tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33346329122322821852024-03-19T04:50:03.644-07:00Potpourri
of family storiesLorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-23833680165547078692016-05-11T00:06:00.000-07:002016-05-12T00:43:21.566-07:00A Change in Life<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
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I enjoy looking out my window at the birds - I find it both entertaining and relaxing. I feed them and bought them a bird bath, all of which I placed out by the Dogwood tree in the backyard. The one my dad planted. Now the tree creates a little haven for the various birds that visit the yard. Once in a while I have to chase out a neighbor cat. They enjoy the birds too but for a different reason than me.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dogwood tree</td></tr>
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My life has slowed down immensely in the past two years since I retired. Now I get to enjoy things I never would have notice in my past busy schedule of working three jobs and taking a weekend course. I have time to do what I want to do. I like it.</div>
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My dad, Alvin, died in 2008 after a three year struggle with Myelofibrosis, a disorder of the bone marrow. It affects the red blood cells and people get anemic. It started with him complaining about being tired all the time. I watched my once energetic father struggle to move, lose weight, get infusions (a type of transfusion) progressively until he was getting them every couple of weeks. He was a trooper. I remember him carrying the water can from plant to plant outside on hot days. Watering the few plants that managed to survive his slow health decline. He continued to maintain the house with my mother Louise’s help. But then my mom wasn’t doing that great either and she ended up in the hospital with a lung infection, after that they put her on oxygen so when she got back home she had to drag her little tank around everywhere she went.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">My home, at that time, was in Burbank, CA where I worked in the transportation department of Warner Brother’s Studio. I had been there 19 years and had an opportunity for early retirement after 20 years, since I would be 55 years old. My son, Ryan, was 25 years old, still living at home, between jobs but working part time as an extra in T.V. and movies. We were all suffering through a writer’s strike and the job situation and economy were fast going south.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in the garden</td></tr>
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And that’s what happened. One day the thought hit me to ask my son if he would go to Oregon for a year and help out my parents. Before I ran this by mom and dad, I felt I should “try to convince” Ryan how important this was - I knew he would say “no way.” That night when I mentioned it to him. I was surprised when his face brightened, he sat up straighter and actually got excited. He didn’t even need to think about it. Wow. I really didn’t know my son. He was close to his friends and L.A. lifestyle and I never imagined he might want to leave all that. Plus, he would be biting off a lot to take care of ailing grandparents, who he had met maybe six times since he was five years old.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Ryan</td></tr>
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The next day my mom told me Social Services wanted to talk to her. They were concerned she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself. They wanted to set an appointment. There was my mom, driving to see my dad every day with her mobile oxygen tank. It was tiring her out, no doubt. She thought they were being helpful but I don’t always trust government agencies and I had heard horror stories of elderly abuse, drugs, setting up guardians, taking their money, selling their home and personal belongings, putting them in a home - you get the picture. I told my mom not to meet with them. I said, “Tell them your grandson’s coming to stay for a while and help out. My parents were so excited and my dad even offered to pay Ryan for his help (money was always king in my household). </div>
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In two days Ryan had his one-way ticket and was gone to Oregon. Over the next weeks my dad’s health deteriorated. Soon I bought a plane ticket because I felt I needed to be there at his side. I took a week’s vacation and was so grateful I did because my dad died midnight of the morning I was scheduled to fly back home. He was just a few days past his 80th birthday. He had always said he wanted to live to be 80. I thought, “Be careful what you wish for.”</div>
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A lot took place in that week before my dad died that brought me to a place of peace with regards to personal issues that I hadn’t faced and held onto all my life. In the end I was left with renewed love and closeness - cherished loving memories of self-sacrifice, knowing I helped my father in his time of need, knowing I made amends. It’s amazing how quickly people can change in the face of hardships and emotional trauma. How viewpoints can shift and minds once hard and set can soften. Hearts can do the same. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Dad</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I stayed for another week on my bereavement leave from work and reconnected with family and friends. My dad had set up his entire funeral in advance and paid for everything. I can’t put enough emphasis on how important that was to his loved ones left behind to not have to make those kinds of decisions. And we knew everything was as he wanted it. The only things we had to select were the clothes he would wear and the day of the funeral.</span></div>
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I had lived away from my family since I was 18, always anxious to leave, just get away, sometimes angry, and for the first time in my life when I flew back to L.A. I felt like I was not coming home. I wanted and needed to stay in Oregon near my mom and son. That’s where I now belonged. </div>
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As I watched the brilliant sunset from the plane’s window I cried and thought of the song my dad had selected to be played at his funeral - It was about, somewhere over the sunset, that’s where he would be going. An old song from his era I had never heard. I stared out the plane window toward the sunset knowing he must be there somewhere and aware of me watching. I said goodbye and promised to take care of mother.</div>
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The next year I called “home” every day. I began wrapping up the loose ends, selling all my belongings on Craigslist, saving my money and getting rid of useless accumulated crap. It felt good and as the process continued I began to feel free and unencumbered. I flew home over Christmas, helped paint the living room, sorted through belongings with mom and knew this was where I belonged. </div>
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Over that year I helped my mom work with her health issues - she in Oregon me in California. I helped her buy an air filtration system. Had her take out the carpets and put in oak floors. Told her to get rid of dust traps that weren’t helping her lung condition. We spoke of diet and nutrition, not running the furnace but finding another heat source. She was making changes. </div>
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A person has to have a reason to live, something to look forward to, in order to survive. I wanted my mother to survive. I tried to get her interested in her genealogy again because she had set it aside and it was her favorite past time.</div>
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Ryan helped her every step of the way and it was an invaluable lesson in responsibility. I was so proud of him. I know many young adults would not do what he did. After we were sure my mom could manage better, she had cut down on the oxygen, Ryan went looking for a job and got the first one he applied for. One day when we were talking on the phone he said, “I’m not coming back to L.A. I’ve discovered my personality is more suited to Oregon.” Hearing that was like a ray of light in my world.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom with her brothers and their wives</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I left L.A. July 1, 2009 to drive to Portland, Oregon with my friend Mark. He had helped me paint my apartment, clean, pack and finally drive there in one day. I was home. I moved back into my old bedroom (odd) and for the first time in 30 years I was living in someone else’s home - I had lived here throughout my high school years - but it in no way represented me.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">It was my mother’s home and I soon found out we lived on opposite ends of the equator when it came to how we did things. But I was ready to step up to the plate.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I knew, no matter what lay ahead, I was doing the right thing.</span></div>
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Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-38779326499088510632013-04-17T14:51:00.001-07:002013-04-17T16:32:42.642-07:00Mariah's Miracle<br />
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Story by Lorita OLeary</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">(This story was originally written in 2010)</span></div>
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Mariah Evans, one of the triplets born to my niece Melanie and her husband Mike Evans in Virginia, turned nine this April along with her brother Ethan and sister Savannah. Mariah was the largest but eventually the weakest of the triplets. Because of a prolapsed umbilical cord during pregnancy and possibly labor, and attorneys belief that there was negligent prenatal care while Melanie was hospitalized, Ethan and Mariah were born with Cerebral Palsy. </div>
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<span class="s1">Melanie said it started “with the fact that I had only one ultrasound for monitoring the entire 4 weeks I was in the hospital in preterm labor and ending with the fact that Savannah was the only one of the three who received oxygen at birth, and she is the only one not affected [with Cerebral Palsy].” Mariah suffered severe symptoms and had more problems than her brother Ethan. In her early days Mariah spent much of her time in the hospital and had several operations. Doctors told Melanie and Mike she would never walk or talk.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYEZilO7Q5NjDWrvR3OGfIevEIpbNwdBM0lV-KXsQu8ZqScdZaoy2ItBK801xyqLwhknGQFF5-ywxpZhrZg5zhw9Xeo7sbKlQ9l51InlPIU3HzHcjqcUgEiFd-wcM6rKgzTDgfydkiuU/s1600/48119_10151624456062990_605194650_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYEZilO7Q5NjDWrvR3OGfIevEIpbNwdBM0lV-KXsQu8ZqScdZaoy2ItBK801xyqLwhknGQFF5-ywxpZhrZg5zhw9Xeo7sbKlQ9l51InlPIU3HzHcjqcUgEiFd-wcM6rKgzTDgfydkiuU/s320/48119_10151624456062990_605194650_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triplets - Ethan, Savannah, Mariah</td></tr>
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Her triplet sister Savannah was normal in every way and a bundle of energy. She looked just like her mother did when she was her age. Her brother Ethan who was also born with Palsy could now talk in whole sentences, hold his head up and will possibly walk one day. He’s a very smart little guy with a high IQ and gets around in a motorized wheel chair.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZu15i1HJFMBnbgGTHEQ7KFruJ_O8y_9NoJQbtEj9I6mGWFSqAnYYvAc3kaq2L0-VvQU5dnbmpeaQeDmpvgvw4o0PiY_tA7huhFMD7cDt_S73X8h0bYEPf_vPX9Q6MTfA2Wc5ue-mCdw/s1600/399041_10150806813402990_473768967_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZu15i1HJFMBnbgGTHEQ7KFruJ_O8y_9NoJQbtEj9I6mGWFSqAnYYvAc3kaq2L0-VvQU5dnbmpeaQeDmpvgvw4o0PiY_tA7huhFMD7cDt_S73X8h0bYEPf_vPX9Q6MTfA2Wc5ue-mCdw/s200/399041_10150806813402990_473768967_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mariah & Ethan</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlFXQjHJMJNJaemAwFtvd3NBO-xH_F1i_9bW_5RrfK4mqChu0h0_Ili3HYannKrLfK3M_5EXDspWK-e2inEXEtSGmlAFk9HwdqDExfdP5OhC-NyX0Zqr7bv6dDytV6EVu9dxrlu0sGWM/s1600/418261_10150642876487990_1464322314_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlFXQjHJMJNJaemAwFtvd3NBO-xH_F1i_9bW_5RrfK4mqChu0h0_Ili3HYannKrLfK3M_5EXDspWK-e2inEXEtSGmlAFk9HwdqDExfdP5OhC-NyX0Zqr7bv6dDytV6EVu9dxrlu0sGWM/s320/418261_10150642876487990_1464322314_n.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ethan</td></tr>
