FAREWELL

Dear Readers,

One year ago today (June 10) Howard preached his last sermon at the Traders Point Christian Church in Indianapolis. When we moved to Cincinnati, Craig surprised me by setting up this blog. It has been a great way to keep in touch with you and to invite you into our world. (You probably know more about the Brammers than you ever wanted to!) It is time to say "Good-bye" for now. Since I own the blog site, who knows....I might pick it back up again when summer is over.

As you could tell by reading the blog, our lives have been blessed this past year. We love our neighborhood which includes our family around the corner and shopping (and eating) within walking distance. Howard continues to enjoy working with the Beavercreek Christian Church as well as the Cincinnati Christian University.

God has been gracious to me as well. I wanted to write my memoirs someday, and now I am deep into the process. (The Pete Kennedy story was a sampling. Part 3 of that chapter is posted) The group meets around our dining room table each Thursday. My instructor is a writer who has taught at the University of Iowa and specializes in "Memoir Writing." How perfect is that? I have learned so much from her. She is a delightful person as well.

I have enjoyed blending into the art community which is vibrant here in Clifton. The new director of the Art Center came for lunch last week. It was a delight to get to know her. I look forward to getting involved with children in the area of art.

I have also enjoyed becoming involved in the Beavercreek church. Howard and I started team-teaching a class on marriage Sunday. Who knows what all God has in store for us. Whatever it is, we are ready for the challenge.

Thank you for traveling along with me this past year. It has been fun!

God bless you all.
Love,
Martha

Memoirs - Pete Kennedy 1st Visit - Part 3

I heard Margaret and Pete talking about getting their clothes and lunches packed for the following day’s departure. I hated to see them go. I loved Margaret dearly and always wanted to stay near her. She seemed to know so much about so many things. I wanted to dress like her and look just as classy when I grew up.


Now that they were preparing to go back to Cincinnati, I thought it was too bad that Pete had missed the excitement of our getting ready for his visit. It was work but still an exciting time. Since his arrival, our lives had slowed down. We were to watch our manners as well as our tongues. We could walk through the house but not run. We were to talk but not yell. We could talk at the table, but not with our mouths full. We could eat anything on the table, but were forbidden to ask for anything we did not see. The list went on and on. There was nothing left but boredom. Life was too perfect. It was not our way of living.


I was only eight years old, but my youth did not prohibit me from thinking that Pete needed to see us as we really were. I thought a “tell all” shadow show would do the trick. We were not the family who used perfect manners and ate with a napkin at mealtime, nor did we keep our tempers and mouths under control at all time. I kept words hidden under my tongue that came out when I tripped over a garden rake or stepped in a cow pile. This is one way country kids handled difficult situations.


Pete grew up as a city kid. He needed to know how the other half lived, and I was more than willing to show him. My production would give him an inside view as to what went on before he arrived.


I was born sandwiched between two brothers in the birthing order. Tom was two years younger than I and Charlie was about the same distance on the upper side. They agreed to be my assistants. They nailed a bed sheet over the door between the living room and the “Big Bedroom”, as we called it. Tom took care of turning the light on in the bedroom during the show and off when it was over. Charlie operated the light in the living room where the audience sat. Their chairs were facing the bedroom doorway which was covered with the sheet.


When Charlie turned the light off in the living room, Tom quickly flipped the switch on in the bedroom. I stepped up on the stool, so my shadow could be seen by everyone in the audience. I immediately turned sideways to show the huge pillow-stuffed belly that represented my mother’s pregnant stomach. She was expecting her thirteenth child. The audience’s response was so overwhelmingly enthusiastic that I went into my monologue with no hesitation. Not only were they with me, but I had them in the palm of my hand. Since they were roaring with laughter, I continued to remain silent, but made gestures that would feed their sense of humor. I scratched my rump and rubbed my belly.


We all knew that Mom’s face ran with perspiration in the summertime, so I wiped my brow and flung it into the air. The more they laughed, the more brave I became. I forgot how thin that bed sheet actually was. Because I was completely out of Mom’s reach, I felt daring and adventuresome as to where I was going to take my audience. It is amazing how much courage an eight-year-old can have when separated from their parent….even if it is only by a thin sheet.


