My reason for this blog entry is two fold. First, I the creator of this little experiment, have been quite absent from it since it began and that ain't right. And second, because I will be visiting many of you this weekend and am not looking forward to having to come up with weak excuses as to why I haven't written anything. So, without further procrastination- a trait I only wish I could blame on genetics- here are my memories of my great grandmothers.
Nana-
I suppose that I should preface my story here with the warning that my memories of both these women are from the point of view of a young child and consist, mainly of little snapshots of scenes or smells or sounds without much other thoughts or analysis.
She took my to Bingo!!
I remember going with Denise and Nana to Bingo. I think we started the day out by spending a bunch of money in the gift shop of a church- I got a huge metal cross that I later learned was magnetic and was able to have a bunch of fun messing with it and the bingo magnets we had later on. Anyway this cross was sweet, I mean 50 cent would be jealous, it was big! Its size was accented by my rather skinny frame at the time. Sorry about the tangent there, but I remember being very excited about my bling. So later on that day we went to bingo, I can't remember where, I'm sure someone knows. Long story short I had a great time and won, get ready, 15 bucks!!! CHA-CHING!!
My other memories of her are mostly of her in her house where I remember her being very tall, and it usually being dark in there, and that she had a kitchen witch. How come we don't have a kitchen witch anymore, mom? I'll have to find one for my apartment... I also remember that I never went upstairs in her house, but I do remember the basement, full of dark isles and lots of tools. There were a few, well maybe just one, broken down car in the drive way, I want to say that it was a beetle, but who knows.
Of the woman herself my memories are even more vague, and are probably by now a composite image of the many discriptions I've heard from my relatives. So here it goes...
She always seemed tall to me, I am guessing it was more the fault of my being shorter than her at the time, and her having very good posture. She had a very soft voice, rather soothing, and always calm. I cannot ever remember her limping or shuffling when she walked. Instead I recall a rather regal gait, very smooth and graceful.
Ok, that's all I have time for right now, got to go to work... For those of you who I'll see this weekend, see you soon, for all the rest, I miss you all and come visit me in Chicago!!!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Part Two of the First Entry of the First Blog in Sauvageau History....YO!
Grandma and Grandpa Smith............................................................................yo
Arthur Bateman and Catherine Magdalene (McMusker). I remember them praying the rosary together. Talk about opposites~ the perfect match. Grandma would recite her part very quickly, even starting before Grandpa was finished with his. He was slow, methodical, calm, quiet, gentle, mild-mannered. Dark-skinned, especially in the summer season. I can smell his ripe, biting persperation, sweating in the hot sun; wearing thin white tank t-shirts. Grandpa liked the outdoors; gardening, mowing the lawn, watering hose in hand, tending the dry earth. There was a grand old green hammock hanging in their backyard in which I loved to rock. I'd hear grandma sream out the door in her high-pitched voice, "Art, your supper's getting cold!" Grandma was speed, Grandpa the speed-bump. He'd be tinkering with his myriad of tools in the garage; gadgets, unfinished projects, inventions in-the-works. He was a practical procrastinator. Detail-oriented, an electrician by trade. Brown skin with a large nose, where she Grandma, was white as snow, featuring a pug-nose. Really their features were quite a contrast. She had large blue eyes, yet mostly I saw her with eyeglasses on. She wore a heavy coat of "Bluegrass" perfume. I'd go into her dressing room which was next to the bathroom; I'd look in her drawers which held her jewelry, lingere (storkings, girdle). Grandma had a stocky stomach (of which I inherited), held in place with tight, constricting apparatus, and she would wear some sort of flowery dress. Her hair was white-grey, curly; packed/set in place with a large dosage of canned aerosol hair spray. I'd go with her to her friend's house (Darlene) where she would have her hair washed, curled, set. We then shopped at TOPS; never stops saving you more... which was located right down the street from Chester Avenue, where the homestead was. Grandma would buy ladyfinger cookies, shrotbread sandies, ice cream, beef. Beef was a staple food in the Smith household. I remember pressing the ground meat into patties with a round metal cut-out, wrapping them in plastic, putting them in the freezer. Another regular meal fav was chicken livers with onions. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm! Along with mashed potatoes. Those accompanied any meal. And corn. I can smell the aroma of their kitchen concoctions Grandpa had a crock pot in which he would cook navy beans mixed with brown sugar and bacon. They loved thier bacon, whether it was eaten with eggs and white toast, or in a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich (toasted bread). Food was doused with lots of butter and salt. Grandpa ate slowly, masticating every mouthful of food for what I imagine was a calm, smooth digestive process; whereas Grandma consumed her food with fervor, finished before Grandpa's plate was half-eaten. Sunday's dinner was roast beef. Grandma's gravy was tops. The best ever, to which she passed this fat-laden greasy delicious gloppy formula on to Mom (Grandma - Anne) for all to enjoy. Rutabaga, turnip or butternut squash was part of this meal. Another favorite I recall is the "boiled dinner": onions, carrots, potatoes, cabbage mixed in a pot with corned beef. Irish as they get! Grandpa would bake cornbread. Mmmmmmmm.
