A bit about Stan & his parents.

8/20/13

Wow! It's been so long since I've been on here I don't know what I've written about--have to take time (not right now) to read my blog myself.

I've been wanting to get back at it, partly because I've mostly written about my family and my own stores and would like to share a bit of what I know of Stan's life. Of course I don't know as much as I'd like about his family and I may leave out a thing or 2 of the things that I do know.

He was born and lived the first few years of his life in Chehalis, WA. I believe this picture of him, his dad, Cliff, and dog, Tony was taken there. It must have been a special occasion as I don't think I've ever seen a man using a shovel while wearing a suit. I believe Tony was the first in a long list of dogs Stan loved. Except for when he was in the service, I don't think there was ever a time that he didn't have at least one canine. Actually they owned him rather than the other way around. (I used to joke with him about what choice he would make if his dog and I were in danger and he could only save one of us. I'm still not 100% sure that he meant it when he said it would be me. ;-)   

Cliff was a sign painter and had his own sign shop in Chehalis. During WW2 they moved to West Seattle and Cliff helped paint the roof of the Boeing plant so that it looked like part of a city instead of a factory. Cliff was a very well-respected and active businessman in the W. Seattle community, having opened a sign shop there after the war. Unfortunately, while installing a sign, it fell, hit him on the head and gave him a severe concussion. I understand that he was in a lot of pain for an extended period of time; he died as an indirect result of the concussion as he developed pneumonia.

Cliff died in 1950 just before Stan turned 15. For some reason Stan & his only sibling, his brother Dick, who is 9 1/2 years younger were not only not allowed to see their dad while in the hospital, but they never got to see him after his demise nor were they allowed to attend his funeral. Instead they were "shipped off" to live with cousins in Aijulin(?) a community that was later flooded to build a dam. Neither Stan nor Dick had any good memories of that time--of course Dick was only around 5, so he can't remember much of it and Stan was so unhappy that I think he blanked a lot of it out.

His mother Lola was, as I understand it, an officer with the Boeing Credit Union. Of course, at that time only Boeing employees were allowed to belong. Unfortunately she married a not-so-nice German man within a relatively short amount of time. Will not go into much detail about not-so-nice, but he was with his "future wife" when Lola died in the hospital and his later wife got many of the things, such as china, crystal, money, etc., that Cliff & Lola had worked so hard for.

Lola was a breast cancer survivor, but died of lung cancer, even though she never smoked a day in her life.

Prior to Cliff's death Stan had been an A student, but his grades dropped sharply and he eventually dropped out of school. 

There was a neighbor that got Stan interested in electronics, so Stan joined the Army and got into Signal School where he became quite proficient at them.

If you're reading this, you can see that it's not necessarily in chronological order, but my mind doesn't necessarily go in a straight line.

I've always liked this picture of Stan & his mother; it's quite obvious from the expressions on both of their faces that he was in BIG trouble. Evidently someone, with a camera, was on the sidewalk taking pictures of people as they were walking along. The photographer then stopped them, got their address and somehow made arrangements to send the picture. That was long before the days of digital cameras and emails, so there needed to be a bit of trust.

I know it wasn't here, but as with most boys, Stan did a few things that he was rightly in trouble for, such as taking one of his mother's new sheets off of the clothesline and making a sail for his boat with it; taking the motor from the dryer and attaching it to her sewing machine, so that when she pressed the kneepad, the needle went like the wind; and my favorite was when he was about 10 or 12, he sailed from W. Seattle to Vashon Island. A storm came up, so he spent the night on Vashon without his mother having any idea if he was safe. I'd have probably been so relieved to see him had I been her, that I would have beat him to death for scaring me so badly. Fortunately he was safe & I don't know what any of his punishments were.

11/27/11

Thanksgiving was easier than I had anticipated; I had been to the doctor earlier in the week (for a physical only) and he told me to have more fun than I expected. Then I talked (and cried) with Kelli on the phone Thanksgiving morning. She reminded me there would be pinochle to play; sure enuf I played 3 or 4 games and had a good time.

It did get a little blustery Thanksgiving Day and I was reminded of another Thanksgiving several years ago when the power went out, with the turkey in the oven. It stayed out for several hours, but we were finally able to eat.