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Mariah could not hold her head up or move around like her siblings although she is very alert and understands all that is said. The Palsy seemed to affect her muscles most. What is evident is her happy and lovable spirit in spite of her handicaps. Since getting on Facebook my mom and I have come to realize how many people Mariah has touched.</div>
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<span class="s1">When Mariah was around two-years-old the whole family, including my sister-in-law Wilda and her entire family except her oldest daughter Crystal, up and moved to Savannah Tennessee where they bought a twenty acre farm. The property was inexpensive and had a large house, a duplex and a trailer house included. Mike’s parents also moved there from Virginia and they all shared the property. After they got there they built Wilda a three bedroom pre-fabricated house with an attached porch on a section of the property. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">While there, Mariah always had nurses to help her and she had physical therapy to exercise her muscles daily. Her parents eventually got her a special wheelchair as she got older that helped to hold up her head. She loved her wheelchair as she could now sit up and see what was going on around her. It allowed her to be more involved with the family. From that point she blossomed. Mike and Melanie had two other children before the triplets – Jeremy who is a couple of years older and Andrew who was ten years older. All the children loved Mariah and helped her in any way they could. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Savannah, Ethan, Mariah with older brothers Andrew & Jeremy</td></tr>
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After several years Melanie and Mike decided they wanted to move back to Virginia. They prayed about the move because it would disrupt all their lives as they were quite established now in Tennessee. They had not sold their previous house in Virginia but had rented it out. One day shortly after they had decided they were going to move in October they got a call from their tenants telling them they were moving and would be out on October first. Melanie and Mike hadn’t even told them about their plans so it was obvious to them that God had answered their prayers.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Beach</td></tr>
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Now, moved back into their home in Virginia which they always loved, Melanie had to make new arrangements for the triplet’s care. Melanie’s older brother Scott had come back to Virginia with them and moved into the bungalow on their property. Melanie found out she could get government subsidy for the triplet’s care so she could now pay Scott to help out. Eventually her sister Crystalee, who is a trained caregiver, offered to help also and did so until she had two children of her own. But it has always been a family endeavor based on a strong faith in God. That family also extends out into the community now since Mike sometimes takes the pastor’s place in his absence. Because of this they have many supportive friends from their church.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9v66UKfht97ImVoSrqUWFMXQOa5lANiXjm6so2Ruux-8_busYdy50jOYLSZwgGy7rhGz3oOMh1_7fwX_HlQUJ7CDYhtNFawdaFlihYpHSS7w7u_L6qyXwaiycbRjWjlJ3p1M_gnWEzTM/s1600/557087_10151119525517990_1218263995_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9v66UKfht97ImVoSrqUWFMXQOa5lANiXjm6so2Ruux-8_busYdy50jOYLSZwgGy7rhGz3oOMh1_7fwX_HlQUJ7CDYhtNFawdaFlihYpHSS7w7u_L6qyXwaiycbRjWjlJ3p1M_gnWEzTM/s320/557087_10151119525517990_1218263995_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike & Melanie with the gang</td></tr>
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One day I was looking at Facebook, where we can keep in touch with the whole family daily, and Melanie had a short video clip of Mariah walking. We were so excited we had to turn that video on to see what was happening. Soon we saw Mariah taking baby steps with the help of her mom Melanie. We could hear her squeals of delight as she put one foot in front of the other, a big smile on her face, as the rest of the family cheered her on. Mariah looked so determined and proud. Mike held the camera, giving words of encouragement as Melanie moved back and walked Mariah toward the camera again. One of the most moving moments of this brief video was when her sister Savannah briefly appeared on the screen as a blur of excitement pushing Melanie and Mariah back to their starting point so they could walk toward the camera for a third time. You couldn’t see Savannah’s face but you could tell how thrilled she was because of her sister’s accomplishment. </div>
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<span class="s1">So, that made two blessings we experienced that day – the first because we were able to see this at all across all those miles, the second because everyone was so happy to witness what we would never have expected – Mariah walking. In the past we wouldn’t have been able to share this event on the same evening as the rest of the family – Mariah's miracle brought to us by modern conveniences.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWODWiozA9UrcxILgIX9LhTXbYZv5sV06fRk6U-D7gYuu93-ZKSZE_vipbcwfvgGZ8CetmaBjdsMHsaSm-naL6jcqwGnVFBzYoe81fy0hzAzfIhJJ8PuD7P3ElnMC4PMvEXeI_KneUB7s/s1600/535034_10151626118547990_1298820989_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWODWiozA9UrcxILgIX9LhTXbYZv5sV06fRk6U-D7gYuu93-ZKSZE_vipbcwfvgGZ8CetmaBjdsMHsaSm-naL6jcqwGnVFBzYoe81fy0hzAzfIhJJ8PuD7P3ElnMC4PMvEXeI_KneUB7s/s320/535034_10151626118547990_1298820989_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The triplets just celebrated their 9th birthday</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Mariah <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZ7EBn7P8sc">"WALKING"</a> tonight!! Please excuse my
yelling, but needless to say she made me one proud enthusiastic mommy!
Hahaha! Thanks for watching! (click the link on "Walking" to see it)</span><br />
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Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-10748289184257628132013-02-20T10:34:00.003-08:002013-02-20T10:39:23.445-08:00More Than Coincidence<span style="font-size: x-small;">Story by Lorita O'Leary & Wilda Lahmann</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Randy with three of his children - Jon, Alissa & Crystalee</i></td></tr>
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My husband, Randy, shook me awake, It must have been 2:00 A.M. He was hunched over, holding a hand to his chest. “Wilda, I need to get to the hospital,” he said, gasping. “Can’t breathe.”</div>
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<span class="s1">“I’ll call 911,” I said, jumping out of bed.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“No time,” he gasped again. “Drive me. Now.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I helped him up and got him in our van. Randy slumped against the passenger-side door. Fifteen miles to the hospital. <i>Too far, I</i> thought. We’re not going to make it. <i>Send help, Lord.</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">We tore out of the driveway, engine roaring in the still night air. Could Randy hold on? About a mile down the road, at the bottom of a hill, I saw something in the street. We’re my eyes playing tricks on me? No, it was real. An ambulance!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Look, Randy!” I shouted. A paramedic stood outside the vehicle. Like he was waiting for us. How did he know?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I slammed on the brakes, leaped out of the van and ran over to the ambulance, screaming for help. The paramedic and his partner went right to work. “Possible cardiac,” one said. They strapped an oxygen mask onto Randy and started treatment. Then they loaded him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, unconscious. “Follow us,” one of them told me.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next three days were touch-and-go. I never left Randy’s bedside, praying he’d wake up and be okay. Finally, he did. “What happened?” he asked.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You mean you don’t remember?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Nothing after the ambulance,” he said.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You had a massive heart attack. The EMTs said another minute or two and...” I squeezed his hand tight.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You called them?” Randy asked.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“No,” I told him. “They received a report of a car crash at that intersection. They even called in to make sure that they were at the right location. They were. And then we came along seconds later.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fifteen miles on empty roads in the middle of the night. Randy’s heart attack <i>would </i>have been fatal if those paramedics hadn’t been there. I’d say they were in the perfect location.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkOCHcEsnxjUfLFpPkbUcUoGioJHcobfwqvQtMcyDKpDr1nL-E-SqjSpwRRf5A8PLo2zxU2bC4Zg8b_3pW7IQUhLVrytfHJP8lVbKE-H52rPcFx1h50-fnIU0xk4BxX6iIFhGtVN769w/s1600/Scan+123540032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkOCHcEsnxjUfLFpPkbUcUoGioJHcobfwqvQtMcyDKpDr1nL-E-SqjSpwRRf5A8PLo2zxU2bC4Zg8b_3pW7IQUhLVrytfHJP8lVbKE-H52rPcFx1h50-fnIU0xk4BxX6iIFhGtVN769w/s320/Scan+123540032.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wilda & Randy</i></td></tr>
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><b>This story was published in</b> Guidepost <b>Aug 2005 issue</b></i></span><br />
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Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-88778238199679723582013-01-24T14:30:00.001-08:002013-01-24T14:44:16.378-08:00Glacial Erratic Rock - Willamette Valley<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Story by Lorita OLeary</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise and grandson Ryan head up the trail to the site</td></tr>
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Back during the last Ice Age (12,000 to 18,000 years ago) the <a href="http://www.iafi.org/">Missoula Floods</a>, originating in southwest Montana, deposited vast amounts of earthly debris over portions of Idaho, Washington and Oregon - eventually spilling into the Pacific Ocean. Because of these floods, the <a href="http://traveloregon.com/cities-regions/willamette-valley/">Willamette Valley</a><b> </b>in Oregon became one of the most fertile regions in the state. <a href="http://willamettewines.com/winery-map/">Vineyards</a> sprung up - some 40,000 acres of grapes - which now produce some of the finest wines in the French Burgundy style.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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When the 3,000 square mile prehistoric Glacial <a href="http://www.glaciallakemissoula.org/virtualtour/index.html">Lake Missoula</a> flooded, the waters coursed through the Columbia River Gorge at 60-miles-per-hour carrying huge boulders with it. Eventually the cataclysmic waters receded and what remained were “glacial erratics” stranded where they had come to rest. </div>
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<span class="s1">One such 90-ton boulder stands atop a hillside in <a href="http://www.ci.mcminnville.or.us/">McMinnville</a>, Oregon surrounded by rich farmland and vineyards below. You can hike the 1/4 mile paved path year-round up to the site and see the largest glacial erratic found in the Willamette Valley. In fact, the only other place rocks like this have been found are in Canada. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">My mother was raised on this hilltop in Yamhill County, her family moved there in the early 40s when she was 12, and she used to hike to the Rock throughout her childhood. It hadn’t been “discovered” yet and she knew it only as a cool rock and a good place to hang out (my slang, not hers). I also loved the rock as a child and remember finding it one day when I was at grandpa and grandma’s farm. It was a warm day and I climbed up on it’s sunny surface to daydream. I remember the rock seemed out of place here (being the only thing like it in the area) and I thought it was a special find, but I imagined it coming from outer space - like a meteor.</span></div>
