Letter to a Dead Mother

Genevieve Deane 1953
Niagara Falls, NY

Dear Mom,

I keep having all these little mini conversations with you in my head as I go about my days. I noticed I've been having more and more of them lately. Little things, like "ooh... you would LOVE this new Vermont white cheddar cheese I found!" or "You would be telling me to go sit down and have a cup of tea now."

At first I wondered how it was after all this time that you are on my mind. Then it dawned on me. Your birthday, in a few more days, you would have been 92 years old this year.

Why your last five birthdays didn't bring you into my daily life, I don't know. But, here we are.

Today, I was standing at the kitchen sink,washing dishes,  looking out the window, remembering how you got to have your sink moved to the front window of your kitchen. You wanted it that way so you could look out into the yard and down the street on Cayuga Island "to keep an eye on the kids".

When was that? I think about 1948. I think. That house is still there, Mom. Did you know that? I bet you wouldn't like what they did to the place. I sure don't. It certainly lost it's charm.

It's funny how the most mundane act can bring on an obscure memory. I wonder if your mother ever stood at the sink and thought of her mother. I wonder if she got along with her mother. You always said how wonderful your mother was, and how well you got along but I never believed it.

You and I got along so poorly, it just didn't seem possible. It was always a mystery to me that mothers and daughters could be friends.  I've been mulling around thoughts about how difficult and painful it must have been for you.

Even after I came to an understanding that you did the very best you knew how in your parenting of me and stopped my blame game, I can understand now why that didn't pull down all the fences between us. The brick wall, yes, but not all the scars were healed. I'm so glad that at least you and Little Sis had such a good connection. Your love for each other was obvious.

I'm not saying you didn't love me. Nor am I saying I didn't love you. It's just clear to me that it was stunted and strained and unfulfilled. I do wish we could have healed that more than we did.

I think about your last years in the nursing home. I picture myself in the same situation. What is to prevent me from ending up there? Nothing I can think of, unless I experience sudden death. Slow deterioration seems to be the most evident cause of nursing home inevitability. Even the most well-meaning, loving kids can intend to see you through your last years in your own home. But, things change. Circumstances change. Stress toleration levels change. And truly, I look at my kids and think as you did... I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to take away a moment of their own chance to enjoy life, to be free to enjoy their later years without being weighted down by an aging incomprehensible parent.

There are things now that I didn't understand in the past, I wish I could tell you. I wish you could have the satisfaction of thinking "I told you so". I know you wouldn't say it out loud. But, I am well aware of the feeling I get when my daughter says something to me and I think, "Ah... there it is. She now knows how it feels. She now understands." She doesn't always acknowledge that she realizes I once went through it myself. Something like that kind of understanding could bind us together, give us that feeling of relief that there no longer is that one thing standing between us. But, that is not always going to happen. The fences are still up. Barbed wire fences, in fact. So sharp and prickly, still after all this time. I just throw up my hands. I no longer reach out and try to smooth it over, no longer try to make it better. Now I understand, Mom, why you did the same thing I am doing now. All that energy just for another stab to come later. Not worth it. Painful, yes. But, less painful than to continue to try to heal something that is scarred over so badly.

I know you know what I'm talking about. Would you want me to say, "I'm sorry" now that I understand some of what you went through with me? Would it have mattered? Or would there be that same hesitation I feel in not believing it will cure anything? Would it only be a band aid hiding the wound? When you pull the band aid away, it may be healed, but still the scar is evidence that the damage has been done. Nothing is erasable. It seems.

Am I being negative? Pragmatic, I think. I look at the facts. On the phone the other day, I was struck by how a subject that would never be considered inflammatory to anyone else was perceived as a possible threat. Being a mom, I don't want to inflict pain upon my child, so I agreed to no longer discuss it. And truly, that's okay. It was not important. I can talk about it with friends instead. The perception that I could be the cause of incredible turmoil and pain because of it makes me hesitate to speak, to say anything unless asked a direct question. And then I wonder what would be the "right answer". How can this not turn into another moment of pain indelibly burned into the heart of my child? So, I've agreed to the suggestions made now, and wonder if I follow through that her fears will come to fruition.

Is that how you felt, Mom? If I say, no.. let it go or yes... let's discuss it, it seems the results might be the same, a woman who is stressed out because she believes she's damned if she does and damned if she doesn't.

I remember one day, when I was going through the family photos you gave me there were many pictures of you and your friends smiling, having a good time. It dawned on me.... somebody LIKES her... lot's of somebodies. It seemed a mystery to me. There were people who liked my mom enough to go places with  her, make quilts with her, have lunch with her, laugh with her, play board games with her have long conversations with her. They were not threatened by what she might say or do. They accepted her for who she was. These were people who sent her loving birthday cards with comments praising her good qualities that I could not see in her. My mom was in reality a likeable, lovable person, non-threatening person. She was not the dangerous half-rabbit half-scorpion who might strike at any second.