Mom had been seated next to Pete. It was a place of honor when the show began, but a place of embarrassment as the story unfolded. I told details of our preparation that was never to be spoken. I told about Mom in the kitchen trying to figure out her menus. Would he like this or would he like that? Would he drink our cow’s milk or should Dad bring the bought kind home from town? I gave the older kids orders to make sure Pete’s sheet didn’t have a hole in it and, if possible, find pillow cases that matched. I reminded them to get a clean towel and not to worry about matching the washcloth. That would be impossible!

I shook my finger into the air ordering this child and that one to, “Get busy because, Pete Kennedy is coming!” That refrain repeated itself over and over as the show went on.
Pete began shaking quietly with laughter. Mom later said she could feel his arm shaking next to hers.

Since he seemed to be enjoying the show, she decided she would relax and enjoy it along with him. It was about that time that I took it to a deeper level and told about us wondering what would we do with the pot situation. Mom was about to faint from embarrassment, when Pete began laughing out loud. Mom had enough Irish blood to love a good laugh. There was nothing she liked better.

She was more than ready for the play to come to an end. Somehow a kid senses when they have gone far enough. That feeling grabbed me through the bed sheet like the ghosts that jumped out of Grandma Gabhart's bedtime stories.

In closing, I put both hands on my hips with my feet spread apart and yelled, “Put the lime on the toilet, kids. Pete Kennedy is coming!” Laughter bellowed from the audience as Tom flipped the bedroom light off, leaving me standing in the dark. Charlie turned the living room light on so the audience could see their way out of the make-shift theater.

While Mom was trying to recover and apologize to Pete, I stayed behind the sheet afraid to come out. I could hear her throwing apologetic words at him the same way she had given orders to us before he came. He assured her he loved every minute of it. She believed him and was relieved.


That event told more about her and Pete’s new relationship than it was about me or the shadow show. She got a glimpse of his sense of humor; a trait she admired. She saw that he did not pass judgment on her or the way we lived. Instead, she sensed that he admired her. She had already been convinced that he was not a sissy or a push-over. He was gentle and kind with an inner strength she liked. After that night, she thought he would fit into our family like hand and glove. She could envision him and Margaret having a great life together.


Many years later when I walked into the lobby of the Loogootee Nursing Center, Mom was sitting with several lady friends. When she saw me coming through the double doors, she said, “This is my daughter “Marthie”, and I want to tell you all about the time she put on a shadow show for my son-in-law Pete Kennedy.” With a big smile on her face and with her hands replaying the motions I had done, she began reciting the script that had stayed with her for over fifty years. When she finished, she patted me on the arm as if to say, “Thanks for the memories.”

Memoirs: Pete's First Visit -Part 2

We ran to the edge of the yard overlooking the winding lane as Margaret and her new friend made their way up the hill. We screamed, jumped high in to the air and the little ones swung on the wooden gate as they got closer. We loved seeing her. She was beautiful with her pencil-thin waist and slender hips. Her hair was long and so were her nails. Her ivory complexion was flawless against her dark snappy eyes.

She was full of life and was eager to share it with anyone she considered to be her equal. I felt we were no longer on her level, since she had moved away and was much wiser than we ever hoped to be. However, blood runs thicker than water, and that loyalty ran from her veins to ours, which we found to be a lifeline into a larger world.

“Hi kids….I want you to meet Pete Kennedy”, she said in a nervous but excited tone. We quietly smiled back. Pete was definitely from the city. His attire gave him away. His shoes were made of soft white cloth with matching strings. The fabric was attached to the soles by a thin strip of rubber. We could not help but chuckle at those “sissy” shoes. Dad and my brothers wore heavy leather shoes with dark rawhide strings. It was quite a contrast from what we were seeing for the first time.

Pete stood like a scared rabbit. He seemed stiff and uneasy as Margaret began reciting our names. Figuring there were too many to remember, she went back and gave brief descriptions so he could identify each of us more easily. She described me as “the one who sings.” (During her high school days, she had taken me to school on “talent day” and had me sing before the assembly. As a five-year-old, I was scared to death. I cried and asked Mom to make her stop taking me, and she did!)