Grandma was bold, unafraid to speak her truth and opinions. She was conservative Roman Catholic Evangelical; close to the Blessed Mother, praying the rosary every single day. I remember as a young pre-teen riding up to the Pentacostal church on Grand Island for prayer meetings. It was a large congregation of holy rolling speaking-in-tongues born-again Christians. Denise and Cindy were in on this "gift", to which I suspected some folks of faking it. It's the sound of babbling in a foreign tongue that to me felt strange. Another time I'd gone to another evangelical crusade that was out of town. There was a speaker, David Wilkerson, who invited everyone who was ready and willing to give their lives to Jesus Christ to come forward to be prayed over. I readily accepted the call. I did feel the Holy Spirit's prompting me to move, heart beating fast. It was exciting. Grandma's faith was strong. She regularly would watch Pat Robertson on t.v. whom she admired greatly. Yes, church, Catholic Christian morals, home prayer meetings, she was involved. She read and wrote in her New American Bible, had scraps of paper and prayer cards in her lap. She bought crosses, religious articles, rosaries. She'd pray fervently for family and friends, especially those travelling. She sighed heavily with concern and worry over the sins of the people in the world. "We have so much to be thankful for." "It's going to get so much worse" (the future events of the world), she would SIGH. Grandma planted many seeds in me, one of which was the eventual study of therapeutic massage. Suffering from arthritis, she would encourage me to study massage therapy as I rubbed her knees, and back. Grandma had an infectious laugh. Because she was so quick and witty, you would latch on to her joy; perhaps more often than not she was mostly lamenting over someone else's suffering (sigh, sigh, SIGH).
Summer picnics in the back yard with the cousins ~ Smiths (Glen), Smiths (Alan) and Baney (Joan). Potato salad - lots of ham and onion; orange fluff cottage cheese jello mold, hot dogs and hamburgers. Kids galore. Fun! Riding in the car with Grandma driving was a constant push-pull (and seat belts were not yet mandatory as she'd speed way up only to step her foot on the brake in one constant motion the whole ride thru!) Whew! I felt like a rooster-gun-brake-gun-brake. St. Christipher was always protecting us.
The living room: comfy comfy rocking chair-cushioned; black and white blond t.v. No remotes yet~ manual-turn the knob kind. We'd watch the Patti Duke show, Mike Douglas and Ed Sullivan, Bonanza, Jacques Cousteau; good, clean shows. Kitchen towel rag dolls we made...
I hated going in the basement- it was full of spider cobwebs, sump pumpy poopy smell. A huge willow tree adorned the front yard, hanging out like a warm umbrella. Washing the slotted windows on the front porch (who invented such a stupid design?!) Napping on Grandpa and Grandma's bed was a dream- so dark and comfortable! The couch in their living room had a very large busy flowery printed cover. The wallpaper too was busy loud. Sundays at their house was special. Warm, inviting, cozy, sweet, homey. Love was always the feeling I got there. Grandpa would impart to us deep wise nuggets of truth with his strange wit that I didn't always understand/appreciate. He was gentle, humble, meek, and mild-mannered. Steady, plodding, slow, slow to anger. Always quietly moving with assurance, understanding, compassion, sacrifice and big big love. I am truly blessed by both of them.