Velva, Eva, Al and Gennie Borden

I'm sorry, Mom. I wish I could make it up to you. Of course, it's too late. Or is it? Can you hear my thoughts, feel my feelings, sense my final understanding and regret? Are you in a place where these things are all evident to you? Or does it even matter now that you are gone?

The most obviously thing I can think of is that the healing is one sided. I feel better because I can now relate to what you may have been feeling. I understand more of how it was for you. But, sadly, it is only like having half a blanket when you are cold. I need the other half a blanket. Then, we could sew the blanket back together and wrap our arms around each other with the blanket snuggled 'round.

From Mirror

Photo Art
by Elizabeth Munroz

Evade your eye.
Try to see as others do
what is desired or refused.
What went wrong.
Or right, then wrong.
Objectively, what hangs.
Pull yourself together.
Years are neither kind
nor cruel. You drag on.
The girl is gone.
Consider that it might be time to call in
a professional. Blood is fearless, runs
to meet a touch, indiscriminate, remembering
the first time it fell in love with the world, unaware
that now you are alone.

Karen Solie

From "Mirror"

WORKSHOPS AND CLASSES WITH ELLEN BASS

Big Sur Coastline, California Highway One facing north near Bixby Bridge
Photo by Elizabeth Munroz

THE WRITING LIFE
February 8 - 10, 2013
Esalen Institute, Big Sur, CA

This workshop will help keep the channels open. We will evade, elude, and distract the censors that silence or limit us. We'll approach our experience from new angles to find the story or poem within the events of our lives. We'll question the stories we think are true and experience the power of not-knowing and discovery. For more information, click here. To register, call Esalen at 831-667-3005.

TRUTH AND BEAUTY
May 28 - June 2, 2013
Taught by Dorianne Laux, Marie Howe, and Ellen Bass
Mabel Dodge Luhan House, Taos, NM

Marie Howe, Dorianne Laux, and Ellen Bass are poets who work to tell the truth in ways that show us the beauty of life, even in the midst of heartbreak and loss. If you want to encounter more truth in your poems, to express it in the most beautiful way possible, to craft poems that reflect the inextricable marriage of truth and beauty, love and death, the luminous and the ordinary, please join us for this special workshop. For more information about this workshop, visit the page here. To register, email Jen Petras at jpeachtree@yahoo.com.

9TH ANNUAL WRITING AND KNOWING POETRY WORKSHOP
with Ellen Bass, Dorianne Laux, and Joseph Millar
August 4 - 9, 2013
Esalen Institute, Big Sur, CA

There is a world inside each of us that we know better than anything else, and a world outside of us that calls for our attention. Our subject matter is always right with us. The trick is to find out what we know, challenge what we know, own what we know, and then give it away in language. Mainly this will be a writing retreat—time to explore and create in a supportive community. Though we’ll focus on poetry, prose writers who want to enrich their language will find it a fertile environment. For more information, click here.

WRITING FOR OUR LIVES
September 28 - October 5, 2013
La Serrania, Mallorca, Spain
In this small, intimate workshop, you have the opportunity to create writing that is more vivid, more true, more complex and powerful than you've been able to do before. This will be my seventh year teaching at La Serrania and it's always a deep pleasure to return. La Serrania is remote, gorgeous, and inspiring. If you'd like a chance to sink deeply into your writing, enjoy delicious food, go to sleep in a simple, yet elegant room, wake to sheep bells, this is the place. For more information,click here. For information about La Serrania, visit www.laserrania.com. To register, contact La Serrania. If you have questions, you can email Ellen.

Wait

"Oh, No!" She cried in the midst of her dream.

Oh No! awakened her, without the memory of why the foreboding and despondency was coming through her in waves like nausea.

The mirror told it all. The dark circles. The sleep tangled hair. The frown frozen on her face. The dried salt rimming her eyes. Telltale signs. Had it been a long dream? It had been bad?

What was it? Seeming to be her mother? Looking back against time? Regretting and understanding the missed opportunities for cherishing the joy? Instead dying into the darkness?

Perhaps.

The awakening to the sense of the glass is half full. Half full with a cesspool of dark liquid threatening to suck her into the burning acid of heartache. It tortures her soul. She clings to the side of the glass. The fragile glass, like herself, ready to crack under the weight of pressure.

The cup of tea, the piece of toast, the swallowing of pills. Nothing to detract from the sensations of the dream still enveloping her.

Hang on! Hang on! It will go away!