The nervousness that Margaret showed and the stiffness that held on to Pete, seemed to fade as we swarmed around them asking a million questions. I liked holding and smelling her soft, sweet hands. She was graceful and looked beautiful in her city clothes. In a way she didn’t seem to belong to us anymore. She belonged to a bigger world. She told us about riding in streetcars and seeing buildings taller than our barn. The more she talked about her new life, the farther she seemed from us.

Pete became as inquisitive about us as we were about him. He seemed fascinated with the life we lived and soon began asking questions. He wondered what we did for fun. He did not see any books to read or games to play. There were no bats, balls or dolls. We hadn’t thought much about it. We were learning that country kids have ways of playing that city kids aren’t aware of. We needed to clue him in.

When we told him about swimming in the pond, he wanted to know how we had learned to swim. We told him that the older kids could “kinda” swim from one side of the pond to the other, but the rest of us couldn’t. The shallow end had a lot of broken glass on the bottom, so we were not supposed to wade in that area. He had a look of horror on his face as the thought of us kids in a pond with glass on the bottom. He didn’t think any of us should be in the deep end unless we could swim. We assured him we were fine because Dad had given us inner tubes to hold on to.

The following day was swimming lesson 101. Pete organized us according to size and had us line up on the bank. He demonstrated the various kinds of strokes and how we were to do them. I was convinced he was not the sissy the boys thought he would be. As he swam across the murky water, the muscles popped up on his back like the ropes on our tree swing. Within a few days, we were all swimming. We were safe from the glass because we could all stay in the deep end. I only wished he had come sooner. I had stepped on a piece of glass the week before which cut off the tip of my second toe.

The following day was a day I will always remember. Pete changed our worlds forever. He had been hinting that he had something for us, but we were unable to guess what it was. On that day, he went to the trunk of his car and presented us with a tube of fuzzy green balls. We had never seen anything like them before. We felt them and rubbed them against our cheeks. They were soft and yet firm. They bounced. We wondered what we would do with them. Pete explained that they were tennis balls. These were the balls he played tennis with at the University of Cincinnati. We knew we were not going to be dressing in white shorts and canvas shoes, so what were we supposed to do with the balls?

We invented all kinds of ways to play with them. My favorite was “handy over.” One team threw the ball over the house. If the other team caught it before it bounced on the ground, they could sneak around the house and “tag” anyone on the opposing team thus gaining a point. If they missed catching the ball, they had to yell “handy over” and toss it back over the roof to the other team. For the team on the front side of the house, the big challenge was to catch the ball before it went bouncing down the hill and into the creek. The teams rotated so one did not have the disadvantage of being on the front side each time.

We played this until the sun went down and we could no longer see the ball. This game might sound too simple to be fun, but we would strategize to make it more difficult to win.  My brother, Charlie, discovered that if you threw the ball with just enough force to let it reach the peek of the roof, then it would slowly roll down the other side of the roof and onto the ground. It would surprise the other team, who was standing far from the house thinking it was coming over high in the air. They could not get to it in time to catch it before it bounced on the ground.

Also, we realized you could see through the house since the little bedroom window lined up with the front living room one. We would watch to see heads pass across the windows. That would tell us they caught the ball and were coming to tag us. The other team got smart and bent under the window without being seen. (I’m sure this was another one of Charlie’s ideas.) The opposing team got caught as they watched, thinking no one was coming.

We took the balls down to the meadow, which lay on the south side of the house and barnyard. We gathered thick sticks from the nearby woods and played softball. There was no greater thrill than to hit one of those fuzzy green balls and send it soaring in the air while the outfielder was jumping over dirt clods and running through wild dandelions to make a catch.

My brother, Tom, who is two years younger than I, developed a knack for juggling the balls. He started with two and then advanced to three. They were the perfect weight. They were small enough to fit into a kid’s hand and fuzzy enough to stick to one’s skin. Sometimes he would bounce one on the living room floor and then throw his leg over a it was on its way up. We all tried our hand at juggling, but Tom always remained the champ! Since the balls were rubber and filled with air, we took them to the pond and tossed them across the murky water. They did not hurt when we missed a catch and they bounced off our heads. 