~~~~~~ Our Roots are just as important as Our Flowers!!!!~~~~~~
May we cheirsh and honor our past, and continue to encourage and honor our future, daily!!!
Arthur Bateman and Catherine Magdalene (McMusker). I remember them praying the rosary together. Talk about opposites~ the perfect match. Grandma would recite her part very quickly, even starting before Grandpa was finished with his. He was slow, methodical, calm, quiet, gentle, mild-mannered. Dark-skinned, especially in the summer season. I can smell his ripe, biting persperation, sweating in the hot sun; wearing thin white tank t-shirts. Grandpa liked the outdoors; gardening, mowing the lawn, watering hose in hand, tending the dry earth. There was a grand old green hammock hanging in their backyard in which I loved to rock. I'd hear grandma sream out the door in her high-pitched voice, "Art, your supper's getting cold!" Grandma was speed, Grandpa the speed-bump. He'd be tinkering with his myriad of tools in the garage; gadgets, unfinished projects, inventions in-the-works. He was a practical procrastinator. Detail-oriented, an electrician by trade. Brown skin with a large nose, where she Grandma, was white as snow, featuring a pug-nose. Really their features were quite a contrast. She had large blue eyes, yet mostly I saw her with eyeglasses on. She wore a heavy coat of "Bluegrass" perfume. I'd go into her dressing room which was next to the bathroom; I'd look in her drawers which held her jewelry, lingere (storkings, girdle). Grandma had a stocky stomach (of which I inherited), held in place with tight, constricting apparatus, and she would wear some sort of flowery dress. Her hair was white-grey, curly; packed/set in place with a large dosage of canned aerosol hair spray. I'd go with her to her friend's house (Darlene) where she would have her hair washed, curled, set. We then shopped at TOPS; never stops saving you more... which was located right down the street from Chester Avenue, where the homestead was. Grandma would buy ladyfinger cookies, shrotbread sandies, ice cream, beef. Beef was a staple food in the Smith household. I remember pressing the ground meat into patties with a round metal cut-out, wrapping them in plastic, putting them in the freezer. Another regular meal fav was chicken livers with onions. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm! Along with mashed potatoes. Those accompanied any meal. And corn. I can smell the aroma of their kitchen concoctions Grandpa had a crock pot in which he would cook navy beans mixed with brown sugar and bacon. They loved thier bacon, whether it was eaten with eggs and white toast, or in a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich (toasted bread). Food was doused with lots of butter and salt. Grandpa ate slowly, masticating every mouthful of food for what I imagine was a calm, smooth digestive process; whereas Grandma consumed her food with fervor, finished before Grandpa's plate was half-eaten. Sunday's dinner was roast beef. Grandma's gravy was tops. The best ever, to which she passed this fat-laden greasy delicious gloppy formula on to Mom (Grandma - Anne) for all to enjoy. Rutabaga, turnip or butternut squash was part of this meal. Another favorite I recall is the "boiled dinner": onions, carrots, potatoes, cabbage mixed in a pot with corned beef. Irish as they get! Grandpa would bake cornbread. Mmmmmmmm.