Wash a dish. Feed the cat. Pace back and forth. Clean a cupboard. Keep distracted. It is like a persistent oily, ugly debt collector his foot well placed in the door. Hold him back! But, he has gained entry, and now inside, is at the shoulder, leaning his face too close, breathing stale air.

No escape! Grab a banana. Turn on the TV. Make some pudding. Clean off the counter. Put a banana in the pudding. Add some walnuts. Yes. Food will put it off. It used to do that so well. Like an alcoholic with the relief of a drink. But, no. Food doesn't do it anymore.

The grip is in the stomach. The eyes are tight. The forehead crinkled in pain. The cheeks begging for release of tears. The prayers for comfort. But, it does not work. So, it is another bad ride.

All she can do is wait it out.

1955 Grand Canyon Kids

I’m so hot and sweaty. It’s so stuffy in the car. We are so cramped and have been traveling so long. I hate the desert. It feels like the sand is in my eyes and every breath I take smells of dirt. I sure wish I could take a long bath. 

Seven people stuffed in a car is too much. I hate sitting next to my baby sister. She’s salty from crying and she smells like she peed in her pants.. I knew Dad should have stopped at that last gas station like we asked. I wish my mother could stop griping. Her voice grates on my nerves.

Even with all the windows open, it’s so hot. The sun burns through my eyelids. I can’t even shut out it’s evil fire. I don’t care if we are going to see the famous Grand Canyon. I have seen enough and traveled too long.

Finally! We are here and us kids pile out of the car. Uncle Caz wanders off quickly to take a million pictures. I’m so glad that old man’s onion breath is out of my face. I’m getting out of here and away from everybody to explore.

But, no, Me and Dave have to watch the kids while Mom and Dad sit in the car and talk. For once my big brother takes up on my side. We are NOT going to watch Wendy. She might fall in the canyon. (I might want to push her, maybe). Okay! Hooray! We don’t have to take her.

We run. We run so fast. We leave little Roger whining in the dust. Ha! Ha! But, he’ll catch up! He’s a big boy He can handle it. He won’t let us get away with it.

Ooooh! What’s this? Wow, Look at that mistiness. So magical, like the world isn’t quite finished up here, yet. Purples in the trees and orange canyon walls. All rosy, and...Hey! it’s not so very hot and stuffy anymore. Feel the breeze! Pine trees. Oooh! Smell the pine trees.

“Let’s stand on the railing, Roger, then you can look down. Down, deep into the bottom of the world.”

He looks at me and I realized he wants to know just how deep into the bottom of the world. “No, that’s not where the devil lives..... Look. There’s a river down there. See, the green, sparkling ribbon?”

Roger and I are on the railing. The metal feels cool as we lean our bodies against it. Dave points out the beautiful rainbow across the way on the north side of the canyon. “It must be raining over there.” He explains. I proudly think to myself, my big brother knows everything. He walks away to investigate something else.

Suddenly, my scalp feels, like someone is tickling me. Then, it feels like little bugs are crawling. “My hair! Oh, my hair, It feels so funny!”

“Ha! Look at you!” Roger says. “Your hair is standing up! Straight up,  in the air!”

“You, too!” I laugh. He squeals and giggles. I feel so buzzy, so vibrant, so tingly, so....What is it? This is a new feeling. I have never felt this way before. So strange! It is like a million butterflies are fluttering their wings all over me.

“HEY!” Dave shouts in his scary voice. “Get off that Rail! Right NOW! A deep chill of fear runs down my spine. Something tells me Dave’s command is an emergency. We run like wild Indians, back to the car. 

Dave scoops Roger up and runs with him, as the lightening strikes the very spot where we just took our last breath.

What Marriage is Not

What Marriage is Not 

by Elizabeth Munroz

These are my opinions based upon 65 years experience and more than one legal marriage. My happiest and longest relationship is not blessed by a piece of paper or a representative of any religious affiliation.

Marriage is not living happily ever after. Happiness comes from within and can be experienced by anyone married or not.

Marriage is not sustained by romantic love, as that can fluctuate naturally and often disappoints those who expect it to remain steady or constantly increase.

Marital bliss is not based upon who takes out the garbage or washes the dishes. Household maintenance is necessary in everyone's life to whatever extent they choose. Negotiating these chores by agreement is great but there always comes a time when one needs to take out the trash at midnight in a snow storm. If the person whose "job" that is happens to be sick or not home, the other person can do it with resentment or love, or just common sense the job must be done.

Marriage is not uncomplicated.

Marriage is not resentment free.

Marriage is not disagreement free, or turmoil free or argument or angst free.

Marriage is not static. Like any aspect of life, the relationship constantly changes. Expect to deal with it.

Marriage is not a clear contract with all the rules written in stone. People's interests change as they mature.

