Thanks ... just ... thanks

You guys make all the writing I do so worthwhile. I had a ton of people writing me in the last day to tell me how much it meant to them that I shared a bit of memories with you about my grandmother, obvious how much I love and miss her, etc. One of my aunts, who I love dearly (you know who you are!) told me she, one of her daughters, and her brother (who I both also love so much!) read it and were impressed. Yes, she said impressed! I have probably one of the greatest families ever. Period. Which brings me to more nostalgia. Don't blame me, you guys started it, and now I'm on a roll for at least today. I did tell my aunt that between Grandma Myrtle, her, Grampa Max, and a few other people, that it's THEIR fault I homestead, and it is. If they hadn't gotten me hooked on gardening and putting up the results, and chickens and rabbits, I wouldn't be where I am today. ALL THEIR FAULT! In a great way, though. I wouldn't trade this for much of anything.

In my family, we lift each other up, we laugh, we crack jokes, we tease each other, we think the others are fantastic each in their own way. Funny how we can not see or hear from each other for ages, and then poof! We meet up one way or another and catch up on things, and it's like we never were apart. We used to do family reunions that were pretty boring to us younger kids, but we found ways to have fun. The place we always got was a VFW hall in the middle of nowhere, no playground nearby, in the middle of cornfields which we couldn't go into. Our main forms of entertainment were trying to outdo each other on bragging and making cattail bombs. If you've never done that, trust me, it's an experience. Especially trying not to get the fuzz stuck in you as teeny splinters, because they itch like fury!

The adults would all yack, too, and play catch up on everything. Everybody usually brought the same dish, year after year, so you kind of knew what you were getting in the way of food. Mom's signature dish was cauliflower salad. That stuff is fantastic ... if I wanted any, I had better set it aside before the bowl went out the door, because even people (mostly the male members of the family) who swore up and down they "hated" raw veggies would go for it. Ranch flavor gets 'em every time. One year, she decided to make baked beans instead.

I was hanging out in the kitchen with the adults for some reason for a bit that year, and I remember one of the guys coming in and asking if Mom and I were there yet. "Yeah, they're in the kitchen," someone replied. "They can't be here already!" was the response, "Cheryl's cauliflower salad isn't on the table." There was much disapointment that year, as everybody looked forward to cauliflower salad. Mom didn't think they liked it that much, but was proven wrong, so ever after, she had to bring cauliflower salad. Same goes for her for church suppers. Nobody knows she's there if they don't see cauliflower salad on the table. Folks may think that she's too predictable like that, but I think it's more that other folks are a bit too predictable in what they expect you to bring to dinner!

Everybody griped every year how hot and sticky and humid things were at the reunions, but when we left, we couldn't wait till next year to see the new little ones, catch up on news and eat till we were ready to bust again. As I get older, it's the little things that mean more and more - the memories, the love, the good books read again (hello, old friends), all the things that were just "there" as a child and young adult, now mean so much.

I've always been a history buff, because it brought old things to life. It didn't slap me in the face until recently that I'm living history, and that I tend to write down and print off all my little memories like these, and store them safely in sheet protectors in a notebook, will someday be history to others. One of my favorite books for several years has been one I found by accident, called "Pioneer Women: Voices From the Kansas Frontier," by Joanna Stratton. Joanna's great-grandmother, Lilla Day Monroe, began to collect stories about early Kansas pioneer life from around 800 women in the 1920s.

She saved them, her three daughters saved them, and eventually, Joanna turned many of the reminiscenses into a book. Some of the tales are incredible. There's one about a grasshopper plague, one written in the romantic story style of the day about a woman waiting a the farm in the middle of nowhere for her husband to come home, and one that always caused me to think fondly of an historical village near home that I will write about another time, because it starts out, "Well, we will go a-marketing." And the author continues on, describing town, with all it's myriad shops and things. Reminds me, my copy is about read out and I need to do a bit of shopping this afternoon or tonight anyhow ... must replace.

So, yeah, I'm a nostalgic, sentimental slob. So shoot me, lol.

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