http://66.213.124.233/files/original/ac8b083628a9c0cd1e1b4c4a6d214ae1.jpg afd7164325c158e211db869be7d21557 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (1) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to cover of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Compiled in 1998 http://66.213.124.233/files/original/4384e1318177896f388d58aa2f1a60d2.jpg dbdf4feaf9100b8860340bc3efc2638b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (2) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to cover page of : The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl In Loving Memory of Loraine Roof Crowl Born: September 8, 1931 Died : July 4, 1975 She was a loving, and devoted, wife and mother who is sadly missed by her family and friends. Through these stories, her "legacy", she will live on forever. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/2dfd5a630bf80cbf69e56ae78edbee54.jpg 37bcfb807416e171940831d60bf74c65 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (3) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to Introduction of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Introduction The following stories were found following my mother’s untimely death in the summer of 1975. When my father was sorting through some papers, he came across a folder and started reading the hand-written pages that he had never seen before. He showed them to all of us children, myself and three older brothers, and each of us read them with our own responses and questions. I have compiled these journals in a book form, so that my mother’s dream of someday becoming an author can finally come true. I also want future generations of our family to know her, and understand our heritage. The original pages will remain with my father. It is my hope that they will be preserved somehow, as the pencil writing is already fading. Throughout the process of reading, re-writing, typing and proofreading these stories, I have learned a great deal about the mother I lost at such a young age of 15. She was only 43 years old, a whole lifetime ahead of her. I have also learned a great deal about myself, and my family, and I have a better understanding of why my memories warm my heart so! These stories are true (except for The Kiss, which turned out to be closer to the truth than she could have imagined, and Little Runt). It is not known when mother wrote them, probably when we were all busy with school and work. Her pencil was her confidant, the paper her tool to sort out her thoughts. It has been twenty-three years since her death. I have always wanted make this a reality and I feel that now is the time. Mother confided to me, once, that her fantasy was always to become a writer.......... this is my way of making at least one of her fantasies come true. In loving memory of my mother, Loraine Roof Crowl, for my Father, Brothers, nieces and nephew, and all those who knew her, and loved her, as much as we did. by KAREN SUSAN CROWL BENNETT 1998 http://66.213.124.233/files/original/b851717219ddf8cc247d4a4be26ec5f8.jpg 67f2b340ed0a7e234b2ce7814734686b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (4) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 2 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter One CHILDHOOD MEMORIES “Once upon a time”, “Far, far away’, and “Long, long ago’, were the beginning phrases of books and stories I loved as a child. I was a lucky child, in that not only did I have a grandmother and a grandfather, I had two of each; and not only was one grandparent’s home particularly a fun place to visit, I was fortunate in actually getting to live with them for a long period of time. Sun-filled, warm summer days that stretched into very long days. Fall days filled with the tangy odor of burning leaves. Picking the last of the garden before the first freeze. Winter days before the coal heating stove, that meant carrying in coal, carrying out ashes, freezing (it seemed so in the mornings) while Grandpa stoked the stove and got it going again. Cookies on Saturday morning, (only Saturday was baking day). The cookies lasted all week. A pie or cake for Sunday dinner; other day’s desserts would be home-canned fruit or pudding, sometimes Jell-O if it was cold enough, and there would be enough ice in the ice box. Thanksgiving, and Christmas shopping and gift wrapping; certain drawers not to peek in. Finally, Christmas Eve itself, with my parents, brothers and sisters, and sometimes an aunt and uncle and cousins. Finally, we could put the tree up. Stockings to hang and early to bed; and the next morning, creeping down the stairs barefoot in the ice-cold. No one beat us up to stoke the stove and get it going! Stockings could be opened, but everything else had to wait until after breakfast. It was always amazing how long oatmeal took to cook; the table to be set, and cleared, and the dishes washed! The turkey to be put in the oven, the pudding put on to steam. Honestly, if the grown-ups could have thought of one more thing to prolong the presents they would have! Finally, everyone was assembled in favorite chairs and the gifts were passed out. A toy, or game, or doll. Some coloring books and new crayons, writing paper, paper dolls. Clothes perhaps. Nothing too frivolous, there were five of us children, and sometimes, some years, a book that started “Once upon a time”, or “Long, long ago”. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/1711bdd47d4600ce259f9eb4db370f29.jpg 19516bb86a777fbd452fedcf596fc7c2 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (5) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 3 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl I can't remember learning to read. I can remember learning some words lying on the floor at the side of the stove. Reading the “funnies”, the etiquette books, a History of the Civil War. Sunbury had no library then as now. Borrowed books were from Delaware, or Westerville, were “re-lent” by neighbors. The “Bobbsey Twins” were the best to read, until, finally, I was old enough to go to school, and then the County Library brought books on a rotating basis. Sunday afternoons in the long winter months were such short days. Bedtime was “at dark”, and it got dark early on the short winter nights, And, then, magically it seemed, winter disappeared and the tulip leaves peeked out through the ground, the narcissus, the forsythia; beloved Easter came and went. The cherry trees bloomed, the plum, the pear, and another year turned into long, lazy summer days. Looking back at this perfect time, where our family was altogether, before the Second World War started, and my brother, and all my cousins, went to war, when all four of my grandparents were alive, and there was nothing except a Depression to worry about, or trying to convince Grandma I needed a dog - I never got one, or even a cat (finally a cat came to stay in the barn) - it seemed a book was always my friend. Reading in the easy chair, in the living room, or in front of the attic window when | surveyed “my world” and read of many worlds. I didn’t know how perfect my little world was until it started to disintegrate, piece by piece. First, my cousins went into the army, then my brother; and then, during a visit to Aunt Ruth’s house, my grandfather died. The sad trip home, the cousins who managed to get home on leave, my brother who didn’t. Strange relatives came to visit, to sit and talk. Nowhere was there a place of solitude to cry for that which I would always miss, and would only realize years later how very much. If, during anytime of the year to lose a loved one, maybe summer is the best time, while life is growing all around you, and everything is green and beautiful, if the sun shines and one can be outside in the morning, barefoot, to run over the “fairy patches”. If anytime to lose at death - the sudden loss, the absolute horror of it, and the http://66.213.124.233/files/original/fdef50db5ce37eee54e37344c61bc9a5.jpg 5eaa47b757da2ab6a5fabbf9e2f29939 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (6) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 4 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl following loneliness, then perhaps summer is the time, although never again was summer ever the same. That winter, my other grandfather was killed in an accident; the following spring, my Grandmother Roof died of a heart attack, and, when summer came again, the magic was gone... http://66.213.124.233/files/original/60ad14ae7ff9d585d5661b7c8fec756d.jpg 3792272f14c2882da2dca0ee0b7d30ef Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts : The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (7) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 5 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Two HAPPY