Couples need to negotiate how they live with one another when those changes occur.

Marriage is not about honesty. It's not always best to tell the truth. "Your hair looks awful!" "I hate that you shaved off your mustache!" "Honey, I had a one night stand while you were away last year." "Dearest, I did too, and I will tell you all the details, whatever you want to know."

Marriage is not where each person can be expected to live by the "rules". There's always the chance the beloved will find interest in another no matter how perfectly in love the couple may be.

Marriage is not about reading articles on how to improve the marriage, unless both agree to read and learn from and renegotiate based upon the information provided.

Marriage is not about completely understanding everything about the spouse. That is not possible no matter how hard you try. Even they do not understand everything about themselves. And if at any point they think they do (or you think it) things change. "I will never take a job away from here, we will never move away. I love it here. This place is my soul!" Never say never.

Marriage is not meant as a right to own another person or control another person's thoughts, beliefs or behaviors. Everybody knows this without me saying so. Right?

Marriage does not give the right to punish or get even with the other based upon one spouses standards of expectation. Ditto, as above.

Marriage is not based on unspoken understandings. As romantic as that sounds and as much as some couples may claim it is so, clear communication needs to occur regularly because people change their minds or have new information the other one does not have. It's like repairing and rebuilding a car engine together. You cannot read each other's minds to do the job, especially if you are on opposite sides of the car.

Marriage is not a God Given Gift only available to and sanctified by Christians or American politics. (sorry folks)

Marriage is not made holy by a representative from any religious affiliation, though one may obtain a piece of paper claiming it so.

Marriage is not made civil by any legal representative from any government agency, though one may obtain a piece of paper claiming it so.

Marriage is not just for a male and female of a certain age. This comment is based upon observation, cultural mores, and societal fickleness, and is subject to attempts to change by people elected into the role of lawmakers. Example: Jerry Lee Lewis


Marriage is not just for people of the opposite sex.

Marriage is not just for two people only.

Marriage is not based upon sexual unity.

Marriage is not constrained by the mores of society. If I want to marry my cat, I am marrying my cat without say so of others. (No, I am not married to my cat.)

Marriage is not based upon what the stories in books, movies and on TV portray.

Marriage is not whatever it is we all expect it to be. The reality of trying to live up to an agreed upon nebulous idea put forth by media, family, friends and our local culture is the epitome of incubated failure.

We will find out what marriage is by living under the label of it and each creating what their own marriage is. "Honey, we should always have holidays at my parents." "You're right, I can't stand mine." "Dearest, I like it when you wear leather." "I hate to wear leather. You do it!"

I have more opinions on what I have experienced of what marriage is not, but I have a doctor's appointment and must desist.

Would love to know what you think. Just click "comments" and go to it.

A Little Girl Writes a Story

Once upon a time there was a little boy who wanted a pony.

He asked his father.

His father said OK, when I get the mony.

Good said the little boy.

One day his father had 30 dollars.

One day his father said I got enotth mony to buy a pony.

Goody!

He name it, Tiny.

His father said what did you name him?

Tiny.

The End

_____________

September 1970
Story by Laurie Shuman at age 6

A Blast From the Past - Not that 70's Show

Dear Mommy,

I miss you. I went to Judy's house and to Ricky's house.

I stepped on a nail and I had to have a tetanus shot.

I got the shot in the rump.

It feels like penicillin and it hurts.

I screamed bloody merder.

Carl just pooped in the bathtub.

Mike, My friend and me was climbing trees and Mike feel and I branch tore open his skin and he had to have sticthes, six of them.

I'm not going to climb trees no more he got so mad he kicked the tree.

I am having fun.

I love you. Laurie
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Note: this letter was written on newspaper paper with pencil. All writing style, grammar and spelling are exactly as written. Laurie had gone to spend summer vacation in Western New York area with her Grandma and Grandpa. I think it was about 1972. The other children mentioned are Laurie's cousins.

I think it is funny that after writing about all these death defying adventures, she says, "I'm having fun"! I was mortified and worried to death i may never see my little girl again. When I called my mother to give her heck for not taking better care of my girl, she got me to shut up real quick when she said: "At least she got a Tetanus shot. I never did that for you!"

She was right. And just to clarify... it's not that my mother was unkind, just unaware. Back in those times kids got to run around and play unsupervised quite a bit, more so in my generation and considerably more in my mother's.  Today, I think kids don't get quite the enriching independent adventures as we did back then.

Two Bucks

I love to give out Two dollar bills.

 I had a stash of them I'd been saving for family Christmas gifting. I usually put them in with a card attached to a gift. My mother always said they were good fortune lucky money. 