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Over the years I traveled and moved to other states but was surprised to discover recently that the rock is somewhat famous and an <a href="http://www.oregonstateparks.org/park_135.php">Oregon State Park</a> called Erratic Rock State Natural Site. Now anyone can climb to the top of the 250 foot hill to enjoy the scenery, the sun-soaked surface of this glacial erratic, and daydream.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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After parking along Oldsville Road, there's an interpretive sign which allows visitors to learn about the rock. Once on top of the hill, there's a picnic table in case anyone brings a lunch. On a warm day its nice to sit or lie on the rock and soak up the warmth. You will also be rewarded with spectacular vistas -vineyards, orchards, farms and the Oregon coast range.<br />
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Enjoy the behemoth, which is composed of metamorphic rock called <a href="http://tin.er.usgs.gov/geology/state/sgmc-lith.php?text=argillite">argillite</a><b>, </b> but leave it there because it seems to be shrinking. The reason: geologists estimate visitors have removed more than 70 tons of the rock over the years.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica; font-size: x-small;">Park along Oldsville Road off of Highway 18 to reach this park. From Oldsville Road, you'll need to walk up the quarter-mile paved path to the rock itself. The trail becomes steep briefly as you near the rock. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica; font-size: x-small;">There is no fee to use this park.</span></div>
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Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-42829301600507133022013-01-07T10:50:00.000-08:002013-01-07T11:04:21.551-08:00Nephew John Lahmann<br />
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<span class="s1" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Story by Louise Lahmann</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In late April of 2010 I got a call from my sister-in-law Hilda Jones from Kansas. She told me our nephew John Lahmann had died in Nebraska. He was 62, two years older than my son, and had been ill for some time. Hilda and I spoke occasionally over the next few weeks and John often was a part of these conversations. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>John Stanley Lahmann 1947-2010</i></td></tr>
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His early life was complicated with drugs and drinking. He may have been somewhat of a rebel - arising from the Easy Rider days (he even had a motorcycle). He served in the United States Army right out of high school. Following his discharge he owned and operated Mutha's Autobody in Wahoo, Nebraska where he specialized in automotive body repair and painting. He married his first wife, Beverly Bohaty in 1968 and they had a son named John. Her family never approved of the marriage, and soon after the baby’s birth, Beverly and the baby were whisked away by her parents. John never really got over this and only saw his son a couple other times before he was two years old.</div>
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<span class="s1">Unfortunately John sold drugs from his business and local complaints and fear of retaliation from police caused him to move to California. Here he married his second wife, Carol Krueger, in 1976. The marriage only lasted two years. Someone told me he didn’t want children. He may have been worried about losing them, as he had his first son, since this was a very hurtful experience for him. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>John's first marriage</i></td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Somewhere during this time he was involved in a hit and run accident where a pedestrian was killed. He left California and went to Arizona, where his second wife was originally from. The only reason I knew about the accident was I happened to see the article his mother Phyllis had cut out of the newspaper when I was visiting one time. I don’t know what ever became of this situation.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Bad luck followed John to Arizona where someone intentionally ran him off the road while he was riding his motorcycle. He skidded down the embankment and hit a telephone pole. The accident left him paralyzed from the waist down. John had started another automotive business in Arizona and his father Henry (my husband’s older brother) sold the business and moved John back to Nebraska to live with them.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">John had to go through therapy and it was a long time recuperating. He had to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. His parents fixed the house to make it wheelchair accessible and built a pulley system so he could easily move from room to room and in and out of bed. His arms were strong and soon he was driving with a hand control device.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>John in his device</i></td></tr>
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After automotive school he decided to open another business in Wahoo. He hired young boys to help him do the jobs he was unable to do because of his condition. One day I saw an article in the newspaper advertising a motorized piece of equipment that allowed paraplegics to stand upright or lie in a reclining position. I sent the article back to John’s mother and he purchased it so he could work on his cars more easily. He could be upright and move around or slide under the cars. Later, Phyllis told me he considered it one of his most important pieces of working equipment. Mutha’s Autobody grew into a thriving business and John was somewhat famous in his home town. He also did all of his own ordering and bookwork.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>John's dad Henry with Cisco</i></td></tr>
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Over the years John had physical problems from continually sitting in the wheelchair. He was thin and had lots of pressure points that created sores. He also had poor circulation and eventually had one of his legs amputated. John’s dad died from heart trouble in 1985. Years later, in 2007, John unexpectantly lost his younger sister Maxine. She’d lived in California and left four children who hardly knew their uncle. Then a year later his mom Phyllis died of cancer in a nursing home.<br />
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John’s last few years were plagued with infections. Finally, he had to sell his automotive business when he could no longer do the work. </div>
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Through it all, John was a cheerful, kind man who had made many friends in Wahoo over the years. One day he passed out and someone found him on the floor in his home. <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Sister Maxine, John, mom Phyllis</span></i></td></tr>
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After that he was hospitalized and then spent months in a nursing home. Doctors never thought he would be well enough to go back home but one day it was decided he could, under a nurse’s daily care. </div>
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<span class="s1">In his last days he found pleasure rolling his wheelchair down the street and getting out of the house for short jaunts. </span>Hilda told me when John was very sick and on oxygen, he mentioned his son that he never saw, and said someday my son will know who I am. On April 30, 2010 his nurse found him dead of a severe infection from a bed sore that wouldn’t heal. He was buried at Sunrise Cemetery and Military Funeral Honors were conducted by Wahoo American Legion.</div>
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Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-56980583016756557782012-12-17T16:45:00.001-08:002012-12-18T23:17:37.408-08:00The Five-Span Bridge<br />
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<span class="s1">My interest was fixated on a bridge my grandfather Stephen Jackson helped build in my hometown of Paulding, Ohio. </span><span style="text-align: center;">The adventure began when my husband Al and I made a trip across country in the late 70's or early 80’s to visit friends and relatives in various states and one of our stops was to see my childhood girlfriend, Gladys, in Holgate, Ohio. We reminisced about old times, we hadn’t seen each other since we were nine-years-old, but we had written back and forth over the years. </span><span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">The next day we took a road trip with her and her husband Bob.</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span><span style="text-align: center;">They took us to Defiance, Ohio to the last place where I lived in Ohio. I had been nine at the time my family of seven moved to Oregon so the area had really changed. It had been country and now was developed with houses. The old house had been torn down and someone had built a new home so it looked different, like nothing I remembered.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me with brother James and Edwin in front of the house in Defiance, OH</span></i></td></tr>
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We then went to see the bridge my grandfather had helped to build. Gladys said it was called The Five-Span Bridge. I had known about the bridge from my father talking about it but I never knew its name. The bridge crossed the Auglaize River in northwestern Ohio. When we arrived, we got out of the car and looked at the plaque at the top of the bridge with my grandfather’s name on it. I took a picture with my old box camera but the plaque was far away and it didn’t really show up in the picture. </div>
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Gladys told me the bridge was going to be torn down and a new one built in its place. I was disappointed because a landmark that my grandfather was somewhat responsible for would be gone. While we were standing there looking at the bridge, an old man in a pickup stopped and called out to us, “It will hold you, never fear. It is well built.” We all started laughing and couldn’t quit. The man drove off and probably thought we were nuts. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Five-Span Bridge</i></td></tr>
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Many years later I got curious about the bridge and wondered what had happened to the plaque with my grandfather’s name on it. I called several cousins that lived in Michigan but they had forgotten about the bridge. I called Gladys and she told me they had built the new bridge but she didn’t know what happened to the plaque - she was going to inquire about it. I called my cousin Paul, who lived in Finlay, Ohio, and he said he might have a cousin on his mother’s side who knew something about it because he had lived there a long time. I told him it might be in a historical museum and if he found it would he take a picture. He said he would get together with his cousin and find out.</div>
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<span class="s1">Soon, all I was thinking and talking about was the bridge. My daughter and I searched the Internet for five-span bridges in Paulding, OH that crossed the Auglaize River. All we found was information and pictures about the new bridge - no mention of my grandfather’s bridge, except that it had been replaced. We found out the new bridge was on US 127 north of Paulding and that they were doing work on its road. It's called 637 Bridge 5-span over the Auglaize River. It was built by Vernon Nagel Construction.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I wrote to Marilyn Smith, editor of Paulding Pathways, a quarterly historical newsletter published by an old Paulding County Genealogy Society. I also wrote a construction company that might know something about it but I seemed to hit a dead end.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Then one day, months later, I got a call from my cousin Paul and he said his cousin had found the plaque at the Paulding County Historical Society and they had gone together to take a picture of it. I had gotten Paul as excited as I was about the bridge. He sent me the picture of the plaque and I sent him a copy of the picture of the bridge I had taken those years ago.</span></div>