When Vic saw that I had brought pumpkin pie to Blair and Jackie's he, of course, recounted the time that I left the sugar out of the pies, and the following year put in waaaaay too much salt. Uncle Steve was such a good kind soul. He's the only one who ate his dessert immediately after dinner--he saved a hole for dessert while the rest of us filled ourselves so full there was no more room. Anyway, both years he ate the pie, never said a word, and we didn't discover it until an hour or so after they went home.

My friends, Kelly and Randy Young, had their house burn on Thanksgiving. Randy wasn't home and Kelly was where she couldn't see the house--down at their shop, playing w/their dogs. The shop phone rang and it was the alarm company telling her that 7 fire alarms were going off in her house. She thought it was a malfunction, ran up to the house and tried to open the garage door--it just collapsed. The fire started in the garage, went directly up to the kitchen and on up to the master bedroom. All she was able to get out were the clothes she had on, her purse, wedding ring set, her bridge and their guns. Actually, she was unable to get anything out, but the fire crew got them for her. They live so far out in the country--south of Eatonville on way to Ashford--that getting a fire crew there was difficult. Because of jurisdiction the Eatonville dept. couldn't go until called by responsible department. The first truck took about 45 minutes to get there and then called for Eatonville. Had Eatonville been allowed to respond when first called, they would have been there in about 15 minutes and probably could have contained the fire.

I was pleasantly surprised when I came home from church today to find a Christmas tree and a bag w/a couple of sweaters--just because--waiting for me. I had not decided what I would do about a tree this year, but now I know I'll have one. It's smaller than I'm used to, which is nice, and I'll put it in the dining room. Won't have to move so much furniture and I will be able to enjoy it from my glider in the living room as well as here at the computer. Michael came over for a few minutes and got the decorations out of the attic for me. I won't get it up until later in the week, but now my "wondering" is over. 

Until next time...

It's been a looooong time since I sat down to write something here, and don't even know where to start.

It will be 9 months tomorrow since Stan died and I was completely unprepared for how life would be without him.  I had always thought I knew how my friends who had been widowed felt--I had no clue. 

Now I have some idea how Vic felt when Peggy died and he was left alone, and I did so little to comfort him. I thought he was coping well because he would always say okay when asked how he was doing. Now I understand that is a coping mechanism in itself. 

I had expected that when I wrote here again it would be to tell what I know of Stan's life, but that will be saved for another time. At the risk of being too maudlin, I must say that I miss Stan in virtually every minute. Sure, as always, I laugh, talk and sometimes cry w/my friends, but in the back of my mind, there's the niggling thought as I wonder what Stan is doing. There are minutes when I still expect him to come around the corner, to be home when I get home or to be sleeping in his recliner. It's only been a couple of weeks since I woke up, noticed the other side of the bed was empty and the thought went through my head that he had gotten up before me.

There is no one here to share my day with, no one to pick up the slack, no one to share an inside joke with, no one to hold me when I cry, no one to put his arms around me and say, "loves ya, babe," no one to snuggle when I go to bed and my feet are cold, no one playing the tv too loud, no one to complain or hear my complaints over what is going on around us, no one to enjoy a pretty sunrise, sunset, crossing the Narrows bridge, looking at a pretty tree (or lots of them), Mt. Rainier, the Olympics,  no one to go for a long drive--just because, no one to share my pride in our kids and grandkids, no one to enjoy a meal with me--day after day, no one to do the things on the computer that I don't know how to do, no one to just be present with. There is no one here who can help wipe away my tears.

I am thankful, however, to God for giving me a man who only loved me--even during the times that we might not have liked each other (or ourselves, for that matter). I am thankful that he knew God--and vice versa, that he was loyal, hard-working, funny and caring. The 2 things that I would have changed for and about him if I'd had the power: I would have taken away his pain and would have helped him to think more highly of himself than he did.

Kelli put it very well when she said, after his service, that even if the things spoken about him had been written to him or spoken in his presence, he would not have believed they were about him.

I plan to be back sooner and hope not to be so "weepy." There are, however, lots of uncharted waters ahead for me. I am glad God gave us both tears and laughter to get through the rough patches in our lives.

11/7/10
Amusing thing happened at Church this a.m. I broke my watch some time ago, so my "portable clock" is my new cell phone. Only thing is I had to have someone help me set it on "vibrate." I told her that I used to be "literate," but since computers came along that is no longer an adjective that is descriptive of me;-)

11/7/10

I was at a Relay for Life committee retreat w/12 other people yesterday afternoon. I was surprised to learn that out of that 13, 3 (2 from one family) started relaying before cancer touched their families. Cancer has been in our family since before I was born and it's touched both sides.

