared with a small cottage kitchen, charming bathroom, a bedroom and a state of the art living room.

I fell in love with that little place and the neighbors who had watched in fascination. It just goes to show that the old saying is true, “The home is where the heart is!”

Artist David Engel

Artist David Engel

Sibling Revenge
By
Grandma Rosemary
I like to think that I was a good kid. I tried to be kind and follow the teachings of my faith but I’m sure that my younger sister would tell you a different story.

She was a typical younger sister always trying to get me in trouble so that my parents would see her as the perfect child. Whenever we were together too long, she would find way to irritate me and then when I’d finally get fed up and strike back, she would run and tattle on me.

One summer day, my sister and I invited some neighborhood friends to play
Badminton in our yard. All was going well until the team I was playing on won.

“You cheated!” she yelled.

“We did not. We played according to the rules!” I said emphatically with my hand positioned authoritatively on my hips.

“No you didn’t” she insisted.

At that point I came around the net and confronted her face to face while my other friends began to take sides and quarrel among themselves.

“Why do you always have to ruin the game with your bickering?” I asked. “Why can’t you just be quiet and play? You are just a sore loser!” I began to shout near her face.

Then it began. She hit me with her racket and I retaliated with a blow from mine.

“I’m going to tell Dad you hit me!” she fired back and took off for the house.

Now it was a rule in our family that the older siblings were not allowed to pick on those younger than themselves, so I knew I would be in trouble. So I hit her again and again and again as she ran.
We lived on the second floor and I continued to hit her all the way up the steps. When she stepped inside, I saw my Father sitting in his favorite chair reading a magazine. As we entered, he was aroused by the screams of my sister but that did not deter me as I continued my assault. I remember the bewildered look on my Father face as my sister tried to relate the story between sobs and blows.

“Why are you hitting your sister?” by Father asked, shocked at the sight of my continued attack.

“Because,” I boldly replied, my arm still in action. “I know I’m going to get in trouble and this time I’m going to make it worth it!”

My father was dumbfounded and it took him a minute to absorb the situation. I was scared of the consequences ahead. I imagined that my life as I knew it was surely over. Would I be grounded forever? Maybe I’d be sent away, locked up in someplace for the insane, but my arm would not stop.
After a moment to collect himself, my Father, much to my surprise, began to laugh and laugh. He continued to laugh so had his face began to turn red and I began to wonder if I would be the one responsible for causing my father to have a heart attack!

I was flabbergasted by this strange response, I quickly returned to my senses and stopped my assault. Now, I was the one standing there with my lower jaw dropping to my chest.

“I sorry,” my Father told my sister, “but I know you have been asking for this for some time. Truthfully, I wondered when you sister would decide that she’s had enough.”

“Aren’t you going to punish her?” my sister asked in amazement.

“No, I am not and don’t go running to your Mother. You girls have to learn to get along or else settle your differences among yourselves.” He said.

“But she hit me!” my sister replied in disbelief.

“Why did your sister hit you?” he asked.

“Because her team was cheating and I told her so.” She said defiantly.

“Did you hit her first?” he asked her.

“Well…..yes” she told him sheepishly with her head hung low.

“That is my point. You need to learn that your behavior as well as hers’ has consequences.” He scolded. “Now, I want you both to return to your friends and continue your game playing without further incidents.” He said as he raised his magazine signaling the talk was completed.

I couldn’t believe my ears or eyes. Never in my wildest dreams had I realized that my parents we on to my sister’s tattling strategy all along. I was free. No punishment!

Then reality stopped me in my tracks as I realized, I had finally had my revenge!

Artist David Engel

A Blue Ribbon Pie
By
Grandma Bonnie
When I was nine, my Mother worked many hours on the farm and at my school in the kitchen, so she would be home with us when school was out. This particular summer, she decided to take a job at the local grocers which meant she often had to work late.

I wanted to do something special to help my Mother and surprise my Father, so I decided to bake a blueberry pie. Mother and I had spent many hours picking blueberries and putting them in the freezer.

After tying Mom’s daisy print cobbler apron around me, I gathered the ingredients for the pie crust. Since I had watched Mother make pie crusts many times, I felt confident that I could make one also.

Next I removed the blueberries from the freezer and dumped the whole bag into a pot of water, added sugar and let them boil until soft and thickened.