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Shortly after this Marilyn Smith from Paulding Pathways contacted me and said she hadn’t found the plaque but had discovered one of the members lived in the area when the bridge was torn down and her pictures said August 1983 for tearing it down and November 1983 (and some 1984) for building the new bridge. Marilyn also contacted Ohio Department of Transportation and the man in charge said the records of when the old bridge was built had been destroyed.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I decided the old bridge must have been built between 1908 and 1912 because my grandfather’s obituary said he was county commissioner of Paulding County, Ohio during that time and the plaque that had been at each end of the bridge had my grandfather’s name and that title on it. I also had the information on the plaque to go by and it said the bridge was built by the Oregonia Bridge Company from Lebanon, Ohio. It had the date 1912 above it so that might have been when it was completed.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old family photo of bridge<br />
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Recently I found an old family picture of a five-span bridge in an envelope amongst all my stacks of genealogy materials. It must have been my grandfather’s picture because it's from that era and looks like the region. When I found the photo I was thrilled because I felt it was my grandfather’s picture of the bridge he had built. The family had always been really proud of it. Here was a gift after all I had gone through. With a little help from others I solved the mystery of the five-span bridge and the plaque with my grandfather’s name on it.</div>
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Then in 2010 my daughter Lorita and I drove back east for a family wedding. On the way home we stopped in Ohio and we stayed with my friend Gladys and her husband Bob for a few days. I told them the story about finding the plaques and they drove us out there to see the new bridge. As we stood there on the bank of the Auglaize River and Lorita took a picture I thought how neat it was to bring this story to its completion.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>New bridge</i> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gladys and I in 2010</td></tr>
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<br />Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-81387945974124902712012-11-20T09:36:00.002-08:002012-11-20T09:51:17.705-08:00Home is Where the Heart Is<i>Story by Louise Lahmann</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>After being remodeled</i></td></tr>
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We moved into the home where I live in Oak Grove in 1963. The house was in need of lots of repairs and my husband Al being a handy man went right to work. There was a big hole in the front porch. When the previous owner left they took the kitchen cupboards and the sink with them. I had to wash the dishes in the bath tub until Al and his brother Ray built new cupboards and a new sink in.<br />
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<span class="s1">Al did so many things to fix this house up it’s hard to remember now. He remodeled every room and built on to the bathroom and kitchen. He changed the stairway downstairs into a closet and made a new stairway down to the basement out of a little kitchen nook that wasn’t good for much else.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">There was a partial basement (more of a dirt cellar) and Al dug more than half of it out and made a laundry room, huge bedroom and closet and a large family room. That was a lot of work and it turned out beautifully as he changed everything to suit him and he was a perfectionist so everything had to be just so. He took pride in his work and I had great admiration for all the things he did. He was quite a wonderful person.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0SeEzlfAaY00vypdeFMwIT_qVePqCuHVBplYheLrUYiurUCJ6wGCltKZxwkcUUZXzHKTLNYEsRKRbFhRqxFSK83RgJ6oHWCaWn8oTlMDycxB0CEnk2EUlnNuJGArou3d956o1-GlymXQ/s1600/Scan+103630003+13-22-43+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0SeEzlfAaY00vypdeFMwIT_qVePqCuHVBplYheLrUYiurUCJ6wGCltKZxwkcUUZXzHKTLNYEsRKRbFhRqxFSK83RgJ6oHWCaWn8oTlMDycxB0CEnk2EUlnNuJGArou3d956o1-GlymXQ/s320/Scan+103630003+13-22-43+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Al & me later in life, after his illness took hold</i></td></tr>
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I never liked the construction phase with all the dust and noise (even though he cleaned up afterwards) but it was worth it as it was so much nicer when the work was done. I helped him when I could.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">He remade the front wood porch by pouring a cement slab. He built a small patio off the back door coming from the basement and another patio off the kitchen. There was no foundation on the north side of the house so he had to jack the house up so he could put a new foundation under it. I helped him with that, whew, a lot of work. It was all a labor of love.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">He did all this work on his time off from his regular job as he worked full time at Publishers Paper Company. It was not an easy job at the mill either as he worked a different shift each week so had to keep adjusting to a new schedule. I know it was difficult for him but he hardly ever complained. He was a good provider.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Off to work</i></td></tr>
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Later he built a fence around the property to keep out the neighbors dogs, as back then dogs roamed free. He put in three gates and paved the driveway back to the garage. He put in a gravel drive on the other side of the house and a carport so we could have a place to park our other car. Later, we put in an electric garage door. It seemed there was always some improvement and Al was up for the job. Sometimes I wondered where he got all of his energy.</div>
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<span class="s1">Besides building and remodeling, Al was a master woodcrafter and had many tools to work on his different projects. He built book cases, closets, lamps, picture frames, file cabinets and even grandfather clocks. He could make anything to order and designed and made up his own patterns many times. Anything he could see he could turn around and create. He had a good sense of humor and liked to build whimsical toys, whirligigs and a variety of windmills.</span></div>
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But after a while he got too sick to do much around the house and after he broke both of his ankles (at different times) it was difficult to stand for long hours in his workshop. I know he missed being able to make new things and left many projects unfinished. He would get frustrated because he just couldn’t do it like he used to.</div>
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<span class="s1">I love this house and all it means to me because of or shared labors. Every place I look is a reminder of my life with Al. He was so talented and capable and left me with a beautiful home and thousands of wonderful memories.</span></div>
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<br />Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-71286149952738626892012-10-31T21:37:00.000-07:002012-10-31T21:37:36.283-07:00Autumn Trip
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<span class="s1"><i>Story by Louise Lahmann</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1">October 17, 2009 was my 61</span><span class="s2"><sup>st</sup></span><span class="s1"> wedding anniversary and I wanted to do something special on that day. I saw in the newspaper where there was a festival at <a href="http://www.el.com/to/hoodriver/">Hood River </a>and I told Lorita I wanted to go on this trip and she was excited to go too. But when the day came it was cloudy and downcast. I said maybe it will be better there. So we proceeded to get ready. We got water and some food and my pills and dressed for possible showers. We decided we should go on the 205 freeway to the 84 - we were on our way. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Al and I</i></td></tr>
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It was fun to do something different but as we drove along it started to rain hard and got very dark. The wind was blowing with the rain making it difficult to drive. At times the car hydroplaned in the high water on the freeway. Lorita said maybe we should turn back if this gets worse. I said maybe it will get better when we get there. So we continued on and hoped it would get better. It was a hazy day and it wasn’t as good as we had envisioned it to be. Lorita complained that she could not see the Fall colors and that was the main reason she had wanted to go. As we got closer to Hood River the rain wasn’t as heavy. They had another festival there on the river so we checked it out. We had to pay admittance there and so we decided to continue on to the original festival just outside of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odell,_Oregon">Odell</a> on Highway 35. <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The day had brightened considerably and now we could see all the autumn colors of red yellow, orange and rust. Lorita said I’m taking a picture of that scene of the Hood River. So we stopped so she could take several shots of the river with its fall colors. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Then we continued on down the road and saw many little farm stands with lots of fruit, vegetables and pumpkins galore. They called the road we were on the<a href="http://www.hoodriverfruitloop.com/index.html"> Fruit Loop</a>. The flyer says it is “approximately 35 miles of orchards, forests, farmlands and friendly communities.” We decided to stop at <a href="http://codyorchards.com/">Cody Orchards</a> farm stand. They had herbs, flowers, fruit, crafts and many other things. We got some apples and pears and they were 35 cents a pound, wow! We also got a piece of home made apple pie and shared it. After getting directions to the festival, we were again on the road. </span></div>
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The festival was on the WyEast school grounds and had three auditoriums filled with all their arts & crafts and food items. There were Gorge wines, prepared foods, fresh fruit and produce, jewelry, clothing, flowers and more. Three women played their folk music on guitar and violin outside under a little roof. There was a salmon dinner prepared by the Native Americans. They had salmon, frybread, baked potatoes and corn on the cob. We decided on one dinner and divided it. We didn’t get the frybread so they gave us two ears of corn with our dinner. The cook said, as you are sharing the dinner we will give you a larger piece of salmon. It was delicious and all we needed. </div>
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<span class="s1">After lunch we went inside to see the crafts. Lorita found a multi-colored knit cap. There were lots of artists and many beautiful paintings and photographs. A photographer commented on my hat and then added, I can tell you are a mischievous one. I wondered who he was referring to, but no one else was there. Lorita said he was flirting with me. Lorita wanted me to mention this little tidbit but I was embarrassed. Then we went on to another booth and purchased a bottle of honey for my grandson Ryan. He loves honey and this was fresh from the bee hive. As we were leaving we enjoyed a picturesque scene of the sun in the clouds with a rainbow.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">On the way home the rain was lighter and it was brighter so now we could enjoy the autumn leaves and be glad that we continued on with our trip and hadn’t turned back. We went the <a href="http://www.tripcheck.com/Pages/SBcolumbiaRiver.asp">scenic route </a>for a while along the Columbia Gorge. </span></div>
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Later when I got home I made applesauce and I wished I had gotten a whole lot more apples because it was so good. They cooked up just beautiful. <span class="s1"></span></div>