The tennis ball story has stayed with us all these years. We still enjoy talking about the day Pete Kennedy introduced us to the world of tennis! We could not help laughing behind his back at his dainty shoes. We held our breath and later our sides as we laughed about the pants he put on as the sun grew higher in the sky. They, too, were white with slits up the sides. We thought they barely covered his “you know what”. Needless to say, we all gawked and were assured he was okay.

Our curiosity grew until one of us got up the nerve to ask him about his attire. He explained that he played tennis. These were called tennis shoes and the shorts were made so the player could move without being restricted. The slits allowed one’s legs to stretch so he could reach for the ball. The canvas shoes were light weight and would not weigh the player down like a regular pair of shoes would do.

We were a private bunch about seeing each other’s bodies. Mom would not allow anyone to dress or undress in front of the opposite sex. It was a sin she would not tolerate. For the first time in my life, I was looking at flesh in an area I had never seen before. And it was on a person I hardly knew.

Memoirs - Pete Kennedy 1st Visit - Part 2

Craig's Work

Craig is a healthcare researcher at the University of Cincinnati, and is the leader of a project called "Greater Cincinnati Aligning Forces for Quality."

There are thirteen other Aligning Forces programs in the US. Yesterday the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation announced a major investment of $300 million for Aligning Forces.

Newspapers around the country had articles about the project (Craig is quoted in both Cincinnati papers). Click the links below to read more.

New York Times

Wall Street Journal

USAToday

Cincinnati Enquirer

Cincinnati Business Courier

Painting In Progress

If you click onto Jason's write up in an earlier post, you will see this painting embedded in the article. It looks small; however, here you will see that it is approx.6' X 4'. The light gold inside the design is a metalic gold. Don't ask me about the eye staring back at you from the wall....I don't have a clue!!!

Memoirs: Pete's First Visit -Part 1

(When I was eight years old, my sister, Margaret, brought her boyfriend home for the first time. This chapter will take you through the ups and downs of that historical visit.)

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As the 1950’s were arriving, Mom and Dad’s oldest kids were preparing to leave. Mom was only seventeen when Margaret, her first-born, arrived. They were, for all practical purposes, like sisters growing up together. It was hard for Mom to let her go.

A job opportunity in Louisville, Kentucky coaxed Margaret to move there. While on the job, she met a cute young guy by the name of Peter Kennedy. He collected and distributed mail throughout the office as summer employment. Margaret soon discovered that both of them shared great aspirations for themselves. He was definitely a person of interest.

Letters arrived back on the farm telling us about her new acquaintance. Mom seemed delighted about the possibilities of having a future son-in-law; something new and exciting for her. It didn’t take long for us to figure out that he was from the upper side of the tracks. He had grown up in Cleveland, OH with only one sibling. The two brothers had an easy life with a father who had a healthy income and a mother who doted over them.

Our curiosity built with each letter. My brothers had him pictured as a “sissy.” Since Margaret was born bossy, we figured he had to be someone she could push around. She was known for being smart; so we thought he would have to be equal on that point, or she would never have looked at him in the first place. Mom said Margaret could read the newspaper at age five. That was something none of the rest of us accomplished.

The day we all dreaded was near at hand. She was bringing Pete Kennedy home to the farm! Our house was not, nor would it ever be, ready for guests. Where would he sleep? How would he manage our outdoor “John”? We all used the same enameled pot during the night, but I could not imagine him taking a turn.

Our kitchen table was too small to seat everyone at the same time. We ate in shifts. Would he eat with the first group, which consisted of Dad, my brothers and small siblings, or wait and join the women in the second? We decided we were wasting our time trying to figure everything out. Margaret would have it all under control. She would leave no stone unturned.

We watched the mail and waited for her instructions to arrive. It was not long before we received the list of do’s and don’ts. She said he would sleep in the “little bedroom,” as we called it. All of our rooms were small, but this one was unusually so. A small cracked window faced the west, looking toward the vegetable garden, the smokehouse and the old stone well that my mother had drawn water from as a child. The bedroom floor slanted, so books were used to prop up one end of the bed.

The north side of the room was filled with old coats and outdated suits. Mom kept them as a resource for making small coats and jackets for us kids. Their smell gave the room a musty odor. We covered them with blankets when the room was converted into guest quarters and raised the window for fresh air.

