In the beginning (of my life!)

I was writing things that should be written down on a computer every week. Then we got a new computer and we thought we copied important stuff like that. Now we don't know where it is. :-( How sad!

So what if I write such things every week on a blog - then it can't get lost so easily.

Here we go-

In 1950, shortly before I was born, my family - Mom, Dad, and brother - Alan, was trying to move into a new house in a new little town close to Denver, CO. Now that little town has grown to become a large suberb of Denver. Then there was space between it and Denver.

But the house was not ready. Along I came. My mother had days when she would put me in a little cradle in the car and take me to the new house to sleep in the car while she worked on the house. I guess this was an early kind of sweat equity. I am fairly sure she told me they wanted a particular treatment of the basement outside walls - waterproofing spray and then the soil packed really well and sloped away from the house. This was not done properly by the builder and this was, I believe, one of the projects that was done before I was six weeks old when we actually moved into the new house. I am fairly certain that other projects during that time included painting, finishing hardwood floors and then, of course, moving in.

Alan was four years old. I guess he thought it was acceptable that I was around, though I doubt he was thrilled. I believe my dad was selling insurance at the time. My mother was thrilled to have a girl and a boy at this time. For a long time my family had only one car. My mother was a stay-at-home mom at the time which was by far the most common status of mothers of young children at that time. I believe that my mother must have taken my dad to work sometimes so she could use the car. I also remember occassionly we had to get a taxi home from walking to the grocery store. It was one thing for the three of us to walk to the store, but to bring home all the bags of groceries was another thing. I would probably not have such distinct memory of riding the taxi home from the grocery store except that once we did that and the Taxi driver was impatient and irritable. He didn't want to wait for or unload/help with the groceries so Mom just asked him to set the bags (paper, of course, back then) on the front porch. The driver grabbed bags from the trunk and dropped them on the porch and took off. As Alan and Mom were taking the bags in (I think I was too small to carry such things.) they noticed that one of the bags was full of syrup and broken glass. Boy, Mom was not happy with the Taxi arrangement that day! It may have been honey or something, but in any case it was in a broken glass jar that had been dropped too heavily on the porch. I don't recall if we ever rode the taxi after that. I do remember that Alan and I walked many times to the store - one sort or another. There was one in particular the was called "the Handy". I guess it would be like a convenience store, now. Just a small general store on Colfax. I am sure we were sent there on important errands from time to time, but I only remember the important thing was if we earned some spending money we could buy candy!

But back to the beginning. The new neighborhood and new house when I was an infant would be our family's home through the time I was growing up. They started building a new home after I had been overseas and moved in after I was married. But it was a nice family neighborhood and was the second house from the corner. Across that street was the elementary school where we would attend. There were neighbors my family had left in the north Denver neighborhood, especially Shirley Highland and her family. But new friends were made in the new place. Hadsells, Culvers, Thomas', Sonlightners, There was even another family down the street with out last name! I remember once we got mail or a message or something that was for them. I was asked to take it to "Tom", who was a very tall grown son (maybe in High School) in their family. I rang the bell and a woman came to the door. I asked for Tom and she said, "Big Tom or little Tom?" I knew this guy was huge, so I said, "Big Tom!" Then this father-aged person came to the door so I had to explain that I needed to give a message to the son, Tom, who did not seem to me he could possibly be called "little Tom!"

At the time of my birth my father's parents were no longer living. My mother's father was living, I believe in Illinois. He was married to Helen, but my mother's Mother had died when my mother was young. I always liked Helen a lot, but she never would let us called her Grandmother, because she felt she had done nothing to earn that title. My grandfather died when I was 4, I think.

Just for purposes of medical history - it may have been heart related issues that caused my grandfather to die when he did, but it was not an inheritable condition. He had been to the Dr. days before his hospitalization and told he was in excellent physical condition. Then he was in an elevator accident, where the elevator he was in dropped somewhat hard. Apparently it compressed his chest, not allowing his heart or lungs to expand and function properly. He died a few days later, I believe. This is jumping way ahead, but I may tell that story in my next blog, because it goes together with this story.

To Be Continued