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Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-72721814624056392912012-10-22T16:54:00.000-07:002012-10-22T16:54:01.751-07:00Pursuing Family History<i>Story by Louise Lahmann </i><br />
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In the late 70s my sister Josie was getting married and moving back east and on the way stopped over with an overstuffed manila envelope full of papers and pictures that were to become the beginnings of my interest in genealogy. She told me she didn’t have time to work on it now and wondered if I would like to. It sounded fun. I looked at all the stuff and realized there was so much she didn’t have and I became curious to find the missing pieces.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AqHF27LUc_ZvknFk0tQ4b_EDqJB9fe0VHjjmSjWFmUno-iml3_fp9SLsuzFkI-1TUHtfPIKdmVbV5XTS1v-cm_TgbaKlbZ-o23ORXJ_u10OaBxaMewjwI033L41YfUpAaFqM1MFe3gU/s1600/Mildred,Louise,Josephine+in+McMinnville.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AqHF27LUc_ZvknFk0tQ4b_EDqJB9fe0VHjjmSjWFmUno-iml3_fp9SLsuzFkI-1TUHtfPIKdmVbV5XTS1v-cm_TgbaKlbZ-o23ORXJ_u10OaBxaMewjwI033L41YfUpAaFqM1MFe3gU/s320/Mildred,Louise,Josephine+in+McMinnville.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mother Mildred, me and sister Josie</i></td></tr>
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<br />I started contacting family members and getting birth dates, marriages and deaths. It was a lot of work but I enjoyed the correspondence and learned a lot. I liked the letters coming in the mail because I never knew what I was going to get. It was exciting. Eventually I was interacting with people that weren’t related but they were interested in family history also. It was helpful to learn about the other genealogist because I discovered how to do it better myself. For instance, I wasn’t very good at documenting in the beginning and later I didn’t know where I got some of my data - so I corrected this.<br /><br />My uncle Ben had worked on my grandmother Cora’s paternal side and he had a lot of material that was useful and my interest grew because it added a lot to the tree. He had done research since 1920 and his aunt Leona had done work on it before him so the information went way back.<br /><br />About this time I found out about the Family History Center and started going to Portland and using the computer to research for free on <a href="http://ancestry.com/">Ancestry.com</a>. I found the people there very helpful and they guided me so I found census and other records. I had never used a computer before so I had to learn and the staff there showed me what to do and worked with me. I developed some good friendships there. Later I found out about the center in Gladstone and started going there since it was easier to get to.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Uncle Ben Jackson</i></td></tr>
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My family tree grew and I began contacting even more people that looked like they might have data about my ancestors. I got a lot of addresses from the computer on different sites. People who had information for me but some who needed it too - we traded. I found Shirley, a distant cousin, in Louisiana and we wrote for many years until she died. I got stacks of information from her on that side of my family. <br /><br />Then I discovered Sandra, another distant cousin in Canada who sent me whole trees and gave me tons of valuable info that helped me in my search. I also found some data that she didn’t have so we exchanged much and emailed each other every so often.<br /> <br />There were two other people I became close with. Alan Potts was another very distant cousin that I exchanged info with. He sent me three informative books that he had written on the family. I was even able to fill in some missing pieces for him. Then, my cousin Leon Jackson sent me four valuable books he had written. He was a professor in Indiana and had traveled to many of the locations to research and look for records.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDF0vTWhx80Q5Vtagh7FfmlGhI47XuZFPCemTlgYygyvS6Ank7JS3Vi6XqDgKqvJVl94ybk89VxQI6it8-j9Nl47wtfppir1Nm87gmmIzFFOaWmJwfHOlbyxHk7Vsxw7m5Nppx4z3kVw/s1600/15754_1237213843603_5234965_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDF0vTWhx80Q5Vtagh7FfmlGhI47XuZFPCemTlgYygyvS6Ank7JS3Vi6XqDgKqvJVl94ybk89VxQI6it8-j9Nl47wtfppir1Nm87gmmIzFFOaWmJwfHOlbyxHk7Vsxw7m5Nppx4z3kVw/s200/15754_1237213843603_5234965_n.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cousin Sandra Janzen</i></td></tr>
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<br />A couple years ago Ancestry.com quit offering info for free at the <a href="https://www.familysearch.org/learn/wiki/en/Portland_Oregon_Family_History_Center">Family History Center</a>. The staff told me I would have to pay to access that info now. So what I could learn about my family began to dwindle. By this time Lorita had moved in with me and so I had access to a computer at home now. In my search Online I would go to open a document and discover it was Ancestry.com and I had to be a member to see it. I was upset that they wanted to charge for what I got free before. Honestly, I didn’t like Ancestry.com very much and complained about them every time. Lorita tried to get me to buy a membership but I refused because I felt it was too expensive.<br /><br />Then on my birthday Lorita and Ryan bought me a one year membership for the entire world (that’s more than just the U.S.). Now I love Ancestry.com - I have learned so much and met so many people and we email back and forth. I help them and they help me. It’s very fun because I get new information on my family tree every day, make exciting discoveries, and find people that had long been only a blank space on my tree.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>My great grandfather's sister found on Ancestry.com</i></span></td></tr>
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On my mother’s side I found great great grandparents and their families that I had never known about before and I had been searching a long time. Sometimes I’ll find an unknown husband or wife or child in a census or on someone's site and its another puzzle piece that fits in place. Sometimes I feel like a detective. I love to solve the mystery. <br /><br />Another thing I love is finding photos on someone’s tree - one’s I had never seen. I have shared many of my family photos with others too and I like to help them and they appreciate it as much as I do.<br /><br />Besides my mom and dad’s family line and extended family lines, I have also been working on my husband’s family tree and also my grandson Ryan. I took his tree back on one side to the 1500s. And Ryan’s dad, Bob O’Leary, who had thought all his ancestors were from Ireland found out most had come from Scotland. That was a surprise for him.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bob O'Leary's grandparents on the Carroll side. His mom is one of the twin babies.</i></td></tr>
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Every person on the computerized tree has a place for a photo. If I don’t have a photo of their face then maybe there’s a picture of their gravestone. I also like the time period before photos because on the place where a photo would go I can find etchings of a immigrant ship, a flag, coat-of-arms or the likenesses of men and women and the way they dressed during that time period and put those in place of a photo. <br /><br />Researching family history has been a great hobby for me. It gives me a happy feeling to connect the people together and it helps me understand more about myself and my roots. I’m glad I got Ancestry.com because now I’m back to finding documents and things I never would have found otherwise. I decided it’s well worth the price because it brings pleasure and gives me something to look forward to. It’s a legacy I can leave to my descendants, if they’re interested.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mom with all her children (I'm in the white blouse)</i></td></tr>
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<br /><br />Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-31751650705523872672012-10-10T09:54:00.000-07:002012-10-10T10:34:20.219-07:00Angels All Around Us<br />
<i>Story by Wilda Lahmann </i><br />
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It was a warm summer evening in late August 1986. Daily Vacation Bible school had just had its closing program. Both sets of grandparents were able to attend along with the kids and their Daddy, Randy. I had to work that evening but I made sure the twins Jeremy and Melanie had their nice clothes set out for the program before I left. Jeremy hadn’t wanted to wear his dress shoes. He wanted to wear his beat up, grungy looking sneakers with Velcro closures. “No, you are not wearing those shoes to church tonight,” I told him sternly. I gave him a quick hug good bye and then I was out the door for work.<br />
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Randy was busy in the kitchen making the kids’ favorite: macaroni and cheese. He discovered the milk was nearly gone and bread was low too, so he asked our 13-year-old son Scott if he’d mind running over to the corner market for milk and bread. “No problem,” he replied. He knew that a trip to the “GetnGo Market” usually meant a soda or candy too. Jeremy, age 7, asked if he couldn’t please go along too. Randy wasn’t sure as neither of the twins had been allowed to cross the busy street…ever. “Please Daddy,” he begged with his huge, brown “puppy dog” eyes. “I’ll stay right with Scotty. I promise.” After a few more minutes of begging, Randy relented and said yes and gave them each extra change for a treat from the market. The boys excitedly headed out the door together, 2 brothers hand in hand. Melanie never asked to go. She stayed behind with her Daddy, fixing “mac n cheese.”<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>My brother Randy with Wilda, Scott, Jeremy & Melanie </i></span></div>
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It was a busy Friday night at the restaurant. I was the evening hostess and I loved my job as it allowed me to interact with so many different people. I knew the regulars by name and I would serve them water and coffee and visit with them for a few minutes beside their tables. That is exactly what I was doing that evening when the phone call came in. My manager motioned to me from the front desk. “Phone call.” Usually, we weren’t allowed to take personal calls while working but he must have known this was an urgent call from a frantic 13-year-old on the other end of the line.<br />
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I put the phone to my ear. It was Scott. He was crying and breathing heavily. “Mom, there’s been a terrible accident.” More crying…. and background noise. <br />
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Instinctively I asked “Is it Jeremy? What happened?” <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jeremy Lance Lahmann</i></td></tr>
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Before he could answer I heard what sounded like the whirring of helicopter blades over the phone, so loud that I wouldn’t have been able to hear Scott if he had been talking. Then “Mom, there’s a helicopter landing in the front yard!” <br />
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It hit me like a blow to my stomach: Life Flight. They come to the aid of only the worst of accidents.<br />
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After a few minutes of unsuccessfully comforting my eldest son on the phone, I knew I had to get to the hospital ASAP. I had to be with my baby, to speak words of encouragement so he would know that he had to hang on. He couldn’t leave our lives already. We had just celebrated the twins seventh birthday, fifteen days earlier. <br />
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What hospital? Emanuel. How do I get there? I’ve never driven in that part of town before. I talk with a few waiters and waitresses who tell me that I really shouldn’t be driving at a time like this anyway. But who can drive me?<br />
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A smaller dark haired lady was waitressing that night. It was her first day on the job and I didn’t know her, but she came up to me and offered to drive me to the hospital. I readily accepted and we went out to her car and began our drive. It was a beautiful night. Stars were shining, the moon was bright. How could it be possible that I was riding to the place where my youngest son was likely taking his final breaths.<br />