Grandma was bold, unafraid to speak her truth and opinions. She was conservative Roman Catholic Evangelical; close to the Blessed Mother, praying the rosary every single day. I remember as a young pre-teen riding up to the Pentacostal church on Grand Island for prayer meetings. It was a large congregation of holy rolling speaking-in-tongues born-again Christians. Denise and Cindy were in on this "gift", to which I suspected some folks of faking it. It's the sound of babbling in a foreign tongue that to me felt strange. Another time I'd gone to another evangelical crusade that was out of town. There was a speaker, David Wilkerson, who invited everyone who was ready and willing to give their lives to Jesus Christ to come forward to be prayed over. I readily accepted the call. I did feel the Holy Spirit's prompting me to move, heart beating fast. It was exciting. Grandma's faith was strong. She regularly would watch Pat Robertson on t.v. whom she admired greatly. Yes, church, Catholic Christian morals, home prayer meetings, she was involved. She read and wrote in her New American Bible, had scraps of paper and prayer cards in her lap. She bought crosses, religious articles, rosaries. She'd pray fervently for family and friends, especially those travelling. She sighed heavily with concern and worry over the sins of the people in the world. "We have so much to be thankful for." "It's going to get so much worse" (the future events of the world), she would SIGH. Grandma planted many seeds in me, one of which was the eventual study of therapeutic massage. Suffering from arthritis, she would encourage me to study massage therapy as I rubbed her knees, and back. Grandma had an infectious laugh. Because she was so quick and witty, you would latch on to her joy; perhaps more often than not she was mostly lamenting over someone else's suffering (sigh, sigh, SIGH).
Summer picnics in the back yard with the cousins ~ Smiths (Glen), Smiths (Alan) and Baney (Joan). Potato salad - lots of ham and onion; orange fluff cottage cheese jello mold, hot dogs and hamburgers. Kids galore. Fun! Riding in the car with Grandma driving was a constant push-pull (and seat belts were not yet mandatory as she'd speed way up only to step her foot on the brake in one constant motion the whole ride thru!) Whew! I felt like a rooster-gun-brake-gun-brake. St. Christipher was always protecting us.
The living room: comfy comfy rocking chair-cushioned; black and white blond t.v. No remotes yet~ manual-turn the knob kind. We'd watch the Patti Duke show, Mike Douglas and Ed Sullivan, Bonanza, Jacques Cousteau; good, clean shows. Kitchen towel rag dolls we made...
I hated going in the basement- it was full of spider cobwebs, sump pumpy poopy smell. A huge willow tree adorned the front yard, hanging out like a warm umbrella. Washing the slotted windows on the front porch (who invented such a stupid design?!) Napping on Grandpa and Grandma's bed was a dream- so dark and comfortable! The couch in their living room had a very large busy flowery printed cover. The wallpaper too was busy loud. Sundays at their house was special. Warm, inviting, cozy, sweet, homey. Love was always the feeling I got there. Grandpa would impart to us deep wise nuggets of truth with his strange wit that I didn't always understand/appreciate. He was gentle, humble, meek, and mild-mannered. Steady, plodding, slow, slow to anger. Always quietly moving with assurance, understanding, compassion, sacrifice and big big love. I am truly blessed by both of them.
~~~~~~ Our Roots are just as important as Our Flowers!!!!~~~~~~
May we cheirsh and honor our past, and continue to encourage and honor our future, daily!!!
Friday, February 8, 2008
The First To Blog!!!!
Well, if at first you succeed, do it again!!!!
The following is the edited version of the first and original post by one JKS.
And if you gotz a problem with this one, bugger off.
2007
Grandpa Sauvageau and Nana:
My childhood memories of Sylva, Nana, Grandma and Grandpa, YO!
Sylva: Very slight memories do I have of him. As a young girl (7 ish) I remember Grandpa presenting me with a rocking chair in the garage at 1316 Garrett Ave. How special I felt. Did he not work in a lumberyard? Je ne sais pas for sure. It's more of an abstract sketchy unclear recollection I present here. I remember Grandpa stopping by the house, but for brief periods of time. I don't recall his having any sort of regular involvement with the family. He spoke with a French accent, somewhat thick, was pleasant, had white white hair. One (or a few, most likely) times I accompanied Uncle Ivan to his apartment on 8th or 7th Street in the Falls, where IRS would check in on Grandpa, seeing that he was taking his medication and things were in order. Grandpa was known to have been a regular imbiber of alcohol. Every Saturday he would visit Nana, where the most dilicious spaghetti dinner would be awaiting him. I visited Sylva at Niagara Geriatric Center on Cedar Ave. where he would now and again escape to the outside world. He, I think, was also a resident of another nursing home in Ransomville for awhile. I'd watch his hand shake due to the effects of Parkinson's disease. Barely do I recall his death or even how old he was when he passed on from this life to the next.