"If you get a $2, put it away in a secret spot, and you will never be broke." Then she would smile and wink.

I never figured out what the wink was for until adulthood it finally dawned on me. It was true. It had nothing to do with luck. It had to do with the fact that as long as you still had that two dollar bill stashed away, you really weren't broke, even if you didn't have another penny to your name!. 

Now that Mom is gone and my children are all grown up, I give two dollar bills to my Grandkids and say the magic words my mom always said, but this generation is too smart to fall for it! They are the ones who wink at me! 

*sigh*

Descendants of Jan Jansen Brouwer

Descendants of Jan Jansen Brouwer

1   Jan Jansen Brouwer
........ 2   Adam Berkhoven Brouwer 1624 - 1692
.............. +Magdalena Verdon Jacobs
................... 3   Matthew Matthys Brouwer 1649 - 1726
......................... +Marritie Pieters
.............................. 4   Samuel Brouwer 1673 -
.................................... +Grietje Hendrick Smith
......................................... 5   Johannes Brouwer 1702 - 1778
............................................... +Elizabeth Conklin
.................................................... 6   Peter Brewer 1740 - 1804
.......................................................... +Elizabeth Stone 1749 - 1828
.............................................................. 7   [1] James Brewer 1780 - 1843
.................................................................... +[2] Hapsabeth Grimes 1787 - 1854
......................................................................... 8   [3] Aseneth Brewer 1807 - 1905
............................................................................... +[4] Robert Chase
......................................................................... 8   [5] Daniel Brewer 1809 - 1902
............................................................................... +[6] Juliana
......................................................................... 8   [7] Amy Brewer 1811 - 1819
......................................................................... 8   [8] James Jr. Brewer 1813 - 1860
............................................................................... +[9] Emmaline
......................................................................... 8   [10] Elizabeth Brewer 1815 - 1908
............................................................................... +[11] Nelson Kingman
......................................................................... 8   [12] Melissa Brewer 1818 - 1819
......................................................................... 8   [13] Jesse Brewer 1820 - 1901
............................................................................... +[14] Mary Jane Johnson
......................................................................... 8   [15] Joel C. Brewer 1822 - 1877
............................................................................... +[16] Jane L.
......................................................................... 8   [17] Nelson Brewer 1825 - 1918
............................................................................... +[18] Charlotte E.
......................................................................... 8   [19] Clark S. Brewer 1826 - 1900
............................................................................... +[20] Sylvia Cynthia Tiffany 1832 - 1907
.................................................................................... 9   [21] James Curtis Brewer 1852 -
.......................................................................................... +[22] Prudence Brown
............................................................................................... 10   [23] Blanche Brewer
..................................................................................................... +[24] Fred Hall
............................................................................................... 10   [25] Sylvia Brewer
..................................................................................................... +[26] West or Wright Bloch
.................................................................................... 9   [27] Ida L. Brewer 1851 -
.......................................................................................... +[28] Wallace W. Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [29] Ola E. Davis 1882 -
.................................................................................... 9   [30] Carrie Stella Cynthia Brewer 1863 - 1933
.......................................................................................... +[31] Alfred James Davis 1863 -
............................................................................................... 10   [32] Orilla Davis 1884 - 1947
..................................................................................................... +[33] Myron Rockwell Borden 1869 - 1930
............................................................................................... *2nd Husband of [32] Orilla Davis:
..................................................................................................... +[34] Horace Redington 1877 -
............................................................................................... 10   [35] Sylvia Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [36] Clark Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [37] Eva Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [38] Terrence Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [39] Herman Davis 1907 - 1975
..................................................................................................... +[40] Mary Rose
............................................................................................... 10   [41] Viola Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [42] Mary Davis
.................................................................................... 9   [43] Fred S. Brewer 1866 -
.......................................................................................... +[44] Anna L. Taylor
............................................................................................... 10   [45] Archie V. Brewer 1888 -
............................................................................................... 10   [46] Glenn F. Brewer 1892 -
............................................................................................... 10   [47] Clark B. Brewer 1896 -
............................................................................................... 10   [48] Thelma Brewer 1904 -
............................................................................................... 10   [49] Harold Brewer 1907 -
............................................................................................... 10   [50] Fay Brewer
.............................................................. 7   Susannah Brewer 1768 -
.................................................................... +Samuel Cypher
.............................................................. 7   John Brewer 1769 -
.............................................................. 7   Hester Brewer 1771 - 1835
.................................................................... +Elihu Townsend
.............................................................. 7   Hannah Brewer 1772 -
.................................................................... +Caleb Gregory
.............................................................. 7   Miriam Brewer 1776 - 1857
.................................................................... +Edward Haines
.............................................................. 7   William Brewer 1774 -
.............................................................. 7   Samuel Brewer 1778 - 1864
.................................................................... +Charlotte Whitney
.............................................................. 7   Anna Brewer 1782 -
.................................................................... +John Haines
.............................................................. 7   Betsy Brewer 1784 -