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I asked her name. “Anne,” she told me softly. She had the most comforting voice. She reminded me that regardless of the outcome, Jeremy was already a child of God. She quoted scriptures for me that gave me hope for the future. She also told me that I would need to be strong for the rest of my family. When we got to the hospital she walked with me to the main doors and then told me goodbye. I asked if she maybe wanted to come inside? She told me “no” that she knew I had family and friends waiting for me inside the hospital. She was glad she was able to give me the ride. And then she was gone.<br />
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Jeremy made his transition from his life on earth shortly after being struck by the drunk driver in the crosswalk in front of our house. It happened so quickly he likely never knew what hit him. He never regained consciousness. Our beautiful baby boy, Melanie’s twin brother, Scott’s little tag along … was laid to rest beneath a tall fir tree overlooking the valley and Mt Hood to the east.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mt. Hood from Mountain View Cemetery</i></td></tr>
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I returned to work a week or so later and I wanted to see Anne, to thank her again for being there for me when I needed her. I was told that Anne had never been seen again at the restaurant. She had never returned for her paycheck and they didn’t have a phone number for her. It was then, while talking with others who had been there that Friday night, I had the feeling I had been visited by an angel. Others agree. </div>
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Since then I have learned that a few of the meanings of the name Anne are “messenger of God”, “God’s gift” and “favored by God”.<br />
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The Anne I met that night, was every one of those … and so much more.<br />
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Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-52668946982851649852012-09-28T08:59:00.001-07:002012-09-28T11:05:02.072-07:00Summer 2012 - A Busy Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> Story by Louise Lahmann</i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Some of the garden, looking toward the new studio</i></td></tr>
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It was a whirlwind summer. We had lots of work done on our home. We added a window and door onto what used to be Al’s woodworking shop and Lorita said its going to be her studio eventually where she can work and be creative. We used a large picture window, we took it out of the living room when we put in new storm windows, and Lorita bought a heavy duty door with a full window in it at the Rebuilding Center that sells reused building supplies. What a difference! Now there’s lots of light out there. Lorita hired a man to come and do the job and he completed the entire task in six hours. He was a busy man. I’ve never seen a job done so well and fast. It is really nice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rachel helping plant seeds</i></td></tr>
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From the window we can admire the flowers, the garden and the birds eating in the bird feeders and taking a bath in the bird bath. We had a beautiful garden this year and had the best tomatoes. They were perfect, no rot. Lorita said she blenderized banana peels and poured it around them after she read that was good for them. She is the best gardener and she said she hopes to get better. This year her friend Rachel moved to Portland from Seattle and she came over and offered inspiration and help in the garden. They both planted chard, carrots, radishes, lettuce and beets. Lorita had already started the tomatoes, squash, cucumbers, peas and beans from seeds. Everything turned out but the radishes which were damaged by worms. Lorita just planted a fall crop to see what happens, as she’s never done that before.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Heirloom tomatoes - very yummy</i></td></tr>
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We talked about putting a roof on the house and even got two estimates but later decided to paint the house instead. Our neighbor across the street painted his house and we got the same guy to do ours. I decided I wanted a light color because I was so tired of the dark brown it has always been. The contractor, Joe, was very good and did everything we wanted and more. Lorita gave him extra vegetables from the garden from time to time too as he had a family with six teens. <br />
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Joe made new columns for the front of our house and we used some old wood shingles Al had stored in the attic. Before, it was just some metal poles and 2 X 4’s on each side and now it looks like the new columns were part of the original house. It makes such a difference and when I walk out the front door the new columns help make everything look more beautiful in the yard.<br />
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Joe’s also a handyman and can do many things. He told us our roof didn’t need to be replaced yet. He said later we could do a little repair on it and possibly put larger vents under the eaves. But we should get five to ten more years out of it. Lorita tore down the old rotted picket fence along the side of the yard and Joe was nice enough to cut the metal posts off at the cement so they weren’t sticking up. Lucky for me, Lorita likes gardening and landscaping.<br />
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He also pressure washed the metal car shelter we have out front that I park the Toyota under. Lorita wanted to figure out how to make the dark blue shelter fit in with the house more so we decided to paint the trim on the house the same color. Now its the best looking house in the neighborhood. It has real personality.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Now the trim matches the shelter (left)</i></td></tr>
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We had a big estate sale at the same time our neighbors across the street did. Lorita sold many items on Craigslist also and started posting things on ebay. We have been going through Al’s tools and things he collected. Its hard to let go of them but there’s other people out there who would love to have them and use them. I even sold some of my things, as did Lorita.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The house when we bought it in the late 60s</i></td></tr>
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Our neighbor across the street, Sharon, was not able to come back home after her stroke and had to go into an adult care home. Her cousin ended up buying the house and the family had a huge estate sale that was professionally handled. They posted ads and signs. So Lorita said, “Let’s have our sale on the same weekend and take advantage of the free advertising.” We had hundreds of people come through over that weekend and sold over a thousand dollars. We were all surprised that so much went and so many people stopped by. One of Lorita’s friends even brought some stuff over and helped us with the sale. A month later Lorita took the left overs to a friend’s house up in Beavercreek and sold a few hundred dollars more. Last week she said, “I’m done with yard sales,” and boxed the rest of it up and we hauled it to Goodwill. She said it would get more as a write off on our taxes than we would make trying to sell it. She kept out the nicer things and started posting on Craigslist and ebay again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The house before painting - the fence and metal poles are gone</i></td></tr>
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Lorita has her little projects and next moved on to collecting the metal she had noticed all around the house. I didn’t realize Al had so much metal stored all over our property but Lorita gathered it all, sorted it and sold it for scrap metal, bringing in a few hundred dollars. Now there’s so much more room in the garage, shed and attic. Plus the areas behind the garage where some of it was stored. I think Al saved everything because being the handyman he was, he never knew when he might need it. I’m sure he knew exactly where everything was.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pile of metal</i></td></tr>
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Now its time to get ready for winter. We got our rain barrels set up and bought adjustable spouts that guide the water there. Lorita said she doesn’t see what good it does because they don’t hold that much water and you don’t need to water when it’s raining so they will overflow, but I like them and they’re here to stay.Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-2115127442951656332012-09-24T10:27:00.001-07:002012-09-24T11:25:50.231-07:00An Active Week<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Story by Louise Lahmann</i></span><br />
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February 9th 2010 I got up at my regular time. I take my medicine at 8 AM and then trek downstairs to the treadmill. I usually do a load of laundry while I'm walking (they're in the same vicinity of the basement). Its just enough time for it to wash and when I get off the treadmill I can put it in the dryer. My memory's not as good as it used to be so this way I remember to throw it in the dryer, or its been know to sit wet for days. Then, I put on my track shoes and get ready for action. I walk for a leisurely time and then up the speed some. Not too much, don’t want to overdo a good thing. While I walk I compile my story in my mind. Decisions are made as to the story line so hopefully it will be interesting. Then I think about my every day chores to complete and meal making. After 30 minutes I’m ready to do my next project – which is a breakfast snack.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLJq6alm9UN7OmQ5ECVTrsxix8oyPR4ytieCzOc3jbEPyMee83sHNZ7_igsDCuzTSulENDb5SU80jbfU6J2JQNTKOkwBHOzSj8SY4a-V4bKtx_5u1gQOPBBxpYDhwhsThIM9G0IblNfk/s1600/IMG_9565.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLJq6alm9UN7OmQ5ECVTrsxix8oyPR4ytieCzOc3jbEPyMee83sHNZ7_igsDCuzTSulENDb5SU80jbfU6J2JQNTKOkwBHOzSj8SY4a-V4bKtx_5u1gQOPBBxpYDhwhsThIM9G0IblNfk/s320/IMG_9565.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Ryan hangs out waiting for his car to get serviced</i></span></td></tr>
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I love to have my fruit smoothie in the morning. Lorita has always made it but today it is my turn to do it for the first time as she has to leave today to go to Phoenix AZ with a friend for a yoga exercise class. She told me I had to learn how to do it so I could still have my drink every morning. I cut up fresh apple, banana, pear, pineapple, carrot and frozen peaches and put them in the <a href="https://vitamix.com/">Vita –Mix</a>. Then there’s protein and vitamin powder to add and I let the Vita-Mix do the rest. It blends it all into a smooth, delicious drink. I also take vitamins and a fish oil tablet with my smooth drink.<br />
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Next is time for my shower and dressing. By this time the mail has arrived. With Lorita and Ryan living here we generally get lots of mail which a goodly share goes to the recycle. Sometimes we get a movie to watch from Netflix which Ryan subscribes to. That is a nice pastime. <br />
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Now it is time to take Lorita to the Airport. She is flying out on Alaskan Airlines. Ryan drives her there and off she goes. <br />
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Later I go to my <a href="http://www.howdoesacupuncturework.com/">acupuncture</a> appointment. Today I have to drive myself. Usually Lorita takes me. Since my acupuncturist Diane moved to 37th and Belmont it seems a long way there. I told Ryan I am going to try a new route and take Woodstock. He asked for the address and said he would look it up on the computer to give me the shortest route. He came back and said, “Just go down McLoughlin until you get to Belmont, turn right and go until you come to 37th, turn left and you’ll be right there.” He is very computer wise. So I took his directions and sure enough I made it in 20 minutes where before it was 30 or 40 minutes. When I told Diane I came a shorter way, she said, “Neat.”<br />