Nana: or St. Cora (Aurora)
Going over to Nana's house was like stepping into Heaven. She embraced us with the biggest, most blessed love. She loved children, and most people. I felt like a princess in her home. It was filled with warmth; she paid each child so much special attention. Nana's home was clean, sparce, and simple. There was nothing fussy about her. She'd say to us, in her mild French accent, "Mon petit chou.", which means "My little cabbage." She'd peel an apple in one, single, long, thin, spiral skin. She always had snacks for us: Bugles, cheese curls, cookies, cakes, pies: we'd curl up in a comfy chair (or the couch) watching old Rock Hudson or Doris Day movies; or listen to old-fashioned love songs on the radio. Meals were simple, delicious, and nutritious. Everything about visiting Nana was pure love. She put everyone ahead of herself, always concerned about her family and friends. Maurice St. Maurice was a man who lived for many years with Nana and Uncle Ivan. He was mentally challenged, yet able to drive a car. As the story goes from what she told me, a friend of hers asked her if she could take this man into her home as a boarder because he needed a place to live. At first when Nana met him, she thought to herself, "There is no way this man can stay here." It wasn't until Maurice got down on his knees, made the sign of the cross, and practically begged her to let him stay there, that she realized what an innocent stud he was. We'd go out shopping and/or for lunch (Nana never learned to drive), Maurice was the driver. I'd be sitting in the back seat praying that he wouldn't cross the yellow line on the road to the other side, or that some exasperated other driver wouldn't shoot at us, driving 25 MPH in a 45 MPH zone. St. Christopher was surely watching over us. Maurice had a nervous disorder. We'd stop at the gas station to buy gas, the total cost being $0.25. Yes, cents, I said. This was a normal routine. On the road, travelling at a snail's pace I was crunched down below window view, embarrassment coloring my flesh from head to toe. BINGO on Saturdays. After Mass at St. Leo's church. Or elsewhere. The room was a fog of thick cigarette smoke. Yet Nana loved playing Bingo. She reveled in meeting new people there, buying snacks, playing 3 boards at a time, winning the game. Stella, her friend of many years, would sometimes join us. We'd visit her friend Jeanette, who lived not far from her. I can still hear her distinctive, nervous-sounding voice. We'd sit for tea, cookies, and talk. Many of Nana's friends had some sort of nervous disorder. To me, it was quite interesting, to say the least. Nana befriended many people. The proof was at Christmas time when her living room walls were covered like wallpaper with cards from friends near and far. She spoke of her relatives from New Brunswick, her childhood, and homestead; stories of walking long distances to and from school, the freeeezing cold weather, the woods, being scared in the dark, sharing a bed that held the small body of her siblings; being born herself prematurely (so small her mother would hold her in one hand); being made fun of for being so skinny~"chicken legs", they'd call her.... Cora's father was left on the homestead while Victorinne headed South to the USA with then, 16-year old Nana. There was a living to be made in Niagara Falls, NY, where a couple of brothers were already working and living. At this time Nana knew no English. She would have to learn the language, and customs of American life. She helped her mother run a boarding house. Being that they lived downtown near the Falls, it made sense for her to work in a store (souvenir, I'm not sure) . It was at one of these shops that Nana first laid eyes on Sylva (grandpa), her future husband. That first meeting she said to herself, "I'm going to marry him."
We (siblings and I) would go to Sacred Heart Church on Sunday's for Mass. From my childhood perspective, this holy sanctuary was huge, glorious, magnificent, and beautiful, with its looming, grand ceilings, old gothic-style architecture, antique hanging lights, colorful statues.... It was always a challenge for me to sit still, be quiet, and pay attention to what was being prayed. Nana awould have to scold us periodically for being noisy, laughing, distracting her and others around us. It would be here that only years later wold I be able to understand and appreciate the magnitude of peace and strength I receive from receiving Jesus in the most Blessed Sacrament. Thank you Nana!!!! She moved with grace, meekness, humility, that of which I to this day remember as extraordinary. There was a sense of regal pride to her, though she was simple and poor. Simple in the manner of not owning many material goods. She was neat and clean; when I close my eyes and go back to her house I can smell the scent of each room. Her strength and dignity reminds me of the proverb 31:25 31~"She is clothed with dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future. When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instructions with kindness. She carefully watches everything in her household and suffers nothing from laziness. Her children stand and bless her. Her husband praises her." "There are many virtuous and capable women in the world, but you surpass them all!" Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last, but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised. Reward her for all she has done. Let her deeds publicly declare her praise."