.................................................................... +Nathaniel English
.............................................................. 7   Daniel Brewer 1786 -
.............................................................. 7   Sade Brewer 1787 - 1788
.............................................................. 7   Jacob Brewer 1787 - 1788
.............................................................. 7   Aaron Brewer 1789 -
.............................................................. 7   Peter Brewer 1791 - 1866
.................................................................... +Mary Terns Ferner
.............................................................. 7   Abraham Brewer 1793 -
.................................................................... +Annie Eggleston
.................................................... *2nd Wife of Peter Brewer:
.......................................................... +Elizabeth Stone 1749 - 1829
.............................................................. 7   [1] James Brewer 1780 - 1843
.................................................................... +[2] Hapsabeth Grimes 1787 - 1854
......................................................................... 8   [3] Aseneth Brewer 1807 - 1905
............................................................................... +[4] Robert Chase
......................................................................... 8   [5] Daniel Brewer 1809 - 1902
............................................................................... +[6] Juliana
......................................................................... 8   [7] Amy Brewer 1811 - 1819
......................................................................... 8   [8] James Jr. Brewer 1813 - 1860
............................................................................... +[9] Emmaline
......................................................................... 8   [10] Elizabeth Brewer 1815 - 1908
............................................................................... +[11] Nelson Kingman
......................................................................... 8   [12] Melissa Brewer 1818 - 1819
......................................................................... 8   [13] Jesse Brewer 1820 - 1901
............................................................................... +[14] Mary Jane Johnson
......................................................................... 8   [15] Joel C. Brewer 1822 - 1877
............................................................................... +[16] Jane L.
......................................................................... 8   [17] Nelson Brewer 1825 - 1918
............................................................................... +[18] Charlotte E.
......................................................................... 8   [19] Clark S. Brewer 1826 - 1900
............................................................................... +[20] Sylvia Cynthia Tiffany 1832 - 1907
.................................................................................... 9   [21] James Curtis Brewer 1852 -
.......................................................................................... +[22] Prudence Brown
............................................................................................... 10   [23] Blanche Brewer
..................................................................................................... +[24] Fred Hall
............................................................................................... 10   [25] Sylvia Brewer
..................................................................................................... +[26] West or Wright Bloch
.................................................................................... 9   [27] Ida L. Brewer 1851 -
.......................................................................................... +[28] Wallace W. Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [29] Ola E. Davis 1882 -
.................................................................................... 9   [30] Carrie Stella Cynthia Brewer 1863 - 1933
.......................................................................................... +[31] Alfred James Davis 1863 -
............................................................................................... 10   [32] Orilla Davis 1884 - 1947
..................................................................................................... +[33] Myron Rockwell Borden 1869 - 1930
............................................................................................... *2nd Husband of [32] Orilla Davis:
..................................................................................................... +[34] Horace Redington 1877 -
............................................................................................... 10   [35] Sylvia Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [36] Clark Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [37] Eva Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [38] Terrence Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [39] Herman Davis 1907 - 1975
..................................................................................................... +[40] Mary Rose
............................................................................................... 10   [41] Viola Davis
............................................................................................... 10   [42] Mary Davis
.................................................................................... 9   [43] Fred S. Brewer 1866 -
.......................................................................................... +[44] Anna L. Taylor
............................................................................................... 10   [45] Archie V. Brewer 1888 -
............................................................................................... 10   [46] Glenn F. Brewer 1892 -
............................................................................................... 10   [47] Clark B. Brewer 1896 -
............................................................................................... 10   [48] Thelma Brewer 1904 -
............................................................................................... 10   [49] Harold Brewer 1907 -
............................................................................................... 10   [50] Fay Brewer
.................................................... 6   Deliverance Brewer 1736 -
.......................................................... +Elizabeth Sie
.................................................... 6   Engeltje Brewer 1738 -
.......................................................... +John SyfferSypher
.................................................... 6   Matthew Brewer 1742 -
.......................................................... +Christina VanWert
.................................................... 6   Jacob Brewer 1744 -
.......................................................... +Abigail Jurckse Yerkus 1755 -
.................................................... 6   Helena Brewer 1746 -
.................................................... 6   Johannes Brewer 1750 -
.................................................... 6   Margaret Brewer 1752 -
......................................... 5   Fytje Brouwer 1699 -
......................................... 5   Pieter Brouwer 1703/04 -
......................................... 5   Samuel Brouwer 1706 -
......................................... 5   Maritje Brouwer 1708 -
......................................... 5   Margrietje Brouwer 1710/11 -
......................................... 5   Samuel Brouwer 1714 -
......................................... 5   Neeltje Brouwer 1716 -
.............................. 4   Pieter Brouwer
.............................. 4   Hendrick Brouwer
.............................. 4   Willemje Brouwer
.............................. 4   Marritie Brouwer
.............................. 4   Annetie Brouwer
.............................. 4   Johannes Brouwer
.............................. 4   Jannetje Brouwer