BIRTHDAY Jennifer lay on the side of the bed with her little daughter. While Susan closed her eyes, finally, and succumbed to the land of dreams, Jennifer’s eyes remained open. Not the thinking kind of wakefulness, but the deep, pondering kind of alertness that creeps up on one’s self at unexplained moments. The day of the year had arrived that she had been dreading for months. The first birthday of her grandmother since her death months before; if she had lived, she would have been ninety-seven. Ninety-seven is such and old, old age, and yet Grandma had been younger the previous year at ninety-six then she had been at ninety, and even back as far as Jennifer could remember, for all her thirty-one years. Grandma had been sixty- five then, she thought. Sixty-five when she had come to live with her at the time of a serious illness on the part of her mother. The years -- summers, falls, winters, and springs, stretched back through her mind. She could remember playing with the little china dolls, the “Quints”, who had been born on her grandfather's birthday. She could remember pushing her doll buggy up and down the sidewalk in the front of the house, the roller skating for hours-on-end with the little girl up the street, and, on rainy days, there was the attic with trunks, and books, and the small, low window that overlooked the whole world! The 4-H meetings and the sewing, and cooking, that Grandma had done for her -- dresses, coats, sometimes made- over from something that still had “good left in it” because those were the Depression years, and they were on a pension. The box, a whole box, of doll clothes one year for Christmas. Christmas! Christmas with the tree that always touched the ceiling, with the lights that had to have all good bulbs or the string didn’t work. During the war years, they found that a piece of tin foil from a gum wrapper would fill in for a bulb -- “It’s a wonder we didn't burn the house down,” she thought. Remembering the Christmas’ past was too much, and sobs started. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/71825096c27c4207954ebd978c49c60d.jpg 0d1f0ca96cce0969cce64858f6324913 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts:The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (8) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 6 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl “Why now,” she thought, “why can’t I see her face when all these months I’ve tried and tried? Why can I hear her voice and yet she doesn’t speak? Will I always have this feeling of guilt when I think of her, and the way I felt?” Thinking led her to try to find a justification of the way she had felt. With four children under ten, one a newborn baby, she surely had not had too much extra time to devote to her grandmother’s care. Except when she had been sick that one time. Jen had managed to take her to church, but the tears began again when she thought of the many times she had not sat with her, but rather in the back of the church, leaving Grandma to sit with neighbors and friends. “Even that last Sunday, before she had gone to Aunt Ruth’s,” she thought, “I didn’t even go then.” In her mind’s eye, Jen could see Grandma walking up the aisle of the church with ten-year old Jerry at her side, to the pew where she had sat for so many years. Grandma talked in church, not too quietly either, when she wanted to know who the young couple in front of her was, or whose baby was crying in the rear of the church. In a small community maybe such things didn’t bother the rest of the congregation, but for some reason, still unknown, they bothered Jen. The words of the minister who had preached Grandma’s funeral came back to her, “Like the old oak tree, magnificent and old,” and the way he compared Grandma to the old oak tree, Jen’s thoughts continued, “the minister had been one of the very few requests the family knew about. I wonder how many requests she wanted to make and didn’t. Why, why, why?” Then, the thought came to her that perhaps Jen wouldn’t have heard if she had asked, that maybe she had asked and Jen was too busy to hear. Maybe the times, the car was in the drive, but Jen was so busy with PTA, church circles, club meetings, and such, maybe Grandma had wanted to ask and was afraid she wouldn’t be heard. “Oh, dear God,” she thought, “did she ask? Did she ask, why didn’t I hear? She had all the comforts of home; she lived here, in this house that she and Grandpa had bought some sixty years before. Why, the house must be one hundred years old at least! She had some of her furniture around her; the rest was in the attic,” Jen thought, and she pictured the http://66.213.124.233/files/original/726cb7ba536fa61afdc975bcfb21fc65.jpg 7d276a2b3757d9cbf112fa8169e23c35 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (9) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 7 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl attic that had been the scene of so many happy childhood hours. “Not much room there now," she thought. Grandma had had a birthday blouse and a Christmas slip, and, once in a while she bought a new pair of hose, and enough stationary to write that weekly letter to her daughter. Above this, Grandma had nothing! “Nothing except what we gave her perhaps,” Jen thought, “perhaps she thought she didn’t even have our love. I don’t remember telling her for so long, how much I loved her. Oh, how I wish I could tell her now, how I wish I could say ‘Happy Birthday Grandma. I love you!’, but I can’t.” The times that Jen had been brusque with her Grandma came back to her, and such a terrible wave of remorse and shame swept over her. Most of the community had praised Jen, had told her what a devoted granddaughter she was, and had been, of how much joy she had given her grandmother -- the words echoing through her mind sounded so hollow. “The outward appearance we show others”, she thought, “to cover our own shortcomings and guilt!” In all honesty, Jen could not remember a single time she had been mean, or had ignored her needs. Rather, her sins had been of omission, if sins they were. She had kissed her good-night, but could not recall when she had told her she loved her. She had baked her favorite desserts, pies and cookies, but had never been overly joyful while doing them. Never delighted to be doing something, no matter how small or trivial, for someone who had done so much for her. The four years Jen and her family had lived here, there was always a sense of tomorrow, never of yesterday. Jen lay on the bed for a long time, now wide awake, watching little Susan sleep, thinking of how Susan’s great-grandmother had loved her, how much she had loved the boys, had loved Jen and Jen’s husband, but she couldn’t think of a single time that the word love was mentioned between herself and Gran, or the children. “Doug told her,” she thought, “six year-old Doug, her pet, told her.” He did, in fact, still cry himself to sleep at night, even now, ten months later, missing the one person whom he thinks loved him more than anyone else can ever love him. “How do we explain to Doug, how to tell http://66.213.124.233/files/original/d704e56c33ae2964753723c007a165f7.jpg c64a68f2bc773a9c38bbb0fe6c57aef7 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (10) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 8 him so he can understand, how to reason with this inconsolable grief, with his heart- breaking sobs, that he loved her and why couldn’t he have her back? Just for a little while!” “I don’t know Doug,” she said silently to herself, “why can’t we have her back, just for a while?” Jen wiped the tears from her eyes, looked out the window at the bright, October sun, one of those rare days in the fall of the year, when the world is all golden. With crunchy leaves, and sunshine filtering through the leaves still on the trees, with the softest of breezes, with the scent of burning leaves still in the air. “Last year, on this day, we had a party for Grandma,” she thought, “last year she was ninety-six; she'll never be one- hundred now, there will be no more celebrations with the relatives and friends, no more’ flowers.” Last year she lay here in this very room, in her casket. The room was filled to overflowing with flowers; the church, where Gran had been so faithful, was filled with people, even though it was a rainy, winter day. “Uncle Lester said, “Blessed is the corpse the rain falls on,” she thought, “and I’ve only taken flowers once. I've never had the time.” And then she thought, “That's the only thing I do have -- Time!” Jen very quietly raised up, careful not to disturb Susan. She went out in the bright, warm, golden sunshine of October, and picked a bouquet of flowers; late blooming summer flowers that had escaped the frost, and glorious mums. The flowers were late that year. One whole year! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/608f3adf650ffdbd7537a0883ae05e0c.jpg a3cef72672176df55b80af09403c113c Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (11) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 9 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Three MY “OUTSIDE INTEREST” Do you need an outside interest? “Yes”, say all the magazine experts. I know, because I’ve read this over and over. “Don’t allow yourself to become dull, unattractive, boring, all you need is an outside interest to make yourself more desirable to your husband, more loving to your children, more anything.” Including weary and exhausted! Anyway, after reading this for the umpteenth time, I decided maybe I did. So, I looked around the living room, at the comparative cleanliness, or neatness, considering the fact that school will be dismissed in forty-five minutes, this condition won’t last long. I’m not even looking at the doorway that goes into the downstairs bedroom - sewing room, den, catch-all room. One of the things about this particular room is the fact that it has a door. What Fibber McGee could put in this closet couldn’t begin to compare with the things that find their way into this room. So, if I want to say the living room is clean, don’t doubt it for a minute! You should see how it looks most of the time (no, on second thought, you shouldn’t see it then either!). To get back to my outside interest. First of all, you should know, I have four children. These are three boys, who are older and more babyish than the baby, who is a “her”, and is a very grown-up two year-old. Any mother could tell you that boys who are eleven and nine, aren’t really eleven and nine. They are somewhere between five and fifty, depending, of course, upon one’s actual age, because they always know more than their parents, and we're in our early thirty’s! So, they are between five and fifty depending! Now, our six year-old is six. There’s something so reassuring about a six year- old, who hasn’t yet started to school, and, so, for the time being, is a c-h-i-l-d. When school starts in the Fall, he will be a b-o-y, and soon will be eligible for the “5-50 club”, that all boys belong to. He will learn such interesting things - that mothers must not go into the bathroom for any reason (like rescuing two year-old sisters from the tub) if he’s in there; he'll learn that little boys go to the little boys room, and not to the ladies room http://66.213.124.233/files/original/fe7a0efbc714781b8f3fda188c680a8c.jpg d1496cf41751111a9232b88b64f123aa Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (12) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 10 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl with mother, The little five year-old next door is going to be so lonesome, because he will be the only pre-schooler left on the block, except of course for our two vear-old, Susie, who is a g-i-r-l. However, this morning he actually let Susie hug him, and then he said, “Mrs. C., she likes me!”’, so maybe he won't be so lonesome as we think. But, to get back to some of the aspects of the six year-old’s further education. He'll learn that the good fairy doesn’t really bring a dime for those teeth that come out, He'll learn to pull these loose teeth himself - preferably in school with twenty-five, or thirty, admiring pupils, and one rather bored teacher, rather than at home with no one ‘except Mother, (who has been through this before and can’t even be bored about it!), and two big brothers, who would probably like to pull it for him, and are bound to “egg” him on - to see if will bleed much I suppose - and Susie would probably be his most interested spectator, except that she will try and try to pull hers, and then be quite dismayed when they won't even wiggle! He’ll also learn that there really isn’t a Santa Claus, but on the 23rd of December, he’ll remind you that he didn’t write a letter, and “Is there still time?"; just in case you see. “And you must be sure to leave a treat for Santa and his nine reindeer.” Nine? “Did you forget to count Rudolph?” So far he won’t be at the sadistic stage and leave things like “mustard sandwiches”. That will come later - probably about the time Susie is four, or five, and quite shocked about the whole thing! But, most of all, he will learn the facts of life. Not the facts of life that we know as parents, or the facts that we’ve told him by the book, but the f-a-c-t-s as told by the first, or second, grade authority on such subjects. Every class has one, or more, so his education won’t be neglected. For the time being, he’s a little innocent, so to speak, and there are still three and one-half months left in this term. All things being relative, you know, so maybe I will have time to pursue an “outside interest”. At least for three and one-half months! I think there is something close to heavenly about two year-olds. They are big enough to need a great big hug, strong enough so they won’t break under such a hug, and sweet enough to deserve such a hug on fairly numerous occasions. Of all two year-olds, and after all, there are only two kinds - boys and girls - at least at our house that’s all we http://66.213.124.233/files/original/dbbb1ad71b82b15cc3c5c32b83b04cd6.jpg dd632b7fc190fccc62b2b60521dec795 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (13) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 11 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl count: the cat is a year old, the dog is six, of course the members of the club, "5-50" that is, will tell you the cat is really eight?, the dog is (?), because, "don't you remember mother, they don't count years like we do!" I always leave this to the club members to figure out because they wouldn't believe me anyway, and the six-year-old will only ask, "Why?", and I won't have time to answer if I'm going to pursue that "outside interest." Anyway, to get back to the two year-olds. I think the little girls are the sweetest. Boys are sweet, but there is always an imp in the eye when they give you a hug and kiss, but a little girl looks so angelic. Maybe we just think so after the experiences of three boys first. Our "fine sons. I'm quoting the doctor here, after three times of hearing "Mrs. C, you have a fine baby boy!", now really , could you blame me for not believing him when he said, "What did you want Mrs. C.?", (for thirty-six months I told him I wanted a girl), "You have a fine baby girl.", so I said, "No, I think it's another boy." "Now Mrs. C., would I tell you a story?" Well, I looked around, rather bewildered I suppose and considering the fact with glasses my vision is still not 20/20, and who wears glasses in the delivery room? - and said, "No, I don't think you'd fib, but are you sure?" Naive, wasn't I? So, he picked up little Susie by her heels, and told me to look for myself. Well, even with such poor vision and Susie being upside down, she definitely didn't resemble her brothers, so I believed him. After the second look (this time she was all wrapped up in a blanket, and I had my glasses on), I told the nurses to take real good care of her. I was sure I wouldn't be that lucky again, and after you hit the jackpot once, it is really pretty silly to try again. Besides, not only did she not resemble her brothers before being wrapped in the blanket, she didn't resemble them much wrapped up either. She had a deep crease on the bridge of her nose, and her poor little nose was spread flat, and half way across her face. She must have lain on it for all those months! And , if she had had a feather in all that black hair, she could have passed for a "red-skin" any time. The thought did cross my mind that the kids could play Cowboys and Indians now, in earnest. Where the boys had all been little picture babies, plump and eight pounds fair, and just the right amount of hair, she was a mere seven pound, six http://66.213.124.233/files/original/42dde8722ce911a54e518ccd2ef4d40a.jpg 2bfea44a54e642742c30f30d80e1ae59 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (14) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 12 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl ounce baby. She had the longest feet, and the scrawniest arms, and legs, and I couldn't help but think, "Well thank the Lord, it's a girl. At least we'd love her for being a she!" I shocked my husband with that remark, the nurses told him that her nose would be perfectly all right. He didn't think she was so scrawny, after all those few ounces did make a lot of difference, and if I didn't appreciate her, at least he did! Flat nose and all! We were very careful not to have any pictures taken of her until she was six weeks old, and then with a frilly bonnet, no