Margaret said her friend would not be going outside to the “John” in the middle of the night. He would have the pot all to himself. It would be placed near his bed for his convenience. She said the rest of us knew where the “outhouse” was, and we could go there for the short time he was visiting. I could see that this guy was important to her, and she was asking us to sacrifice whatever it took to impress him.

Our entire lives began to evolve around the upcoming visit. It was our first opportunity to see a sister’s boyfriend. How would we treat them when they arrived? Would they kiss in front of us? Should we leave the room when they entered? When they walked in the woods, could we join them? When setting the table, would we be obligated to give him all three pieces of flatware? We didn’t have enough to go around for those of us who lived there. If one person got a spoon, more than likely, the next one got the fork. Wouldn’t it look strange if he got all three? Again, why worry? Margaret would have the answers.

We scrubbed, waxed and cleaned every inch of the house. The linoleum floors were left looking wet and shiny. The vinegar and water solution worked well on the windows; however, the broken panes became more prominent. Dad put switch plate covers on the electrical outlets which was something Mom had been wanting. He had become an electrician by trade. He would take what he needed from our house and give it to his customers with a promise to replace it. With guests coming he should, and was more than willing to spruce up the place anyway he could. He got caught up into the same frenzy we were all in.

We had no closets, so things got stuffed under beds. There were no bedspreads to hang low and cover the plunder, so we pulled quilts down on the front side leaving the back exposed. The bedrooms looked neat and tidy as you entered the room. It was a different story viewed from the other side.

The day arrived much too soon. We wanted everything looking better than we were capable of achieving. It was clean, by our standards, and that was the most important thing. This guy was not only going to have clean sheets, but we also gave him his own towel and washcloth, which were folded neatly on the dresser. We had never had our own towel or washcloth, but this was a visitor to impress, and we were pulling out the stops. We were taking the job of hosting to a whole new level.

Birthday Party At Maggianos

The Brammer clan gathered at Maggiano's last night to celebrate our daughter-in-law, Carol's, birthday. From left to right is Madeline, Mary Grace (Taylor's girlfriend), Taylor, John (Taylor's buddy), Crosley, Sawyer and Carol. We left with three bags full of food. What a feast!

Craig was worn out after a long day at work and a belly full of spaghetti!

Happy Birthday Carol. We are not going to ask how old you are!!!!

These pansies have been on our front porch for weeks now. I thought they would have been gone by now. These cool, rainy days keeps them going.

Artist Of The Month

If you would like to read about Jason and his art, Click on this photo for the write up.

Memoirs: My Birth -Part 2

The upstairs bedroom with two double beds and a cot were filled with seven kids. Dad and mom slept in the living room. The house was crowded with nine squeezed into such a limited space. Dad’s income was less than adequate as he picked up odd jobs to keep hunger from knocking on their door.

Mom felt burdened with the responsibility of sewing, cooking and doing all the other things that go with keeping a large family alive. She managed without any conveniences. There was no running water or adequate heat. The only bathroom was at the end of a muddy path behind the summer kitchen. The refrigerator was a shelf at the cold end of the kitchen. The food she cooked had been planted and harvested by her and any child old enough to help. She held hunger at bay during the winter months by canning fruits and vegetables, jellies and jams, meats of all kinds.

Nuts were hulled and put into jars and hid behind canned spinach. Sweet potatoes did well under the upstairs beds while the Irish variety stayed in the damp outdoor cellar. Life was more than difficult for Mom; she felt it was almost unbearable. It was at this time that a fresh cry came from the bed in the living room on a bitter cold January night. I became another mouth to feed.


There were no provisions for another child such as a bassinette or crib. Charlie was using the only one they had. At eighteen months old, he was still a baby himself. Mom was never short on ingenuity. She had dad pull out the bottom drawer of the dresser and use it for my bed. They went to the barn and gathered enough hay to fill it. A pillowcase was the perfect answer for an infant sheet. When I was laid in this make-shift bassinette, they pulled it over near the fireplace to keep me warm. This was where I slept until I grew big enough to kick Charlie out of his crib.