My Grandma French (nee Anna Stobie) had cancer somewhere in her female organs in the early 1930's. At the time they lived in Ellensburg and she had to be driven to Yakima for treatments. At that time there were no 60-70 mph highways and no cars that would have gone that fast anyway, so it wasn't just a couple hour trip to and from. she was told if she didn't have surgery, she would probably live 6 mos., but could live 3 years if she opted for surgery. Partly because she had teenagers at home, she chose the surgery and radiation. Most of you know that Grandma died in 1973 at the age of 80!

My dad's sister, Vivian Kelly McClure died of cancer in 1948. Again I'm not sure what kind of cancer she had, but am quite sure it was in her female organs.

In June of 1979, when Timm was just a few days old, Grandma Kelly (Ethel Audrey Warren Kelly) died of breast cancer.

Several years ago my cousin, Dorothy Jean (Beryl's daughter) was successfully treated for breast cancer.

Stan's side of the family was also hit by it. His mother had breast cancer sometime in the late 50's-early 60's and died of lung cancer in the 60's. Even though lung cancer is many times associated w/smoking, I understand that she (Lola Miller Sexton) never smoked a cigarette in her life.

I realize that I am much older than the others at the meeting, but as you all know many other family members and friends have also succumbed to this horrible disease in the last few years, so it was really amazing to me that someone could live into her 50's before anyone in her family was diagnosed w/cancer.

Seems like it's time to switch to something a little less serious...

All of my kids started eating baby cereal when they were about 1 month old. When Vic started eating it, my dad was bragging about it at work only to be told by a Mexican who worked for him that his baby had been eating beans since he was 1 week old!

We lived with Grandma and Pop when I was about 2--give or take a little. At that time all of the adults in the house, except Grandma French, smoked. As I understand it, they had to hide the ashtrays from me, because if no one was looking, I would grab the cigarette butts, go behind the couch and eat them. I guess that more than once I was discovered w/tobacco covering my face.

I guess I was fascinated by lawnmowers as well. When my Uncle Jim would come home from work, I would grab the Sears catalog, sit on his lap, turn to the lawnmowers and ask Jim: "whazzisit, Jim?" No matter how many times he hid the catalog, I would find it and pester him about lawnmowers.

It was a little later than this that Mother broke me of my tantrums, as you see in the picture w/Anna May--sorry I couldn't insert the pix where I wanted them--and they would make more sense. Again, it's only what I've been told, but all the adults in the house, except Mother, thought they were cute. One day when she was the only adult at home, I threw one of my (in)famous tantrums, she threw a glass of cold water in my face and that was the end of my tantrums. 

Of course, the other picture is me with my beloved uncle Jim.

Until next time...

10/31/10

We didn't have many trick-or-treaters tonight, but thought I'd write about a couple of Halloweens when I was a kid. Seems like times really were much safer then than now. We lived out in the country so as a result, Audrey, Elsie and I used to walk for miles just for some candy. We hated it when people gave us apples as we had apple trees. When I say miles, I know that sounds like walking 3 miles to school in 2 feet of school, uphill both ways, but we really did walk a long way.

We lived a mile from the grade school and we walked that far, not only to get candy, but once, and once only, we soaped the schoolhouse windows as well. I don't know how my mother and the janitor narrowed it down to us, but we had to go back the next day--yes, we walked--and wash the soap off. I am glad Mother (Grandma Jeanne) never let us use wax to decorate windows as we'd have been hours cleaning it off.

Another year someone put some chocolate laxative bars in our bags. Audrey was the only one who ate any of it. Somehow the rest of us managed to miss it when we reached down into our bags.

Costumes weren't very sophisticated then either. Probably an old pillowcase, to be a ghost or a paper bag w/eye holes cut out.

Changing the subject and risking repeating myself: elections

I wonder what we'll see on tv and get in the mail after the election Tuesday as it seems that the box is filled w/ads everyday and that's about all you see on tv.