one could see her nose very plainly anyway, everyone was too polite to mention it, and besides, she was such a good baby , and "Weren't you lucky, and on the fourth try!" We always shook our heads agreeably, beamed with parental pride at the praise of our littlest one, while trying to break up a fight between the two older ones, who were seven and nine, and all the while trying to create a feeling of goodwill toward our four year-old so he wouldn't be j-e-a-l-o-u-s of the new baby. As I look at her now, she has made remarkable progress since then. At two years and five days, she has a very interesting nose (like her mother), hazel eyes with brown and green specks (like her mother), straight, brown hair, and not much of it (like her mother), and everyone, but everyone agrees she's the image of her father! She can only say twenty-five words, but she can talk for an hour in church! Not only talk, she sings and patty-cakes, and directs the choir: she even, heaven forbid, does her version of the twist, and it is a pretty good version too - except - at church? But, as long as I sit in the back pew, maybe only half the people see her, and then they should be listening to the sermon anyway! We live a in a small community. Now, thirty, or forty-thousand more people know what I mean when I say, small community. There couldn't be too many more people than that that live in one, and it takes a person who lives in one to know just what I mean. It is nice to live in a small community, to know everyone except the last few families who have moved into town, and maybe we won't always be such a small community after all. Nice to not have to pack lunches, but have the kids walk the block, or two, to school and home for lunch. Nice to have your hubby come home for lunch too. Even if the the lunch hour at school is staggered so the second grader gets home at 11:15, the fourth grader at http://66.213.124.233/files/original/17fae0ace08be3981b722de31f218911.jpg f3680d624e2289cf73bd919ca9d2fcc8 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (15) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 13 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl 11:30 and hubby dear anytime at all, just anytime at all! Somewhere along the line. I began to feel like a short order cook. Now, if I could just figure out how to feed them all the menu, keep it hot, ad infinitum, and exotic, like baked potatoes, steak, shrimp cocktail, etc., etc., etc., because after all , he "could pack peanut butter sandwiches", etc. etc., etc. I console myself with the fact that after today, there will only be seven more days of this routine, and then!, then I can have a big, noon-time meal. I'll do the baking in the morning, we'll eat punctually at 12:05 everyday, all summer (and he had jolly well better be here too!) the table will be a work of art, fresh flowers, and all, every day! The wash will be on the line for hours, in fact, it may even dry! All the housework will be completed (beds will be made!). And, after this leisurely 12:05 dinner. I say leisurely because did you ever watch members of the club (5-50) eat? It may be leisurely and then again, it may not. However, Daddy only has half an hour so we will have ample time., I'm sure, to practice the rudiments of "proper table manners". Then, after the repast, while the nine year-old stacks the dishes (ahem!), the eleven year-old washes the dishes (ahem, ahem!). Mother will have oodles of time (five minutes) to rest from the hectic morning (and it will be hectic I'm sure), before we will all leave for the pool. Speaking of the pool, I should get quite a tan this Summer, as little Susie will demand, and I do mean demand, full attention this year. For some reason, children think the big pool is the same depth as the wading pool, and invariably walk right in the eleven foot depth, if someone doesn't tag along every second. I guess I won't even need a new suit, the old one will do it I don't get wet, and doesn't look like I'll be getting wet! Where was I? Oh, yes, my "outside interest". My outside interest last year concerned getting over an attack of arthritis. So, the flower beds didn't get weeded, I only canned seventy-five quarts of string beans, instead of one-hundred. Our corn blew over, and then down, and the coons got into it, so I didn't have much for the freezer. We didn't have very nice strawberries, so I did make a lot of jam. By staying up till mid night several evenings. I did get Mother-daughter dresses made for the occasion of our family reunion. Of course, my cousin's wife helped some by sewing the buttons on Susie's http://66.213.124.233/files/original/68dfebb0a0568a3903cae205f6ca236a.jpg 4c684ee494cecdcc8be23c5558b3a53b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (16) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 14 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl dress for me as we were dressing to go to the reunion. Considering, though I think I did pretty well! I feel sorry, I really do, for people who've never lived in a small community. By small, I mean around one-thousand to fifteen hundred people - not including dogs and cats as some smart -aleck, city slicker will say. There is a sense of security, you know about living in a house that my grandparents bought fifty to sixty years ago. However, I don't believe I'd go so far as to say it is comforting. What it lacks in comfort, it makes up in charm, and quaintness, and believe me, until last Fall, it lacked a lot of comfort. Since then, we've torn up the "path" and the house has become much more modern. It'll take a small town reader to understand where the "path" went, and also to appreciate how wonderful it is to have a bath. This was our big project last Fall (but I can't call it an outside interest", can I?) My husband and I did all the work ourselves. He'll probably tell you he did it, but then being a man, he doesn't know any better. Granted, he tore out the existing wall, he did it with an ax, but who cleaned up all that mess? The kids and I, working until midnight, that's who! Whom? Granted, he built the new partition, using the salvaged 2 x 4's that had been in the old partition, that had been added thirty to forty years ago, and they were economy minded then too! So, it wasn't his fault if the wall isn't just exactly true, is it? Granted, he did all the plumbing, and and he did a good job of that - every time! You see we had a very cold winter, and the pipes froze, and he had to thaw them out with a blow torch and re-solder them. But, think of the plumbing bills we saved, and after all, these modern conveniences do require a certain amount of pampering. We didn't have that trouble, of course, with the "path", but, as I said, it was a mighty cold winter, and that kind of "outside interest" we can do without , thank you! Granted, he did all the finishing things, like putting up the plaster board, or dry- wall as we professionals call it, but who held the end of those big sheets? And then, I did all the rest of the work, like spackling, and hanging the wallpaper, and painting the woodwork. Mine shows! And it looks nice if I do say so myself, and I have to as no one else does! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/c83a5535c5f50aeabd5c4ae011c679d0.jpg 33e94ff1f906c3c799a9eb90a4f3603c Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (17) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 15 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl The things that a small-town wife has to learn to do! Wallpapering, sewing, taking care of a garden, canning and freezing the surplus and, in between, there is the PTA, the Women's Society of the church, the Church Circles, which must be supported by attendance and volunteer labor. Then, there is bowling and the Fraternal Orders, but the biggest volunteer group of all in a small town is the Fire Department. In our town, they are a select group of hard-working, young men! My husband would miss anything, I think, except a firemen's meeting, or a fire! It must be difficult being a city fireman, and getting PAID for your services! Think where the thrill would be if you were at the firehouse when the calls came in, and you didn't have a siren to blow. We only live two and one-half blocks from the fire department, and, if he isn't there when the siren stops, and it only blows three minutes, it's very upsetting! And of course, a volunteer must be ready to serve at a moment's notice, come all the proverbial things usually attributed to the Post Office department. they do an excellent job though and we are quite proud of them! If that siren just wouldn't blow as we are sitting down to eat one of those leisurely meals I was telling you about! Well, you can see, with all these activities, something is missing from my life, and it must be an outside activity - it has to be because I just glanced at another magazine, and it reminded me. Maybe during this coming summer I will take up painting in my spare time, or how about writing? I can't think of anything else that I could do. Postlude: The summer's half gone, and it's as good a time as any to sit down and evaluate my projects - my "outside interests". So far, I haven't gotten outside the house, honestly! Except to plant the garden (you see, I didn't have a baby this year and so it was my turn to plant the garden. thoughtful, isn't he! ) I have hoed the garden, and oh, those gorgeous flower beds I planned last May, in reality turned out to be three envelopes of seeds and I have been having zinnias as centerpieces for those leisurely, elegant, half-hour dinners at 12:05. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/51b1c79bf9e9635ae6f0761d2a1fc080.jpg 482a1c7abbef13f92642d2d002ad4a20 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (18) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 16 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl However, at last count, most of them are coming at 12:30, 1:30, or even as late as 2:30, and let me tell you, it is no small trick keeping those steaks, mashed potatoes, etc., etc., etc., warm until 2:30. Every once in awhile, I've been throwing in a few peanut butter sandwiches, just to keep in practice you know. I do get "outside" to hang up the wash, because so far, we've had a beautiful summer, and I need to exercise. I do get to pick the green sting beans, and yellow wax beans, and the golden ears of corn, and the peppers - that were supposed to go with tomatoes into homemade ketchup. Only, so far, we've had dozens of peppers, and the tomatoes won't be ripe for another two weeks. I have gotten outside to go swimming at least four times in the past six weeks, but so far, I really haven't needed that new suit as I really haven't gotten wet. One thing I forgot to take into account last Spring was Little League Baseball. Unfortunately, this has been my first encounter with organized sport activities for the younger set. I started off with a bang to make up for it, with a player on one team, and a husband coaching another team. So, instead of one practice night and two games a week, we have two practice nights, not the same night of course, and four games a week, except for the very few times when they play each other's teams. And, of course, they only play on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, but lest your arithmetic and mine doesn't agree, let me add that to compensate for the fact that they only play certain evenings, and have too many games, some of these games are held at another park, (about three miles distant), and, since Dad is a coach and has to lug equipment around, Mother can walk. I thought the exercise would do me good, and since the mothers sponsor a refreshment stand, because they play two games a night, one should really support such a worthwhile cause, shouldn't one? Need I say more?! With the Summer's passing, the two year-old is getting older, of course, she can say twenty-eight words now, instead of twenty-five. Her new words are "home", only she says "no home", shaking her head contrary wise to indicate she doesn't wish to go there, "fish", (we are going to take a fishing trip to Canada and I'll bet that will be full of interesting activities, outside and otherwise), and "choo-choo". She's even learned to http://66.213.124.233/files/original/5a51c6f934e2288a167e51f3c3d02fec.jpg bf347aa14cbfd1b8d4cfb920995e5059 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (19) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 17 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl open the kitchen door so she can see it better and never wants to miss a single train. Not even the 9:55 PM one! She has almost enough hair for two little pigtails, and is quite a water-dog , which is the reason I never get a chance to get in the pool myself! The six year-old is gradually losing his innocence and is getting taller. With only three swimming lesson, he'd learned enough to dive for the "pennies" at the local water show, and came up with the "lucky silver dollar". Much to his brother's chagrin, but who do you think was the most proud?! The nine and eleven year-old boys have progressed even further into the 5-50 club, with the advent of Little League, as it seems to be not vaguely related to the softball we played in High School, lo, those many years ago. I'm sure you all know the line, it goes, "But Mother," and "You didn't Have TV?" All the painting I have done so far has consisted of the woodwork in the upstairs bedroom, which "No. 1" son so eagerly tackled. Now, I will have to paint the floors again to cover up the white spots (or else drip a few more and dare anyone to criticize my home decorating talents!) The sewing is still in the box. The dresses I cut out in March, for little Susie, are still pinned to the pattern. However, I did find the best bargain in the shopping center last week when I was shopping for school clothes, and so, I got ten yards of denim, and three different pieces of dark-tone cottons, which will be so practical for Fall you know I will get at them soon, as soon as I have time. Oh, yes! the cat was a "she" and blessed us with three darling little kittens. When I called the next door neighbor over to show her, she noticed how much the black and white one resembled her cat, which of course just happened to be a "him". Maybe we can give her all the kittens???? Too bad it's been such a dull summer! After our seven hundred each way, trip next month, with all the kids, to the fishing paradise of Canada (his words and he's been there three times without me). I'm sure that I will have something interesting to discuss at our next club meeting. Of course, I realize some people have camping trailers, or even station wagons, but our family enjoys (?) roughing it. So, leaving the cat, and her family, http://66.213.124.233/files/original/4f2d073ad37a23a960b4d7e5adcba3e1.jpg 2cc7cb5f924e3b186e35af95a16fcf9d Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (20) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 18 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl and dog at home, we will jump into our late, very late - or is it early - model four-door sedan and take-off. Of course, it's pretty full with just four children to the back seat and the trunk is full of very necessary tools, for what I don't know, but we should be able to squeeze in a few items like: a week's supply of food - it's too far to the store and there aren't too many supermarkets I take it - three, our four suitcases should do us (he took the biggest one last year when he went by himself so if I share with him, the kids can share one, or two, so maybe we can get by with only three, life preservers for the kids (I'm not going out in the boat anyway, and Daddy wouldn't dream of falling in anyway). Blankets - it can get cold up there in the North Country. Of course, thirty-two degrees isn't too cold here in the "tropical Midwest"! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/066b5d4e33f27781f2e3b10dec8b641b.jpg 62c1ede7608ef8432f76c6163bdb7e3d Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (21) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 19 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Four IN-BETWEEN DAYS Today is one of those "in-between" days. In-between winter and spring - with patches of snow and overcast skies promising rain, yet with a few spots of blue that may mean sunshine. The crocuses are blooming, the jonquils are in bud, and the grass looks green on the southern slopes and banks. One of those "in-between" days. Today I feel sort of "in-between" too. In-between the days when my children were young - toddlers - first graders and non-teenagers, yet still not grown, and the days to come when they will be young men and woman,with the problems of adult-hood still before them. Decisions of life work, life partners, life still ahead of them. I'm forced to realize that by the insuing statistics, my life is half finished, so as the optimist puts it, half begun! I think I feel more half finished than half begun though. A few weeks ago, I lost my father. Why is it supposed to be kinder to say he's lost than he's dead? I know to say he's dead has a terrible finality about it, but not as final sounding to me as the words, "She's lost her father". I would think, as Christians, we could not say we've "lost" someone. If we believe in the resurrection, we believe we will meet again, that someday we will all be together. Unless the God above is one of revengefulness - casting souls into the fiery depths for infractions of rules, saving