A Young Artist At Work

Sawyer had fun this week making things out of clay in my basement studio. If you came to our house earlier, and you could not envision the basement becoming anything but a dark storage area, well, come again.....it is painted, carpeted and ready for business! Sawyer is breaking it in, and as his shirt says, "Life is Good."

Kay Marble With Her Daughters

When I was twelve, Mom and Dad took in a fourteen-year-old welfare girl (Wanda Kay McClure). She and I hit it off and have been friends ever since. She lived on the farm with us for a year and a half. I drove to Coshocton, OH yesterday and visited with her and her daughters. I returned this evening. We enjoy taking a yearly trip down "Memory Lane". She is pictured here with her two daughters. Bev in the plaid and Tracy in red.

Our Neighbor's rose

The roses are unusually beautiful this year. Our neighbors, Gillian and Ralf, planted this bush last year. It is lovely viewed from our porch.

Roadside Market

This roadside market was located on Route 16 west of Coshocton, OH. I purchased some flowers for our window boxes as well as getting a homemade sandwich from their cooler. It was a refreshing break after three hours of driving.

An Apple A Day.....

If you ate an apple from this Longaberger basket, it would take longer than a day....maybe a week! I drove off route 16 and into the Longaberger Homestead this afternoon on my way home from Coshocton. You can buy baskets in every shape, size and price. (www.longabergerhomestead.com)

Longaberger Basket Company

This is not your ordinary basket. It is the office building for the Longaberger Basket Company. It is located on route 16 near Coshocton, OH. It is an amazing sight!

Old Union Church At Alfordsville, IN

A few years ago a group of local folks decided to bring the Old Union Church, located a few miles south of Alfordsville, back to its original glory. My dad, Howard Gabhart, was one of those who devoted a great portion of time to get the plan in motion. Dad loved Old Union. He passed away before it was completed.

This was the first time in many years that a Memorial Day reunion was held on the grounds. There were 115 who had returned to pay their respects to Old Union, the people who brought it back to life and the relatives and loved ones buried there.

Mom and Dad brought us here every year when we were kids. A huge pitch-in dinner (our noon meal) was enjoyed by all. Mom filled buckets with flowers to lay on the graves of our relatives while we listened to her and Dad tell stories about each one.

It was a treat to go back this year; however, it wasn't the same. There was no food and the old generation was gone. Well... the "old generation" wasn't gone....we were it!

Six Siblings

Six of us Gabhart "kids" were in attendance. We are from left to right...Charlie, Martha, Phillip, Amy, Lorna and Annie.

My Brother Charlie

My brother Charlie lives in Jasper, IN. I stayed with his daughter Lydia and her husband Jason who live near him. Charlie brought me a rose from his yard. It was one of the most beautiful roses I have ever seen. He borrowed my camera and took the two following photos of it. Lydia is holding it in one of the shots.

Clifton Memorial Day Parade

Three hundred or so Cliftonites walked to Mt. Storm today for the annual Memorial Day parade. Some folks brought picnic baskets while others grilled in the park. There was food for sale if anyone wanted to purchase it there. It was a nice way to meet new friends and see our neighbors.

Volunteer Band

What is a parade without a band? This volunteer band played patriotic numbers from this flat-bed truck as the crowd gathered under giant shade trees. The band was small; however, the music was big enough to fill the park.

Picnicking In The Park

It was a beautiful day to picnic. The young ones enjoyed romping down the hillside as well as climbing on the monument.

Ellie 'n Jack

Ellie Jackson (Troy and Amanda's daughter) lives around the corner. She loves Jack, our grandkid's dog. He was feeling neglected by the crowd, so a hug from Ellie made his day.

Writing My Memoirs

Craig called last night to remind me that nothing has been added to my blog lately. I told him I have been writing my memoirs rather than writing on the blog.

The writing class meets each Thursday at my house. There are five of us. Each one is expected to have a manuscript to read. After all, that's the purpose of the class! I am surprised at the amount of time it takes to write; however, I manage to have something each week.

My purpose in writing is to give our sons and grandchildren a glimpse of what life was like back on the farm.

Craig suggested I share some of the writing with you. He came over tonight to help me get set up. He thought I should post small portions at a time. The following is what we decided to sent. All the chapters will not be included. I hope you enjoy visiting the Baker farm and meeting my twelve brothers and sisters plus the parents who reared us.

