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!!!!!!!