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At acupuncture I visit with Diane and we were talking about meat and how sometimes it is not good. I told her I liked the meat at <a href="http://www.newseasonsmarket.com/">New Seasons</a> better than most. She said she got her meat from <a href="http://www.traderjoes.com/">Trader Joe’s</a> – especially her ground beef because Trader Joe’s has meat from Australia, which is her home country, and it is the same as organic, as Australians are very careful about their meat – no antibiotics and their cattle are never put in pens. I was shopping there after my treatment and thought I would try their hamburger. I made Ryan and I hamburgers for dinner that night and they were very good and tasty. Lorita called to say her flight had made it and she was on the shuttle to the hotel.<br />
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Most of our week was uneventful - reading the paper, and my novel <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Half-Broke-Horses-True-Life-Novel/dp/1416586296">“Half-Broke Horses”</a>, watching the Olympics, cleaning, shopping etc. I decided to go back to the Church of Latter Day Saints family history center to work on my family’s genealogy. I hadn’t done it for a long time and when I came in the door the head gal Marilyn said, “I haven’t seen you for 100 years.” She got me set up on a computer and they help me. I was on a family tree and they had my dad’s name in there so I wanted to see what they had to say about him. But when I clicked on his name the computer froze and I wasn’t able to get it. I was disappointed that I couldn’t find out anything.<br />
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One day Ryan took his car to the mechanic because he was having some problem with the brakes and he walked home while they worked on it. I told him I could have brought him but he said he liked to walk. Later he walked back to pick it up and found out nothing was wrong. He also works out on an exercise machine plus he plays basketball at the park with other guys once in a while.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mom and brother Ben</i></td></tr>
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On Saturday my brother Ben and his wife Cathy were at a <a href="http://www.yakkityyakdolls.com/blog/the-portland-crossroads-doll-teddy-bear-show/">doll show</a> in Portland. His wife was selling some of her doll collection – I guess it is quite large according to Ben and he’s glad to be rid of some of them. They live near <a href="http://www.eugene-or.gov/">Eugene</a> so had a long ride. I decided to go to the doll show and see them so I invited my friend Rose. I've know her about 55 years. When we got there I realized I had no cash and couldn’t pay the $6.00 entry fee. I told the guy I only had $2.00 so he said he would let us both in for $10.00. Rose said she would pay and I agreed to pay her back.<br />
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We went into the doll show and found Ben and Cathy’s booth. It was a busy place and lots of dolls. Ben and I visited while Cathy sold her merchandise. Then Rose and I walked around. There was a woman in a wheelchair that bought a small doll but was complaining to her daughter that she didn’t want it anymore, that it smelled. The daughter said she often changed her mind. There were dolls of Shirley Temple, Princess Diane, Charlie McCarthy, lots of antiques, and some that looked like real babies – their eyes looked real. They even had rubber pants for sale for the baby dolls. Rose said she thought it was a lot of junk because she would never be interested in dolls for herself. That’s just the way Rose is. But it was interesting to look around and some people do take it very seriously and love their dolls.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgObPfsqyz9OPAnzAjLVUHymLd4qAOa2BA5roWd_TMUOMPa0gQ2gUGEy4PblC0j_Cq7Lg4_a2BvMgGuPj2b8jO2rar88szs_NgD0oCcY2svwqbjAMaid3qM53SEICReQXtz3wQDEyodPlA/s1600/457723_10150899281937672_1060465520_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgObPfsqyz9OPAnzAjLVUHymLd4qAOa2BA5roWd_TMUOMPa0gQ2gUGEy4PblC0j_Cq7Lg4_a2BvMgGuPj2b8jO2rar88szs_NgD0oCcY2svwqbjAMaid3qM53SEICReQXtz3wQDEyodPlA/s320/457723_10150899281937672_1060465520_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Some of Cathy's dolls</i></td></tr>
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When we got back to Ben he was alone as Cathy had gone to look around. He said Cathy did fairly well with selling. Ben even sold one of the dolls while Cathy was gone. The lady didn’t want to pay the $8.00 requested so Ben said he would let her have it for $6.00 and she took it. He said, “At least I sold it so that’s one more gone.” Cathy came back and showed us what she had bought – a pendant and little necklace for her dolls. After that we left and I told Ben I was glad I got to see him.<br />
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Lorita called on Valentine’s Day in the evening to wish me a happy one. I was watching the couples skating on the Olympics. She called again on Monday to say her and her friend Ginnie were taking an extra day and renting a car to drive to <a href="http://www.sedonaaz.gov/Sedonacms/index.aspx">Sedona, AZ</a> to see the sights. I got confused about the day she was to come back and I wondered where she was and began to worry so I called her friend Lee, who was to pick her up at the airport, and she told me it was the next night. I said, “Oh good, I’m glad to hear that.” She arrived home around midnight on Tuesday the 16th. All's well that ends well.<br />
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<br />Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-77571087008271320792012-09-15T15:53:00.004-07:002012-09-15T15:58:38.411-07:00All in a Day's Work<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Story by Louise Lahmann </i></span><br />
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On one of the beautiful days this week Lorita and a friend went to Portland to see the sights. This is a perfect time for me to vacuum as Lorita hates the noise - our vacuum is pretty noisy. It doesn’t bother the person making the racket but if you’re in the same part of the house it can be annoying.<br />
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I always vacuum outside the front door on the porch and rug before I finish up. To do this I have to open the front storm door and use the lever to hold the door open. We recently bought a new glass storm door and I figured out how to push the lever to hold the thing open but when I was finished I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to release it. I tried everything I could think of but I didn’t want to force it and break it so I decided to just leave it open until Lorita got back. I just shut the main door.<br />
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What I wasn’t aware of was a huge horse fly had come in while I had the door open. He buzzed around inside like a dive bomber. I decided to try to get him to go back out, so I opened the back sliding glass door and tried to shoo him out but, no, he flew the opposite way and went into the garden window where I couldn’t get to him. I figured I would out wait the dastardly thing so I went back and closed the screen on the slider to prevent more flies from coming in. I already had my hands full.<br />
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Meanwhile the wind picked up outside and I looked out the front window in time to to see the wind hit the storm door and push it back. It released the catch and closed. Lorita later told me that’s how it works. You push it back a bit and it releases. It took the wind to figure that out because I sure couldn’t.<br />
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Just when I was about to get back to my vacuuming, the fly came out of the garden window and buzzed around close to the floor. I was getting disgusted with him so I decided to get the fly swatter.<br />
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I said, “If you won’t go back outside the door, I’ll swat you.” And I proceeded to hunt him down. I soon realized he was on the outside part of the sliding door so I said “aha” and hurried over to shut the door enough so I could still reach my arm out and slide the screen open.<br />
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Standing there armed with the swatter he must have decided the smart thing to do was take off because that’s just what he did. <br />
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Between the door and the fly and the vacuuming I decided I can still multi-task after all.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Bibliography</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Fly_close.jpg</i></span>Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-21556222037878536432012-09-14T11:16:00.002-07:002012-09-14T17:44:00.541-07:00Grandma's Favorite Uncle<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibiDXFGmPZSnujY5Tm3nqxwtdW9EqvDJ9paBmx9xOdSGuhZzO_KNpNq_nidY8v6gD7vXDr5r9UARJom4eBEGgATBkv9MnL_ewa4ncfTYfvYRPkrfT0K7-CfS1-sR79QRa_0GglRQPbYvQ/s1600/Scan+111400005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibiDXFGmPZSnujY5Tm3nqxwtdW9EqvDJ9paBmx9xOdSGuhZzO_KNpNq_nidY8v6gD7vXDr5r9UARJom4eBEGgATBkv9MnL_ewa4ncfTYfvYRPkrfT0K7-CfS1-sR79QRa_0GglRQPbYvQ/s320/Scan+111400005.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Charles E. Farr</i></span></td></tr>
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My grandma Mildred Farr had a favorite uncle named Charles E. Farr. He sent many postcards to her when she was a child after he had retired to Florida with his wife Albertine (Berta). Charles mother, Jane, had moved in with Mildred's family in Cedar Springs, Michigan so when he wrote he always inquired about how his mom was doing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfOyTFdmXCG50lDZnL-LVIQW24BOlL6gnQNRsT50fyv4SHMQRiblHU-zMEHvZisBvIIRSnzp4V3w10p2jKzIH0vlKwiwkJMHl78KKXpWdyPnSS_21WjCBGKsCbs7X6ZB97w5spkCnaR8/s1600/72fec759-79d8-49c3-92d2-c86db0cb1e85.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfOyTFdmXCG50lDZnL-LVIQW24BOlL6gnQNRsT50fyv4SHMQRiblHU-zMEHvZisBvIIRSnzp4V3w10p2jKzIH0vlKwiwkJMHl78KKXpWdyPnSS_21WjCBGKsCbs7X6ZB97w5spkCnaR8/s200/72fec759-79d8-49c3-92d2-c86db0cb1e85.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Mildred Farr</td></tr>
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Charles wrote with a wit and flair keeping Mildred up to date on his doings. I'm sure she looked forward to all of his colorful postcards arriving in the mail and they must have been special to her because she kept them in an album. After grandma died my mom inherited her postcard collection, so it is cherished to this day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilov7hPLVmRoiqwQ9Sju5TII2Wk4atQUQaj_pUptAvEWYy8BtJbvUoHuXgcu1EHzsB7Nvg7xbApvdb2-km5n8jZfwUQBkzZpOkCQ_jTuIn24g2LICOjmnSEVzRtuSbc44WwKFfYAIHLRk/s1600/Scan+122440000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilov7hPLVmRoiqwQ9Sju5TII2Wk4atQUQaj_pUptAvEWYy8BtJbvUoHuXgcu1EHzsB7Nvg7xbApvdb2-km5n8jZfwUQBkzZpOkCQ_jTuIn24g2LICOjmnSEVzRtuSbc44WwKFfYAIHLRk/s320/Scan+122440000.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Postcard from Uncle Farr</i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>"Dear Niece How would you enjoy a ride like this [?] come down this summer and you can ride our poneys"</i></span></td></tr>
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Charles E. Farr was born July 1851 in Ellisburg, New York. He was the third born. First came Ophelia in 1846 followed by Lucy in 1848 and William in 1853. In about 1854 the family moved from New York to Kenosha, Wisconsin. A sister Lucetta was born in 1855 and brother Frank in 1858. Shortly after that they moved to <a href="http://www.michmarkers.com/startup.asp?startpage=L1467.htm">Cannon Township</a>, in Kent county Michigan which is 20 minutes northeast of Grand Rapids. Here were born Herbert, Fred, Mark and Ralph (my great grandfather) - 10 children in all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnMU7_QuHXq_UA6xtIEFWIQ090h5Fw3ogRjhDi71IAH4Iue6ixYdkgMJDD5jFhCnTGZ6ygxRwIpNqNgaO6kLM0YbEOC0ba4F6ccdBft7wWtPrFJha0jgV6GgUW7CNztoGEW4YGekclqE/s1600/cannon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnMU7_QuHXq_UA6xtIEFWIQ090h5Fw3ogRjhDi71IAH4Iue6ixYdkgMJDD5jFhCnTGZ6ygxRwIpNqNgaO6kLM0YbEOC0ba4F6ccdBft7wWtPrFJha0jgV6GgUW7CNztoGEW4YGekclqE/s400/cannon.jpg" width="393" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>1863 map of Cannon</i></span></td></tr>