But one of the worst fights I ever remember my parents having (and they had some doozies) was over the Dewey/Truman election. Back in those days, you went in to a polling booth and closed the curtain behind you. Daddy had said all along that he was going to vote for Truman, but Mother never believed that he would really vote for a dem for president. After she voted, she crawled into his booth to see if he actually had done so. It wasn't bad enuf that he had voted for a dem, but to vote for Roosevelt's vp was over the top as far as she was concerned.

I've been kinda watching the World Series. So far the Texas Rangers (the team I want to win) are down 3-1. I shouldn't feel surprised that the team I want is not winning--it's been that way most of my life. Seems the Yankees always won and my beloved Brooklyn Dodgers lost year after year. I remember listening to the Series at work. The perfect game thrown by Don Larsen was a tough one to listen to. I didn't want the Yanks to win, but after it got to the 7th inning, I couldn't help but root for him to continue pitching perfectly. But it made me very nervous, so I turned the radio off; then the suspense got to me and I had to turn it back on. That happened several times during the last couple of innings. (I think I wrote about this before as well, but I don't want to go back and read all my previous posts.

Not too creative tonite, so guess I'll call it a nite.

10/7/10

Wow, am I lazy or what?!!! It's much easier to play on Facebook than it is to sit down and think of something to write on a blog. Wish I would ever learn here and on my email how to set both the font and font size to be what I want. A techno-geek, I'm not.

I should have kept a diary on here of Stan's cancer battle, but I refuse to live in "woulda-coulda-shoulda land," so I'll just go on from here. We found out yesterday that his tumor is 1/2 the size it was when first scanned in March and then again in June. That is GREAT news. His new inhalers have helped a lot with his breathing, but he's still not as strong as the doctor would like so she ordered physical therapy to start next week.

Audrey and I were talking the other day about a couple of cousins that moved to Fairbanks when they were not very old and we weren't much older. Mother (Grandma Jeanne) was in Oregon with our aunt Vivian who was fighting cancer. Helen (Halford's wife) was taking care of us. I remember Mike and Larry were there, but I don't know where Delores was. Anyway, Larry bit our dachsund, Gretchen, so hard that he drew blood. We were not very happy about that, so Audrey, Mike and I took him down and fed him "galley-nippers." (I found out much later that they're really crane flies.) Helen was not at all happy about the situation, but I don't remember what she did about it. Later, as they were getting on the plane to move to Alaska, Larry turned around at the door, waved to my folks and a couple other of his aunts and uncles who had gone to see them off. As he waved, he hollered, "Good-bye all you big busterds."

One of the things Audrey and I have been discussing quite a bit is how much Indian blood we have in us. According to what my dad told Timm we're 1/8 as he and Mother were each 1/8. Audrey insists that Daddy was 1/4 Indian based on what she remembers hearing Mother say that Halford had told her. I'm going to contact the above-named Larry and see if he has any information on Daddy's mother's side of the family. My 2nd cousin (or however you remove them) Pat has done a lot of genealogy on the Kelly side and I'm hoping either Larry or my cousin Dorothy Ellen in Prosser can fill me in on the Warren side. My cousin Dorothy Jean in Bremerton doesn't know much more of the history than I do. Her brother Bud (Andrew) was the historian in that family and he died several years ago. (2020 addition); my daughter had a DNA test through Ancestry and according to them, there was no Native American blood in our family.

Dorothy's husband, Jim Vring, unfortunately has cirrhosis of the liver. I believe Jim is the largest (not around) man I've ever known. I know he had the largest "wingspan" I've ever seen on a human being. They used to live on the beach in Poulsbo. I remember him telling the story of oyster poachers on their property one night. He put a high-powered flashlight in each hand, held them out from his sides, walked down the beach, turned the lights on and in his extremely deep voice scared those poachers, probably to the need of fresh clothes.

Thanks to Robin Miller (my great-uncle Victor's granddaughter--and I don't know how she's removed either) and a Doris Kelly (no relation to the Kellys from which I'm descended), I also have a lot of info on the Stobie side of the family but not much on the French side. Maybe as the days get shorter, I will spend some time on the computer trying to find more of the Frenches. (Is "Frenches"right?)

The trees are starting to put on their fall dresses, which will soon be whisked away by the winter winds. In all the years I've lived, I still have not decided which I like better, when the trees put on their spring dresses and all the flowers are bursting into bloom or this time of year when they change into their brightly colored autumn gowns. I do know that neither winter nor summer is my favorite season.

Until I get back here...