I added the blueberries to the beautiful pie crust and decorated the top crust. Mom and Dad would be so pleased!

Forty-five minutes later, I was done. Stopping to assess my efforts, I was shocked to see that Mother’s kitchen looked as though a notorious Michigan blizzard had struck. Never mind the mess, I knew that I had a pie to rival Mrs. Brown’s blue ribbon one at last year’s fair!

“Dad, look what I made you!” I said proudly, puffed up and looking like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. “It’s a blueberry pie and I made it all by myself!”

“Why Bonnie, ah, it looks magnificent. I am so proud of my girl.” he said with a wise grin on his face.

Dad quickly dug into a large slice of warm pie when I noticed a frown of bewilderment cross his face. He slowly raised his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and removed something lodged between his teeth.

I couldn’t imagine what it was but as I watched, he repeated the move several more times and then looked at me and said, ”Bonnie, did you clean these berries and remove the twigs?”

“Twigs?” I said, shocked. It had never occurred to me that my mother had not cleaned the blueberries. “Why would they have twigs in them?” I asked puzzled.

Dad said, “You can’t wash them before you freeze them or they will be too soft.”

“Oh,” I said sadly disappointed. How could I have missed that when we put the berries in the freezer? I felt my eyes begin to tear and grabbing my apron to cover my face, I ran from the room.

“Don’t worry, Bonnie.” Dad said as he trailed behind me. “It is still the best blueberry pie I have ever eaten!”

Several minutes passed before I found the courage to sneak down the stairs from my bedroom and into the dining room where I found my Dad still sitting at the table finishing his pie.

“Bonnie, I would gladly eat another piece of that pie, if you have one and a cup of coffee too, if you don‘t mind.” he said with a smile and a wink. Suddenly I felt ten feet tall again!

Through the years I took a lot of ribbing from my Dad and brothers about the blueberry pie, but Dad always had a twinkle in his eye and still maintained that it was the best one ever!

Artist David Engel

The Tumbleweed Tree House
By
C. Rosemary Marmouget
As the quiet days of summer passed in 1959, my friends and I were on top of the world unaware that the storms of life were gathering over head. I remember well that Saturday afternoon, in the middle of the Mohave desert, when, like most children on George Air Force Base, we were walking home from the movie matinee. We had just watched the Disney production of the Swift Family Robinson. In the movie, the family is shipwrecked on an island and they set about building this elaborate tree house. It was the perfect fantasy for four twelve year olds, Linda, Joan, Cheryl and I. We imagined what it would be like if it were our family shipwrecked together. Suddenly, one of them came up with the brilliant idea of building our own tree house.

“Have you seen any trees around here lately? All we’ve got is the Joshua trees,” I said. My friends looked at me as though I just said that we were ’grounded’ forever. I was the dream maker of the group. If I couldn’t imagine a tree house, then surely, it would be impossible. I felt as though I had burst their bubble and let them down.

After thinking about it for a while, I came up with an idea. “Wait, we may not have trees but we have plenty of tumbleweeds. Let’s make a tumbleweed house.” I suggested.

My friends thought it was a great idea and so, after church and dinner the next day, with canteens of cool water strapped to our belts, we saddled our bicycles like Indian ponies and made our way out into the desert to collect tumbleweeds. We rolled them along like snowballs and stacked them up to make walls and then plied up three exceptionally large ones on top to form the roof. Next, we gathered pockets full of broken pieces of glass in a rainbow of colors, shapes and sizes. These were to become jewels in our mosaic floor in the center of our ‘tree house‘. To four innocent young females, it was so cool! Wow! We did it. We were able to bring our dream to life. Our very own tree house.

Next, we hiked to the river bed and hauled back some smooth stones to use for seats. We placed them in a circle around our mosaic. For four young girls, it was a tree house as beautiful as any seen in the movies. We spent the rest of that hot summer planning adventures on the floor of the desert within the shade of our tumbleweed tree house. We packed picnic lunches of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Kool-aid and cookies, we told stories, went on treasure hunts and even tried once, unsuccessfully, to talk our parents into letting us spend the night. It was magical.

As the quiet days of that summer passed, we were on top of the world unaware that the storms of life were gathering. Just before school started, Cheryl’s father died suddenly of a heart attack. Death wasn’t suppose to invade the playful lives of 12 year olds. It just wasn’t something we had ever expected.