Click here to see more: 

Home for the Holidays

455 Park Av, Youngstown NY Dad admiring his Christmas present 1969

Wild: a Review

Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail
by Cheryl Strayed

Strayed was raised in Minnesota, and now lives in Portland, Oregon. Her writing has appeared in a number of magazines. She's the winner of many writing prizes too many to list.. She has an MFA. She's married to the filmmaker, Brian Lindstrom, and has two children.

WILD is such an award winner, it is being published in eighteen other languages and has been optioned for film by Reese Witherspoon's movie production company, (Pacific Standard).

A friend of mine not only suggested I read it, but insisted. I didn't understand why. After all, I am not a wilderness backpacking kind of person. But Brian knows me well enough to realize I would enjoy this memoir even before it became a #1 New York Times bestseller.

How many of you have gone to Burning Man? Gone camping or backpacking overnight? Just think about it a minute. Lots of things can go wrong. How well prepared were you? How many would NEVER want to do those things? In either case, one does not need to have had a wilderness experience to enjoy this book.

This memoir is about how, when at age 22, Cheryl’s mother dies. Her grief is so strong it obliterates everything she ever thought she was. She drops out of college with one class to go. She causes the demise of her marriage, and takes on a lot of dangerous self-destructive behavior. Her life falls apart and by the end of four years she is lost and disconnected, unable to find purpose. Her life is going nowhere and she wants to make a major change. She wants to heal herself. She wants to leave that old life behind her and make a fresh start. So, she decides to hike from the Mojave desert to the Oregon border following the Pacific Crest Trail. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t do that by walking a thousand miles all by myself... alone,....  out in the wilderness without the necessities of life! I think I’d rather do a stint for a week of Burning Man with 50,000 wild people if I wanted to effect a major change!

The author’s style of writing easily takes you directly into her feelings of grief, loss, and questioning identity we have all experienced. She writes facts clearly and does an excellent job presenting details without bogging down. One thing in particular I liked about the way she wrote her memoir is that she is able to create a vivid scene to grab you in, then switch back to the base story behind it. I usually don’t like that in a book, but found her writing seamless, sensibly honest and yet shockingly bold, raw and intimate. She bares her soul like an open wound. Her descriptions of nature are so vivid that if you didn’t know she was alone on that trail, you might think you were with her.

Anyone could tell the tale of their wilderness experience, but very few could tell it with the same impact. I'd like to say this was a book I couldn't put down. I'd like to say it's a complete read through, that it took only a day to read. Nope! Not the case for me. Truly it's a page turner. But, like a beautiful work of art, I could only absorb so much in one sitting, it was so intense and rich. Yet, I couldn't wait to get back to reading it again as soon as possible. And I have now read it twice.

This memoir will resonate with anyone who has struggled with life's challenges even if one has no desire to go backpacking. I think Wild has a universal appeal. It's what Joseph Campbell referred to as "The Hero's Journey".

Sometimes life brings challenges that beat us down. We all learn something from those circumstances. Sometimes it takes years to realize what an impact our experiences have had on us. One thing we all do is gain inner strength and wisdom whether we realize it at the time or not. That's what Cheryl wrote about, and she waited twenty years to let the experiences sink in and help her to look retrospectively upon that time in her life when she literally took her life in her own hands rather than continue to suffer the path she was taking. I found the book very inspiring. To me this is the Hero... stepping out in blind faith seeking a truth only she could find. And like so many of us, it is what happens to us on the way to where we are going and how we handle it that is “The Journey”.

What can you do when you find yourself on a path, nowhere near civilization and you are suffering from freezing cold, or hunger, or dehydration in the desert? Or facing off with bears, rattlesnakes, and other wild animals? What can you do? You just have to keep going. This was the thing I found most appealing about her story. She makes it clear without any pretense that you have no other choice but to put one foot in front of the other regardless of the circumstances and keep going. Sometimes you make decisions that you regret and then you have to make new choices about how you will go on. But, truly you just have to keep going. That's what life is about. Isn't it?

This is a book that will make even the most stoic person weep. So, if you read it, unless you want to make a spectacle of yourself, don't do so at your local Starbucks or any place else in public..