Her heart was full of compassion and understanding. She was gifted with premonitions, visions and dreams of a supernatural reality. Her eyes were a piercing bright blue, like the color that is often attributed to the Blessed Mother, to which she had a continual devotion. One of my most precious childhood memories I cherish is carrying a basket full of white wet clothes and hanging them up on the clothesline outside in the back yard. Nothing on earth surpasses the smell of these clothes and bed sheets after they'd been dried by sun and fresh summer air.
When is your book due out JKS?????
Until the next time............ The Smith's are next.....
Anyone, anyone.... Bueler, .......you who have not typed a lick yet..... HELLO.....
Where art thou???
No excuse is worthy at this point.....
Redeem yourself while there is still time.....
I will haunt you in your dreams...
"Don't wait too long to get out on that dance floor!!!!!
Bring It On!!!!!!!
The following is the edited version of the first and original post by one JKS.
And if you gotz a problem with this one, bugger off.
2007
Grandpa Sauvageau and Nana:
My childhood memories of Sylva, Nana, Grandma and Grandpa, YO!
Sylva: Very slight memories do I have of him. As a young girl (7 ish) I remember Grandpa presenting me with a rocking chair in the garage at 1316 Garrett Ave. How special I felt. Did he not work in a lumberyard? Je ne sais pas for sure. It's more of an abstract sketchy unclear recollection I present here. I remember Grandpa stopping by the house, but for brief periods of time. I don't recall his having any sort of regular involvement with the family. He spoke with a French accent, somewhat thick, was pleasant, had white white hair. One (or a few, most likely) times I accompanied Uncle Ivan to his apartment on 8th or 7th Street in the Falls, where IRS would check in on Grandpa, seeing that he was taking his medication and things were in order. Grandpa was known to have been a regular imbiber of alcohol. Every Saturday he would visit Nana, where the most dilicious spaghetti dinner would be awaiting him. I visited Sylva at Niagara Geriatric Center on Cedar Ave. where he would now and again escape to the outside world. He, I think, was also a resident of another nursing home in Ransomville for awhile. I'd watch his hand shake due to the effects of Parkinson's disease. Barely do I recall his death or even how old he was when he passed on from this life to the next.
Nana: or St. Cora (Aurora)
Going over to Nana's house was like stepping into Heaven. She embraced us with the biggest, most blessed love. She loved children, and most people. I felt like a princess in her home. It was filled with warmth; she paid each child so much special attention. Nana's home was clean, sparce, and simple. There was nothing fussy about her. She'd say to us, in her mild French accent, "Mon petit chou.", which means "My little cabbage." She'd peel an apple in one, single, long, thin, spiral skin. She always had snacks for us: Bugles, cheese curls, cookies, cakes, pies: we'd curl up in a comfy chair (or the couch) watching old Rock Hudson or Doris Day movies; or listen to old-fashioned love songs on the radio. Meals were simple, delicious, and nutritious. Everything about visiting Nana was pure love. She put everyone ahead of herself, always concerned about her family and friends. Maurice St. Maurice was a man who lived for many years with Nana and Uncle Ivan. He was mentally challenged, yet able to drive a car. As the story goes from what she told me, a friend of hers asked her if she could take this man into her home as a boarder because he needed a place to live. At first when Nana met him, she thought to herself, "There is no way this man can stay here." It wasn't until Maurice got down on his knees, made the sign of the cross, and practically begged her to let him stay there, that she realized what an innocent stud he was. We'd go out shopping and/or for lunch (Nana never learned to drive), Maurice was the driver. I'd be sitting in the back seat praying that he wouldn't cross the yellow line on the road to the other side, or that some exasperated other driver wouldn't shoot at us, driving 25 MPH in a 45 MPH zone. St. Christopher was surely watching over us. Maurice had a nervous disorder. We'd stop at the gas station to buy gas, the total cost being $0.25. Yes, cents, I said. This was a normal routine. On the road, travelling at a snail's pace I was crunched down below window