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Charles parents, my great great grandparents Henry and Jane Farr, worked hard to raise their large family. In New York, Henry was a stone mason and dug wells. Later, in Michigan he farmed the land.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuiH9MN00GZzm6_TKQ7veEhRPkq4EuTnUC4HSS3wFRc8bR7zn3WUrOyS1p-JmgBVmXBrwyQCjsS8kfjJMBaw3XKZPD3TzkyfyLnKKUOsJqjOETn6UNjfCWN5Vzd8sxCguqWuD8A86j_g/s1600/894f0452-a19c-435c-9e5a-601e3fa0539f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuiH9MN00GZzm6_TKQ7veEhRPkq4EuTnUC4HSS3wFRc8bR7zn3WUrOyS1p-JmgBVmXBrwyQCjsS8kfjJMBaw3XKZPD3TzkyfyLnKKUOsJqjOETn6UNjfCWN5Vzd8sxCguqWuD8A86j_g/s320/894f0452-a19c-435c-9e5a-601e3fa0539f.jpg" width="222" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Jane (Clark) Farr</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dKKseciXa4BDIIg5Nj1DclDiC7Jsced8urRp_fwi2cJS-uciiQ1v4YJqCfLfdTR-5qP5PgxqGM6bcxolJrGkqu14ALiBSiUsbXYM4UET2jl8-oPX8yQoNgGU92DDz7oiWIPozZwIiJ8/s1600/94b10182-1be0-4db1-b64d-83b91b29ded7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dKKseciXa4BDIIg5Nj1DclDiC7Jsced8urRp_fwi2cJS-uciiQ1v4YJqCfLfdTR-5qP5PgxqGM6bcxolJrGkqu14ALiBSiUsbXYM4UET2jl8-oPX8yQoNgGU92DDz7oiWIPozZwIiJ8/s320/94b10182-1be0-4db1-b64d-83b91b29ded7.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Henry Francis Farr</i></span></td></tr>
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When the Civil War came, Henry became a Union enlisted man at the age of 38 in 1st Michigan <a href="http://www.michigun3.com/poem2.htm">Light Artillery </a>Battery "E" where he was injured and sent home. He died in 1903 at 77 years old. Jane lived 10 more years, she was 83<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0bo5VqDH0v-5D_B3XbTa0ZWgrCHSwgCw69c50DEccZXm3luGnQlYQl94oGAH0EadOZK0qOlrzqvIm9toc7qLYAva4oTAf7oOLZfiV7l-MgCN7683dB6dVyrVzyVAOxF5odEr_Za2E_WI/s1600/123123819554250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0bo5VqDH0v-5D_B3XbTa0ZWgrCHSwgCw69c50DEccZXm3luGnQlYQl94oGAH0EadOZK0qOlrzqvIm9toc7qLYAva4oTAf7oOLZfiV7l-MgCN7683dB6dVyrVzyVAOxF5odEr_Za2E_WI/s320/123123819554250.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Sunfish Lake in Cannon Township</i></span></td></tr>
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My mom discovered a mystery while researching this family. There was another Charles E. Farr born in Michigan the same year as my great uncle. Though my Charles was born in New York, it seems a few people on Ancestry.com were getting them confused.<br />
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One day a man emailed mom to tell her they were related through Charles, but she discovered his Charles had different parents. She began looking into this and saw that his Charles had multiple wives, none named Albertine (although this man had Albertine married to him on his tree). Later mom found an obituary that gave the other Charles wives names and Albertine was not mentioned. Also the children’s names were different. This man just had not done his research well. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaz0dmiPeX5rh13oUVLNrhRgRlQz7vLXv8iZdUeBGfnZeBTDITeVOvQE57pINJYcB4Qjctk2PocWlJKa197q69KVEaKSHE-2iDQ7j76fx7cPk3xyhmImfQl5hnofHic2zTSUQv9Z737U4/s1600/Scan+122580000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaz0dmiPeX5rh13oUVLNrhRgRlQz7vLXv8iZdUeBGfnZeBTDITeVOvQE57pINJYcB4Qjctk2PocWlJKa197q69KVEaKSHE-2iDQ7j76fx7cPk3xyhmImfQl5hnofHic2zTSUQv9Z737U4/s320/Scan+122580000.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>More postcards to Mildred</i></span></td></tr>
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It was interesting though to discover that two Charles E. Farrs were born the same year, both lived in Michigan and both died in 1927 - one in January and one in December. Its easy to see how these people had gotten confused.<br />
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If it hadn’t been for my grandmother’s postcards from Charles and Albertine all those years, mom may have been a lot more confused. Thanks to that and the census she made sense of it all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zSQCh3_cKZ8mw0GBjx5wxkc-_kylQfXepjwvmBCm5PV4mbBndphlTnZEX3SIYyhJ2PW9nQMINbXboD21QxER3WI06fxNxyYBwfcBQBNB3Aw5M3jKz5Dvpj9FkNATT1Eu7hIr1HxWYH0/s1600/Scan+122580001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zSQCh3_cKZ8mw0GBjx5wxkc-_kylQfXepjwvmBCm5PV4mbBndphlTnZEX3SIYyhJ2PW9nQMINbXboD21QxER3WI06fxNxyYBwfcBQBNB3Aw5M3jKz5Dvpj9FkNATT1Eu7hIr1HxWYH0/s400/Scan+122580001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3334632912232282185.post-35309395180451620762012-09-03T13:38:00.001-07:002012-09-03T18:13:24.512-07:00Grandfather Beckwith<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ExcSs6qRqyK6vGmDdfCpQvTBuFGjl3ilTrIZgjEKgZ7w41WuOTtzWQVSOoFfx95zo8pd8imtrTSvtOpQXAEZpeCjVQCfstYyq_ZT2LiodjhX8jvjMTV3Kqtr968V9wm9Vhxom0VPKio/s1600/dewtmill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ExcSs6qRqyK6vGmDdfCpQvTBuFGjl3ilTrIZgjEKgZ7w41WuOTtzWQVSOoFfx95zo8pd8imtrTSvtOpQXAEZpeCjVQCfstYyq_ZT2LiodjhX8jvjMTV3Kqtr968V9wm9Vhxom0VPKio/s320/dewtmill.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Example of an 1800s grist mill</i></td></tr>
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My great great great grandfather Charles W. Beckwith was born Nov. 25, 1815 in Madison County New York to Elizabeth Buttolphs/Buttles and Seth Beckwith. They were of English descent and Charles received a common-school education in Eaton, Madison County, New York.</div>
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Charles had possibly five siblings Orpha born 1807, Eliza born 1809, Nelson born 1813, Dorcas Elizabeth born 1819 and George D. born 1828. Early census records are difficult to understand and don’t give a lot to go on before 1850 so its a shot in the dark.</div>
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A biography posted by a member on Ancestry.com revealed Charles parents. Also that he was a farmer and worked in a grist-mill and had mercantile transactions in Michigan. He was a Democrat and served as Justice of the Peace and Postmaster.</div>
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Charles married Emily Minerva Patrick in Sparta, New York in 1843, moved to Kent county Michigan and settled in <a href="http://www.fallasburg.org/TheVillage/History/tabid/2383/Default.aspx">Fallasburg </a>(near Grand Rapids) where he lived for 12 years. It was here that his first child Mary Ellen (my great great grandmother) was born in 1843 in Ionia, Michigan. They had nine children. Son George followed Mary Ellen in 1845, Edgar 1847, Charles (Sidney) 1850, Ida 1852, William 1854, Fannie 1857, Inez 1860, and Fred 1863. I'm always amazed at the number of children these women managed to give birth to and raise in a meager surrounding with no conveniences.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RkdNGTfSGJlxWR7JUmUb9Iz8cuSo1Uuuma_4MgsejScyVWLP9URwQO7MrKCK_J3nE2-uaFWOJUogcWjQLoEysjb0PsE3O8D4U2ZKbDkiQdOTBmtJXA5OAUdExKA6MOtxL1JmDrcaQ2s/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RkdNGTfSGJlxWR7JUmUb9Iz8cuSo1Uuuma_4MgsejScyVWLP9URwQO7MrKCK_J3nE2-uaFWOJUogcWjQLoEysjb0PsE3O8D4U2ZKbDkiQdOTBmtJXA5OAUdExKA6MOtxL1JmDrcaQ2s/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fallasburg map</i></td></tr>
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Fallasburg was settled by two brothers from Tompkins County, New York in 1839. John Wesley Fallas and his brother Silas purchased land and other family members soon followed, making the long journey in covered wagons. John built a sawmill on the east bank of the Flat River in 1839. He soon added a three story gristmill thirty feet down stream. Later came a tavern and hotel. </div>
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A school district had been established in 1837 and a log school house, the first of its kind between Ionia to the east and Grand Rapids to the west, was built the following year.</div>
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At the time Charles lived there Fallasburg was a small settlement and the roads were poor with few bridges. Roads gradually improved as need dictated, although most commerce was conducted with Ionia and Grand Rapids along the river. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9twCEilapWsQ0B28FaaNFDTkipSJ8rlZgjJX76jqjzXJqSsMsMxtwZlf525AyLo5_zaRWVfDyruWDKt0T0krXmsORRcOkYqDL6Uoof1li5DStYH_ApxymDJUvXjCuIKldx0nknWJBhY/s1600/10129201-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9twCEilapWsQ0B28FaaNFDTkipSJ8rlZgjJX76jqjzXJqSsMsMxtwZlf525AyLo5_zaRWVfDyruWDKt0T0krXmsORRcOkYqDL6Uoof1li5DStYH_ApxymDJUvXjCuIKldx0nknWJBhY/s320/10129201-large.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fallasburg bridge & sawmill</i></td></tr>
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The first bridge built across the Flat River, in 1840 was at Fallasburg in the Vergennes township. The early bridges all succumbed in a short time to high water and massive spring ice jams. </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In 1841 a state road between Grand Rapids and Detroit ran through Fallasburg. This route, used by
stagecoaches, created demand for repair shops and businesses catering to the
travelers. Three parallel roads ran through the village, only one of
which still exists. The other two roads were located on either side of
the Covered Bridge Road.</span></div>
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In the 1850 census Charles listed his occupation as a miller in <a href="http://kent.migenweb.net/directories/1870Dillenback/vergennes.html">Vergennes</a>. This township is located in the same area as Fallasburg. In 1855, Charles transferred the mercantile business to Ionia county (the next county over, east of Kent county) where he continued that business for four years. By the 1860 census he was a hotel keeper in the same area and had seven kids. In 1870 and 1880 he was a farmer with one of his sons.</div>
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In 1871 the <a href="http://www.michmarkers.com/startup.asp?startpage=S0197.htm">Fallasburg Bridge </a>was built in Vergennes Township, Michigan, five miles north of Lowell on the Flat River. It was a 100-foot span Brown truss covered bridge which still stands. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-vyhS_oz4Brbo0g_ESPTw_1lGo6VKAHMuA-80aE3fLJzjRkxOozz67cmoxFIB2pAKXXjFf5MXdVrZ0zCNCio6u6cKAilAsZTn2H2gCJU2JgFINnV_KIudaHMf-yoCLTffXDluKVOKtg/s1600/800px-FallasburgBridge_Overall_DownstreamApproachDSCN9984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-vyhS_oz4Brbo0g_ESPTw_1lGo6VKAHMuA-80aE3fLJzjRkxOozz67cmoxFIB2pAKXXjFf5MXdVrZ0zCNCio6u6cKAilAsZTn2H2gCJU2JgFINnV_KIudaHMf-yoCLTffXDluKVOKtg/s320/800px-FallasburgBridge_Overall_DownstreamApproachDSCN9984.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fallasburg Bridge</td></tr>
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Charles first wife died in 1872 of a tumor in her side and Charles married again in 1874 to Emily (Lull), a widow of Abraham Miller. They had two sons.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">By </span><span style="font-size: small;">1890 all the original descendents had died or left the area. Lansing, Lowell and Grand Rapids grew as the commercial centers in the area leaving Fallasburg the sleepy pioneer town it has remained for the past 100 years. Many buildings dating from the nineteenth century still stand, a representation of the growth and development of a small
town during the mid-to-late-nineteenth century. A unique little town where I have a small bit of history.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>Bibliography</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.michmarkers.com/startup.asp?startpage=L1265.htm</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://kent.migenweb.net/directories/1870Dillenback/vergennes.html</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.novanumismatics.com/articles/numismatics39.php</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.centuryhouse.org/newsletr/Sprg2000/grengrst.html</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.mlive.com/news/grand-rapids/index.ssf/2011/10/town_is_gone_but_after_140_yea.html</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:FallasburgBridge_Overall_DownstreamApproachDSCN9984.JPG (photo of bridge)</span><br />
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<br />Lorita OLearyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00856166869433725628noreply@blogger.com0