I remember attending the funeral. It was the first one I had ever been to since my Grandfather died when I was five. How my heart ached as I filed past the open casket and turned to face my best friend and how I wept that night alone in my bed. I felt guilty that I still had my father and she didn’t. I wondered why God had taken him home now, when she still needed him. I thought parents were supposed to always be there for their children.

In my grief, as I helped Cheryl, her brother and mother packed up their belongings preparing for the move off the Airbase, I contemplated on how unfair life could be and came to believe that tree houses and fairy tales only existed in the movies. Linda, Cheryl, Joan and I made one last trip to the tumbleweed tree house. It was here we promised to be friends forever as we said good-bye.

We each moved away one by one as our fathers were transferred and it was only a short time until we lost touch but as the years have passed, I have come to understand how important hopes, dreams, tree houses and fairy tales are in our lives. Everyone needs a dream to hang onto when those unexpected storm clouds begin to gather in life’s sky. I understand too, that when life doesn’t give us trees, tumbleweeds work just as well.

I don’t know what happened to our tumble weed tree house, but I like to think that the mosaic, covered by the sands of time, will one day reappear just in time to restore hope in the lives of some young children and change their lives as it did ours one Mohave summer.

Today is Friday the 16, of March….. a day to remember.  Grandma Rosemary had her hand operated on this morning .  They fixed her all up, and she will be back soon.  After all the years of tending children and working,  it needed help.  Grandma  Cecilia is actually taking care of her own daughter.  She is amazing!!  Lots of activities on my part.. grandchildren’s school programs and such.  Kosette is seven and the entire first grade class put on a musical last night.  So much fun to watch them. They did a great job.  I’ll be back soon to let you know about Grandma Rosemary’s recovery and anything else that comes up…….til them, God Bless you all.

Hi friends.  Grandma came home from the hospital, yesterday, Tuesday.  She is still weak, we need prayers for her, so she will gain strength.   Rosemary is very busy again.  Watching two of her Grandchildren twice a week and Grandma.  I really enjoy her little Hanna, she is  starting school this fall.. and really ready!! Grandma Rosemary, and Hanna do science projects to promote Hanna’s knowledge.  I find it interesting to hear about it.      I haven’t watched my Grandchildren lately, but did attent Kelise’s musical at her school last week.  So cute.  I’m so glad I had the opportunity to move down from Michigan, and attend all their church and school activities.   It’s is a special blessing from Jesus.  Have a great rest of the day and a happy Thursday!! 

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

Grandma Rosemary had a new Granddaughter today. She weighed 7 pounds 1 oz…… 21 inches long.  A tall little gal.  Her name is Reagen, I am sure she will fill you in as soon as she can.  She is very busy with the new addition.  I, Grandma Bonnie had the pleasure of babysitting my three Granddaughters this evening.. Kelise (10), Kambria(9), and Losette (6).  As always it was a adventure, as they were very  charged up, with Cristmas and all coming.  Little dolls.  Until next time… God Bless.

Hello Folks,

It looks like we are up and running! Time for the Grandmas to celebrate with a cup of tea while we put our feet up. Glad to have you stop by and sit a spell. Life is good!

Grandmas, I have just met a guy who I think likes me and I like him. He has not asked me out so I am thinking about asking him to my place for dinner. Is that a good idea?

Merry Christmas to Everyone

We want to take this opportunity to wish each of our followers a very happy holiday. May your year ahead be blessed.

We also want to encourage you to check our our Christmas story written by Grandma Cecilia. It is a nice one to share with your children or grandchildren. You can find it on the page titled Around Grandma’s Rocking Chair.

The Grandmas

Today is Sunday, October 23, 2011

Grandma Bonnie had her three granddaughter over to visit. They played outside, ate their favorite, corned beef, and watched videos.

Grandma Cecilia is not feeling well. She thinks she has a cold and is running a low temp. We will call the doctor in the morning.

Grandma Rosemary spent the day working on our blog.

Welcome, gather around Grandma’s Rocking Chair, get comfortable and spend a few minutes with the Grandmas. We love to hear from you, so leave comments! Hope ya all are having a great grace filled day! Peace and Blessings to all. Love, the Grandmas