only those passive, good souls who, like sheep, obey without questioning, who bleat out, "It's not my job! Not my responsibility, my task, my fault! It's your job , your responsibility, etc., etc., etc.". Does God sit on a majestic throne, judging everyone- separating the sheep from the goats, the grain from the clef? I wish I knew. Which was my father? Which is my husband? Which were my children? I refuse to accept the theory (how strange it looks written - like a willful child stamping her foot, refusing) that families will be separated for all eternity because of infractions of rules! How can God do this? http://66.213.124.233/files/original/07656387b687d9ab373351d0f67b3f03.jpg 50d4f8cd4ec39b8dbe717f688d56cfcf Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (22) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 20 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl If God is a Heavenly Father concerned over the children he has populated the world with how can he bear to be separated with one of these souls? How could he say, "Get thee away I never knew thee!" ? How could he bear the pain of it? As a parent, I could think of nothing that any child could do that would make me feel this way. That sounds like a bold, harsh statement; but I believe I mean it. There are things they might do that I'm sure would break my heart, but I could not imagine casting them out - throwing their lives away as if they had never lived. And, what about the worth of man over a swallow or the lilies of the field? I wish I knew God better. I feel I do know him. Does that sound egotistical? You see, I believe lots of things really. It does sound a little mad - especially in the day and age of space flights, submarines, heart transplant, TV, and all the other scientific research. It almost sound unfathomable that people could still believe in Jesus of Nazareth, a carpenter's son who walked the dusty path of Israel two-thousand years ago! Could still believe the precepts he taught could, or do have bearing on our lives today, with all the insight we supposedly have. Maybe we neglect to take his life out of context. Maybe we neglect to be like one of ESOP's Fables, of one of the Grimm Brothers' fairy tales. maybe we should update the story. I find it hard to picture modern day performers in Jesus' parables. Maybe I'm speaking heretical, I don't know. Surely questions of the soul are no more sacred, or forbidden than considering heart transplants, kidney machines, brain surgery, plastic surgery, or whatever. Which, if not all, of the doomed political leaders today, in 1968, with the prestige of family fortunes behind them, could better play the part of the rich, young leader who wanted to be a disciple of Jesus, but could not pay the price of giving up his wealth and following him. Which of our fine white brothers would be anxious to have a Good Samaritan Negro, Mexican, Puerto Rican, minister to our wounds, load us in a Cadillac, and transport us to the nearest hospital and pay the going rate of those institutions for our http://66.213.124.233/files/original/fa3c30ee445041145aa51345c9e57f0e.jpg 17d82a7931bab2bfd92afea0cd8443a1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (23) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 21 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl care? Or, reverse the procedure if the reader would be one of the Negro, Mexican, Puerto Rican clan. Maybe this is why the Gospel seems to be losing in its impact on the people of today. The other characters of Jesus' time, his best friend - dead in the tomb - Jesus calling him forth, the woman who had touched his robes and became well, the lame, the blind, all these we have with us today. How do we minister to them? The "Great Society" has undertaken a project of anti-poverty. Perhaps they should remember Jesus' admonition, "The poor you have with you always". Perhaps he was talking only of those particular "poor folk", but certainly we have always had the poor, the shirtless, the uneducated, the unprincipled, the welfare cases. I'm reminded of a quote from years ago, when head lice in small communities was rather a prominent thing - "It's no disgrace to have head lice, only in keeping them!"; there should be a lesson in this for welfare recipients. As I said, it's one of those "in-between" days; weather wise, spiritually, physically. I'm either half finished with life, or half begun. It's too late already, for lots of things. To go to college, to have a career (other than homemaker and mother - I'm not sure I've done too hot a job with that one!), to be a ravishing beauty, to be one of the "jet set", one of the group - a Hippie. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/5e7a589b69b7e81881c135c37575ec1d.jpg 61865db44e396434e97dcf353de395d2 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (24) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 22 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Five A LETTER TO MR. BISHOP Note: the letter was found among the journals contained in this book. It is not known whether this handwritten copy is a rough draft, or the original. I have included it in this book because it contains information as to the background of family members, and feelings that I feel are important to understand just who Loraine Crowl was. Dear Mr. Bishop, Along with thousands of people, I caught my breath when I read the account you had written about your father's death. I've followed your articles each day they've appeared. The characters in your little story are so true-to-life. One can almost see them. And, you've made tears come to my eyes more than once. Today, when you spoke of the condolences you've received, the same words used over and over again, the cards from friends, and the fact that no tear had come for you this time, brought back very clearly my father's death, less than a year ago. My dad was the constant story-teller. He had a droll sense of humor at times, but told some back-slapping stories, of his many escapes as a child. He grew up in a small town, and surrounding countryside in Ohio. The pictures in the old photo album show him beside his brother's touring car, surrounded by kids. He taught school in a little, one-room, school house, as did my mother, often walking miles to, and from school. Later, he went to work at a bank, and then a factory during the Second World War. We lived on a farm, we never went hungry. We always had something to eat. My mother baked her own bread; we had a garden. We were kids. While I was in High School, we moved to town. Population probably one-hundred fifty to two-hundred. We had electricity and gas heat. We got rid of the ice box with the dripping pan, and got a refrigerator. In time, we got an electric iron and didn't have to heat the irons on the kerosene stove. We never did get a metal ironing board. My mother still has the wooden board somewhere. Anyway, somehow, the year passed, I got married, my brothers and sisters did. the grandchildren came; we've contributed four to the grandparent's brag- book". http://66.213.124.233/files/original/4879c3e4601156a8d50e3cbbf6ec5f65.jpg 8f5fb44b6219b45ccfcae234ea4ec8b8 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (25) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 23 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Retirement came a few years ago to my dad. Retirement for some must be wonderful - for him it was pure anguish! By this time, my sister was living with them: with her Cerebral Palsied child. My brother, and his two small children were there too. My mother, who was in her sixty's was forced back in the role of cook, cleaning lady, clothes washer, and ironing lady for three little ones. My brother drank, my sister was working, my dad was beside himself! Part-time jobs helped, but they had no money for trips, and my mother's sense of duty wouldn't permit her to go, even on trips with us. Finally a trip was planned to Florida. My brother sent tickets for the train. They traded those in on plane tickets; one way. They didn't know how long they'd stay, but Social Security checks, in the next couple of months, would have allowed them enough for tickets home. The day arrived when they were to leave. I drove them to the airport, one snowy day in March. My dad had a cold - a pretty bad one - and he was subject to pneumonia. He walked to the gate for the departing plane. He was short of breath when he got there. He carried his new hat with the feather on the side, so it wouldn't get wet. He said they might stay until June; wasn't much sense in coming back to more of this stuff! We all smiled. My mother gets homesick if she's away overnight. We knew she wouldn't stay until June. W watched the plane taxi around to take off, and then we left the airport. We felt it was unlucky to watch it out of sight. A plane took off just as we were leaving the parking lot. It flew over us, and we wondered if it was theirs. That was on Monday. On Tuesday, we had the biggest snow of the year. Schools close in this part of the country when it snows like this. In consolidated school districts, the rural children are bussed in, and rural roads get pretty bad, with six to eight inches of snow. We all agreed it was good the folks were in Florida, where it was warmer. On Wednesday, the call came. Daddy had been sick when they got to Florida. They were to take him to the doctor on Tuesday. They had done that. He took tests, and wanted him to come to the hospital on Wednesday for more tests. On Tuesday night, he became quite ill. They took him to the hospital on Tuesday night. He had a light case of pneumonia. The phone call Wednesday was supposed to be reassuring. We knew he had pneumonia before. He'd had bronchial infections, etc.; he always got over them. He was our dad nothing would happen. The next phone call said they had found a severe anemia. There was something wrong somewhere. We all thought of Leukemia, but said it was probably not much of anything. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/11709d187c34f52812558e93c7cd70b1.jpg f50ea8ff3d314167fc94a7af171768c0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts:The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (26) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 24 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Then the phone calls became more frequent. My mother called, my brother called. In between we three girls took turns calling. An operation would be needed; he was seventy, but it was needed. The operation was over before they called again. they found an abscessed appendix. We couldn't believe that; yes it was an abscessed appendix! It had walled itself off somehow, and, occasionally, leaked its poison into his system. His blood had little oxygen in it. No wonder he had been so pale! Oh yes, they had found a couple of small tumors, up near the stomach. They were small, but malignant. The surgeon thought he got it all, Dad was doing fine. Then he had a coughing spell. The stitches tore loose, he had to go back to surgery. He was in intensive care. There was no change. No reason for us to go down there: nothing we could do, except call. Easter Sunday came - another operation. He'll be all right. We sent down summer things for my mother. She lived at the hospital. She packed her sandwich in the morning. My brother dropped her off on the way to work. He picked her up in the evening. She sat in the halls if they wouldn't let her in Dad's room. She visited other patients on the floor who were sick. She didn't need to know them. Anybody sick brought out the "mother " in my mother. In May, the call come. My dad would be coming home. He needed convalescent care. He could do that here. If he stayed there, he probably wouldn't be strong enough to come back for several months. They would charter a plane. We were to meet them at the airport, with an ambulance, and make arrangements to have him admitted to a hospital in Columbus. He would need surgical care again, and attention. We wondered how he could fly in such a shape. We met him at the airport. My mother looked fine when she got off the plane. It was early, we were late! We had also gotten lost. But, she looked fine. Thinner, but our mother. My dad was on a stretcher, being transferred from the plane to an ambulance. He was old! He was seventy, but looked one-hundred! His face was sunken and pale. He fingers were bony. He had left Ohio in March, weighing two-hundred to two-hundred ten pounds. He weighed one-hundred and thirty-eight when he got home. His eyes were bleary, and darted here and there. His hair was long on the sides and curly. He could barely talk above a whisper. Breath seemed like a very fragile thing to him. But, he was home in Ohio. He had made it this far. We smiled and kissed him, and told him he hadn't really had to wait until June, and clucked over him. We followed the ambulance to the hospital with misty eyes, but we couldn't cry; not yet. We saw him lifted into a hospital bed. He looked more rested. We took my mother home. The first time she'd been home alone without him for forty-eight years! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/002b86f479fd46255f788f23ecf65daf.jpg 70ba9c6468b360d890476882ce02b01c Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts:The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (27) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 25 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl The next day, he was transferred to another hospital. The rotten abscess kept draining. It was ugly stuff, and you wondered how anyone could live with that stuff in them. Another operation was scheduled. We all went down. Now it was our turn to take Mother back and forth to the hospital. She was still packing sandwiches! The operation did the trick for the time being. He was finally on the road to recovery. We had bought a house. We had lived in the house my mother had grown-up in but we found another house; a very reasonably priced one, larger than my mother's old house. In the midst of all else, we were painting, papering, etc, etc, It would be awhile before my dad would be able to leave the hospital. Only then would my mother tell him of our plans. He didn't know how he'd be able to go back to the house with the three children, my sister, and my brother. He needed to be alone. They needed to be alone; they had not been for nearly forty-seven years! We were in the midst of papering when my mother stopped. Daddy would come home Saturday. He'd almost been in the hospital the ninety days Medicare allowed. It would be very close. This was Tuesday; Thursday we moved - four kids, a dog, a house-full of furniture and junk -just moved! The rooms weren't papered, some of the plumbing was in need of repair; we moved anyway! Friday, we moved my mother's things. Only part of them; they were going to camp out, so to speak. She would need all her time to nurse my dad, and didn't want very much. A sofa, chair, or two, a couple end tables, lamps, a rocking chair of my grandfather's was in the attic. We brought it down and polished it up. We brought my dad home on Saturday. It was June by this time, and he was home. To a house where birthdays, and Christmas', and picnics had been celebrated by our family for sixty-three year. The summer passed, and he was able to be up and around. He enjoyed riding in the car. It didn't seem to bother him. In August, we took him thirty-five miles to see his brother, who was celebrating their 50th anniversary. He sat in the car, and nieces, and nephew, from New York, Illinois, Pennsylvania, and California came to the car to see him. It was a milestone! The roses that bloomed by the bedroom window, bloomed again. Fall came. He was able to drive. He was still stiff, and bent over somewhat. He had gained thirty pounds, and he was getting a "spring" in his step. He was able to eat what he wanted. He bought a new suit, and a topcoat. Maybe he could finish that visit in Florida next Spring. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/0682b03042e182139a0b871acc797182.jpg 1872a7a8104b783f414a55378e503b89 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (28) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 26 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Christmas came and we all trooped up for a very thankful Christmas in the old house. The grandchildren were there. Family get-togethers are like that; movies were taken. the traditional poinsettias were bright in the corner. After Christmas, a check-up revealed bleeding from the rectum, the doctors said it was probably hemorrhoids. They didn't seem concerned. One night, in January, it became severe. They thought it best to go to the hospital. He was scheduled to go the later part of January anyway. Just to be safe, he'd go early. I rode in the ambulance with them. He joked on the way with the driver. I sat in the emergency room, and found out how slow waiting can really be. Hours passed. Finally, the nurse said he would be admitted that evening. We could go up and say goodnight. Examinations, and tests, showed a tumor, or growth, inside the rectum. A colostomy would be performed. He hated the idea. We tried to cheer him up by telling him of people we'd heard about. Surgery was scheduled for the next week. The next week tests showed his heart wasn't strong enough. They'd wait a couple of weeks. We took books, and candy, and flowers. My mother packed her sandwiches, and stayed all day again. The twenty-first of February, surgery took place. For over