Memoirs: My Birth -Part 1

Mother’s memory had no trouble bringing up events of the past. She added colorful details which made every story interesting. As a young child, I loved hearing her narratives describing each of our births. I was shy about asking her to describe mine for fear I would appear preoccupied with my own self importance; a trait she would not tolerate in any of her children.

Each sibling owned their own history. Mine was nothing outstanding except that it belonged to me. It was my personal beginning and how things were when I entered the world.

Mom and Dad lived in a small one-bedroom farmhouse northwest of Alfordsville. This small hamlet is located in the lower left-hand section of the state of Indiana. Three larger towns make up a triangle. Washington is at the northwest corner with Loogootee at the northeast and Jasper on the south. Alfordsville was located in the center of the three unnoticed by almost everyone.

My parent’s home consisted of one bedroom upstairs with a tiny living room and kitchen on the ground floor. A stone fireplace provided heat for the living room while a cook stove did double duty in the kitchen; providing warmth while cooking the family’s meals. The fireplace and stove were both fed on wood gathered from the underbrush and fallen trees off the farm.

The house faced South with a large stone step at the front door. Two windows starred across the front yard toward the gravel road which ran past, but was seldom used. When fresh water fell from the sky and ran across the tin roof, a rain barrel was waiting at the northeast corner to collect it for washday. A summer kitchen stood facing the backdoor. It housed mom’s washing machine.

When the clotheslines, which were stretched across the backyard, became laden with soggy clothes, a maze was formed for kids to run through. Fresh air and sunshine was the method for drying; not the method of choice, but the only one offered.

Dad and mom moved the family into these small quarters in the late fall of 1942. World War II was raging in Europe. Food was rationed. People used food stamps as money. Some folks suffered dreadfully, but since Mom and Dad had already been living below the poverty line, they considered food stamps to be a gift from God the same way the Israelites looked at manna. You can only go so far down until you have to grab hold of hope and simply hang on to life.

This and That

I have not been out with my camera this week. It has been raining cats 'n dogs. Tonight the water is running across the laundry room floor toward the drain in our basement. This only happens when we have a downpour. We had one today!

Howard and I are making plans to lead a tour to Israel and Germany in June 2010. The tour will include the passion play at Oberammergau as well as all the sights in and around Jerusalem. We are meeting in Indianapolis Saturday morning at the Traders Point Christian Church @ 10:00 for anyone who is interested in going or wants information concerning the trip.

I'll give you a little update on the Brammers. Howard is still working with the Beaver Creek Christian church near Dayton. He is enjoying his time there. The people are delightful and seem appreciative of him being there. They are in the process of locating a new minister. Howard is helping them in this endeavor.

He spends a day and a half working with the Cincinnati Christian University as special assistant to the president. He enjoys working with David Faust who has been a friend for many years. He is also working with her old college roommate, Wally Rendel. He and Wally have come full circle.

I have been volunteering with the Clifton Cultural Art Center in helping set up their Open House which will be the 25th of this month. I posted photos of the building recently. It is beautiful and will be the perfect home for the arts.

Since writing has always intrigued me, I have wanted to join a writing group for a long time. When we moved to Cincinnati, I was introduced to the perfect one. Each person is serious about writing. We show up weekly with our manuscript in hand. Lisa McKenzie is a great teacher. I am having the time of my life learning from her. I never knew writing would be so fulfilling.

I have been teaching preschool kids at the Beaver Creek Church on a part-time basis. Howard and I will soon be co-teaching on marriage. I hope ours holds together until the class is over! We are looking forward to it. It has been a long time since we have taught on the subject.

I will close with the hopes you all are doing well. It is always a delight to get your emails.

Love,
Martha

Hello....Could I Help You?

Taylor, our grandson, was at the Brutopia Coffee Shop ready to wait on us when we arrived early this morning.

How Do You Want Your Latte?

Taylor is sixteen now. He gets up (on his own) and opens the coffee shop each Saturday morning. He has learned the trade and can make a latte as good (or better) than anyone!

European Breads

Brutopia has a European lady who makes these breads. I used all the willpower I had to pass them up this morning.