view, embarrassment coloring my flesh from head to toe. BINGO on Saturdays. After Mass at St. Leo's church. Or elsewhere. The room was a fog of thick cigarette smoke. Yet Nana loved playing Bingo. She reveled in meeting new people there, buying snacks, playing 3 boards at a time, winning the game. Stella, her friend of many years, would sometimes join us. We'd visit her friend Jeanette, who lived not far from her. I can still hear her distinctive, nervous-sounding voice. We'd sit for tea, cookies, and talk. Many of Nana's friends had some sort of nervous disorder. To me, it was quite interesting, to say the least. Nana befriended many people. The proof was at Christmas time when her living room walls were covered like wallpaper with cards from friends near and far. She spoke of her relatives from New Brunswick, her childhood, and homestead; stories of walking long distances to and from school, the freeeezing cold weather, the woods, being scared in the dark, sharing a bed that held the small body of her siblings; being born herself prematurely (so small her mother would hold her in one hand); being made fun of for being so skinny~"chicken legs", they'd call her.... Cora's father was left on the homestead while Victorinne headed South to the USA with then, 16-year old Nana. There was a living to be made in Niagara Falls, NY, where a couple of brothers were already working and living. At this time Nana knew no English. She would have to learn the language, and customs of American life. She helped her mother run a boarding house. Being that they lived downtown near the Falls, it made sense for her to work in a store (souvenir, I'm not sure) . It was at one of these shops that Nana first laid eyes on Sylva (grandpa), her future husband. That first meeting she said to herself, "I'm going to marry him."
We (siblings and I) would go to Sacred Heart Church on Sunday's for Mass. From my childhood perspective, this holy sanctuary was huge, glorious, magnificent, and beautiful, with its looming, grand ceilings, old gothic-style architecture, antique hanging lights, colorful statues.... It was always a challenge for me to sit still, be quiet, and pay attention to what was being prayed. Nana awould have to scold us periodically for being noisy, laughing, distracting her and others around us. It would be here that only years later wold I be able to understand and appreciate the magnitude of peace and strength I receive from receiving Jesus in the most Blessed Sacrament. Thank you Nana!!!! She moved with grace, meekness, humility, that of which I to this day remember as extraordinary. There was a sense of regal pride to her, though she was simple and poor. Simple in the manner of not owning many material goods. She was neat and clean; when I close my eyes and go back to her house I can smell the scent of each room. Her strength and dignity reminds me of the proverb 31:25 31~"She is clothed with dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future. When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instructions with kindness. She carefully watches everything in her household and suffers nothing from laziness. Her children stand and bless her. Her husband praises her." "There are many virtuous and capable women in the world, but you surpass them all!" Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last, but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised. Reward her for all she has done. Let her deeds publicly declare her praise."
Her heart was full of compassion and understanding. She was gifted with premonitions, visions and dreams of a supernatural reality. Her eyes were a piercing bright blue, like the color that is often attributed to the Blessed Mother, to which she had a continual devotion. One of my most precious childhood memories I cherish is carrying a basket full of white wet clothes and hanging them up on the clothesline outside in the back yard. Nothing on earth surpasses the smell of these clothes and bed sheets after they'd been dried by sun and fresh summer air.
When is your book due out JKS?????
Until the next time............ The Smith's are next.....
Anyone, anyone.... Bueler, .......you who have not typed a lick yet..... HELLO.....
Where art thou???
No excuse is worthy at this point.....
Redeem yourself while there is still time.....
I will haunt you in your dreams...
"Don't wait too long to get out on that dance floor!!!!!
Bring It On!!!!!!!
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