I was so deeply touched by this book and very happy to learn Cheryl would be speaking at the Capitola Book Cafe, I could hardly wait. But, I was too ill that day to attend. My disappointment was so strong that two weeks later, I drove 120 miles to Point Reyes to hear her speak. It was well worth the effort, and when I told her that my friend, Brian, encouraged me to read her book I had to laugh when she said... “Oh? Brian is my best friend!”

It's funny how things are connected.

Mom's Best Friend 1960 Letter

Darrell and Myrna Wakely 1950's

For historical and genealogical reference:

December 14, 1960

Dearest Gennie,

Well I guess it’s time I answered your letters.

It sure has been cold for the last 2 days. But then, I guess it’s nothing compared to what you are getting up North!

Jerry and Darrell are both working for a fruit packing co. Jerry going on 2 weeks and Darrell one. It seems good to not have them under foot, but I miss my babysitter.

Roy is working from 12 AM until 8 am. So he is home all day now and it’s just like a mad house. I never get my work done. I hate it.

I was so in hopes we would be in the house by xmas. But that is another dream up in smoke. He hasn't done anything since it was plastered and tiled except make five windows and fix one closet. I guess he isn't going to. I asked him today if we couldn't buy the furnace. He says, “what with?” and we really aren't that hard up. God, he is a pinch penny. I don’t blame him for not wanting to spend all he has in the bank. But I don’t see how he can take this place either.

At least he has been home every day for nearly 2 weeks. I don’t know what happened to him. But I hope it continues

Gee, xmas will soon be here and I don’t have a bit of xmas spirit. Do you? I don’t like the holidays anymore.

Well I have all my uppers out except four and I've really had a time with them. My face was black and blue. This is the second week, and I've had enough jaw bone out to make a soup!

Well anyway they are all better now and I’m not going back until after xmas, as he said I need a rest and I agree, It sure took a heck of a lot out of me.

Roy Wakely, Erie, PA 1950's

Dam, my feet are cold. Mr. Brandy and Princess are sleeping. That is good, as I could just take one and knock the other in the head. I don’t usually feel that way

I sure hope your problems are dissolving and your life will be happier. At the best, life is hard isn't it? I've already received some xmas cards. I almost feel like Scrooge. Bah Humbug!

I haven’t seen Myrna and kids since Friday but I guess they are all fine.

I've got to go to the toilet and Roy is in there. Guess he has rented it. It sure look’s funny to see him stand there with the toilet seat in his one hand and Ha Ha in the other. Then, when you want to flush the dam thing, you have to reach on the back as the handle is broke. Well I hope he freezes his hand. Then maybe he will get busy. It’s been like that for about a year. Then he wonders why I bitch.

I've just got to get me some warmer clothes.

Wanda’s daughter is in the hospital. At first they thought she had polio or a virus infection of the spine but they still don’t know what it is. She can’t walk. Well anyway I guess she is better but still can’t walk.

I guess my husband is looking at furnaces in the catalogue. I hope he buys one, as I’m mean when I’m cold. And I’m cold.

Well I can’t think of any more this time except I love you very much, and when you are unhappy so am I. Just remember that everyone has problems.

The best way is to pray, and you really get the strength to go on. I know that the Lord is up there, and I know that it has sure helped me to keep my senses in my hum drum world because when I need Him, I can just feel Him. So, I know that He will help me, and protect me. Well, anyway, it is a wonderful feeling. And without that thought, I doubt that I could stay sane, as sometimes it’s pretty rough around here.

I don’t pray for me. I pray the Lord will just comfort me and give me strength. I'd I swear I do get strength, almost like I could feel His presence, and I know I’m not worthy. But I pray to Him a lot and hope, in my feeble way, He forgives me and loves me. I've never told this to anyone. But I hope you try it. Because if I couldn't have this feeling, I’d be more lost than even you was. At best, there is very little pleasure or comfort around here so, you see, I sure need something strong to cling to.

Love always
Laura and All

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Laura Wakely is my "Godmother", always called her "Aunt" Laura
Roy Wakely is my "Godfather", always called him Uncle Roy. He had black hair
Myrna Wakely is their daughter, (first born) was blond and pin-curled my hair
Darrell Wakely is their son. He had big blue eyes and was quite tall and my brother's best friend
I was baptized in St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, NF, NY
They were not Episcopalian, but somehow that issue was avoided. If I recall correctly Aunt Laura was a Baptist.

Princess and Brandi were their dogs. They always had pets and Laura was very fond of them.

They previously lived at 812 Ross St. Erie, Pennsylvania and moved to Cocoa Beach, Merritt Island, Florida. This letter to my Mom was written there.

At this date (2012) Laura and Roy have passed away. I believe Myrna (Courtney) and Darrell still live in Florida.

I don't know who Jerry is.