Father 'n Son Chat

Howard and Craig enjoyed a cup of coffee at Brutopia this morning. This coffee is the REAL stuff!!! The coffee shop is owned by Craig, Carol and some friends.

Clean-Up Day

"Clean-Up Day" at the old Clifton School started at nine this morning. We are preparing it for the Open House which will be held the last of the month. When this building was built, no detail was omitted. Today was the first time I noticed this door. It was tucked around the corner and out of view.

Stepping Up In Beauty

These stairs make you wonder if they are made of lace or iron. The open design gives the sun an opportunity to shine through and make the stairwells glisten.

Another Water Fountain

I posted one Rookwood Pottery water fountain, but today I discovered another one on the second floor. The other one had flowers where this one has a boat.

More Treasures

I saw this large ceramic relief hanging on one of the classroom walls. More than likely, it is another Rookwood piece. Priceless.

Spring On Sherlock

The elderly lady who owned our house and who passed away in the front yard, left these irises beside the front porch. I picked enough for the dining room table last night, and this morning more were opened.

Italian Notebook

Have you ever seen Rome upside down? It is possible after a rainfall. Go to http://www.italiannotebook.com/ Then click the tab that says TODAY'S NOTE. Enjoy!

Welcome To LaGrange

LaGrange, Ky is a small town nestled in the hills just north of Louisville. It is a quaint place to spend an afternoon meandering in and out of the interesting shops.

Resting On Main

Susan Toadvine and Judy Russell are taking a break on Main St. in LaGrange. The paintings in the window are by a local artist. Susan lives in Louisville and takes art lessons in LaGrange. (If your name was "Toadvine", what kind of pin would you wear?)

A Train Runs Through It

I have heard of a train "crossing" Main, but never before saw one actually going in the same direction. This train chugs right through the heart of town.

Southeast Christian Church in Louisville, KY

This is the lobby of the Southeast Christian Church in Louisville, KY. It has new carpet as well as a renovated balcony. What was once open on the second level is now closed in and looks like store fronts.

Coffee And Lounge

This area is next to the lobby. It is the perfect place to enjoy a cup of coffee and visit a friend.

Lunch With An Author

Judy introduced me to her friend, Christine Davis, who wrote a book entitled Ocean star. It is her life's story. She recently wrote a women's Bible study which will be available soon. I enjoyed reading Christine's book and was delighted to meet her. Click here to visit her website.

Madeline's Recital

Yesterday afternoon was Madeline's piano recital. She is taught by Carl Payne who retired a few years ago from the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra. He and his wife, Susan, live two doors from Madeline and five doors from us.

The Old Clifton School

The Cincinnati Public School system recently donated this old Clifton school to the Clifton Cultural Arts Council. I have joined this group in planning for an OPEN HOUSE the last of May 25 12:00-3:00. The next photos will show you how beautiful it is inside. It is the perfect place for young and old to experience the arts.

Chandelier Left Behind

This incredible chandelier was left in the school. Cincinnati architects who designed schools in days gone by, put art as an intrigal part of the buildings. Can you imagine a school today hanging this light fixture from the assembly room ceiling?

Valuable Art

This is another piece of art that was left in the building.

Rookwood Pottery

This drinking fountain was made by the world-renowned Rookwood Pottery Co. Art has always been important to Cincinnati. The old schools, libraries and court houses are filled with these one-of-a-kind priceless treasures.

Gaslight B & B

Yesterday I took a walk through the neighborhood. I passed this B & B on my way home.

Last Night's Art Tour

Craig and I attended the Essex Art Show last night. We stood in the sprinkling rain while the parking attendant took our picture. The letters on the building are filled in with broken pieces of glass, pottery and tiles which is called shadware.

Remember When....

Remember when you could spot these huge figures standing outside a restaurant or a car dealership? They are now being collected and preserved for another generation to gawk at just like we did as kids!

SIGNS...SIGNS....and more SIGNS

The entire first floor of the old Essex building is filled to the brim with signs of all kinds. This one was made of copper.

Cincinnati's Own Sign Museum

The sign collector and lots of artists share the same building on the corner of Essex and McMillan. (Woops! I just noticed the "donations of $5. We went right by that last night!)

More Signs!