five hours we waited. The nurse told us, finally, the surgeon would come up soon. When he came, he told us that the surgery had gone as expected. The growth had been malignant; it had also spread. Growths were present near, and on the aorta. Nothing could be done for that. My sister asked about radium. He said they'd have to wait and see. His wasn't strong enough of course, and the location would suggest only a few months- six or so. For the next two weeks, we visited him every day. He was conscience. He finally could eat a spoonful of Jell-O. One day, we went down and he had been moved to another room. A smaller one, with a very sick man in the other bed. it didn't bother my Dad - nothing much seemed to bother him. A few days later, I took my mother down. A couple of friends of mine road along. We would go shopping. They had brought my Dad's lunch while I was there. A dinner of steak, mashed potatoes, Jell-O, ice cream. He was so weak, he couldn't have lifted six spoonfuls. They left the lunch. He had eaten a couple of bites; my mother fed him the soupy ice cream. I talked with him a few minutes, kissed him on the forehead, and said I would see him in the morning. I left. We talked in the car, my friends and I, of the idea of feeding a sick man a dinner like that. Of how hospitals keep patients alive, of the agony we knew he'd go through while he was adjusting to life following a colostomy, of how little time he'd have before he'd start downhill again; of many things. It's the most wonderful thing in he world to have understanding friends! That evening, I told the children that Grandpa had steak and ice cream for dinner. That he'd sent them a kiss, and said he loved them. That evening I told my husband I didn't see how he could live much longer, and how I wished he didn't have to suffer so; That night, I cried. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/10e6207a2b6a47454090a3dadf93a097.jpg 10e56e941d8f97cfc6377e1b6e1f0200 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (29) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 27 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl The next morning, early, the phone rang. the head nurse, on the same floor, but different service, said my Dad had taken a turn for the worse, to come down as soon as possible. I called my mother, I called my sisters and my brother. My mother drank her morning tea as usual; my sisters were slow. It wouldn't have made a bit of difference, my Dad had already died when the nurse called. The surgeon met us in the hall. He took us to a consultation room and told us. He got us pills, which we didn't take. My mother was dry-eyed. My sisters were still, so was I. My brother didn't say a word. My mother asked if she could see him. The surgeon suggested not - she insisted! My younger sister went with her, I stayed in the hall a few minutes, and then went in. He had a look of absolute peace on his face, with maybe a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. He'd had a heart seizure, or attack. He'd known nothing of it. He was spared that final suffering. In the hall, his clothes were waiting in a shopping bag. The roses, and flowers, were on the cart too. We each picked something up and started to the elevator: each of us thinking our own thoughts. In the main floor lobby. I saw a friend, Margaret, the nurse. We cried together a few minutes. I tried to comfort her. I tried to comfort me. We got in the car. My brother found his cigarettes, my sister drove, and we went home. I stopped at the Post Office, where my husband worked, and told him it was over. We went on to Mother's and called relatives, and just sat there. The thoughts that passed my mind were thoughts of relief for the suffering that was finished, of all the emotions. I think there was one that most described it. There were tears only once, when I called my mother's sister, when she asked how we were, I cried and she knew. The cousins came again from Pennsylvania, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky. My brother from Florida. the neighbors brought food , as is the custom in this part of the country. The funeral director went along with my mother's idea of having visiting hours at the house, instead of at the funeral home. And, he wore the brand new suit he'd so happily bought and never worn. The bedroom, where they had slept, was emptied of furniture. The flowers around the casket literally filled the room. And my Dad looked at peace. The hardest part for me was when they put the lid down. The room was completely empty then. My Dad was gone. Still, I didn't cry then. Nor did I cry during the service. I can remember my husband gripping my hand at the same instant I reached for his. The service was held at the church. It was very brief; the church was full. We walked out an got in the cars to drive to the cemetery. I was amazed to discover four folding chairs there; one was for me. We sat there in the cold, and heard the minister's words. We left very soon. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/51e80de589e3d7459ed9cfd78c378856.jpg a9c50feb7810dab84ffa0777c7ad4a70 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (30) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 28 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Beside my father's grave are my grandparents. Next to it, on one side, is a very dear friend. There is room for my mother, and two others. A sign of old age, I'm told is when you know more people in the cemetery than you do in town. At home, after the service, the cousins gathered once more for a tearful farewell. The coffee pots bubbled. Cousins wives, with their hats still on, did dishes so everyone could have something to eat before they left for their various homes. I think at one time, I counted sixty people. There are only three rooms downstairs in that house. My Dad would have enjoyed it! He would have had a joke to tell, a curl to twitch, a remark about someone's hat. He would have teased the grandchildren, scolded one of the cousins for not wearing boots. He would have enjoyed it. Strange as it sounds, I did. I had tears then; no none now. I have a terrible loneliness at times, and wish I could see him. sometimes, when I see a man about his age, and his build, with a fringe of white hair, I catch myself in time, before I go up and make an insane remark. When the roses bloomed last summer, beside the bedroom window, my mother took bouquets to the cemetery. I've only been a few times. My father is not there; I'm not sure where he is. I feel his presence at times. I think about him a great deal. I think of my mother, too, who's been alone for almost a year now. And I think that, by the very nature of things, I'll be in the same position someday. Either to go, or to remain. One of us will be left. That's each one's "thing" in life. And, how I will meet this, I don't know. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/b971118c3ad144a5c883eef2627f848e.jpg d735fab1de4ebd3ac87031815180b8e0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (31) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 29 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Six WHO AM I ? The sun rose bright and warm this morning. The sky is that winter blue, the evergreen stands still and tall, no breeze is about. The snow crunches under foot. It looks cold and quiet and serene. It is cold! Our thermometer says Zero degrees, and, for the first day of March, in our area of the country, it is cold! Especially with six, or seven, inches of snow on the ground. It's plowed high on the side of the street, so it's hard for my little daughter to get around, to be able to cross the street. Last night seems far away. The shadows, and phantoms, I hope were vanished with the sun, but I'm not sure. Maybe, If I put them down in morning light, their mysterious power over me will be gone. I have reached a certain, happy relationship with my pencil and pad of paper. The typewriter doesn't suffice. I can't think and concentrate, at the same time. What I really mean to say, is that I can't compose my thoughts and concentrate on the typewriter, keep at the same pace. So, I write in longhand, trusting that sometime, I"ll be able to decipher it. My biggest problem is, I guess that I keep everything to myself. I always have. Last night, I wished so desperately to pour out my silly secrets, and fears, to my husband, but I couldn't. I never have been able to. This is the reason I write. I picture a time, after my death, when he's going through papers, and old reports, and things of that kind, and he'll come across the folder of my "manuscripts". He'll pull them out slowly. I think he'll read them. I'm not sure, but either way, my purpose will have been accomplished. He'll know, at last the silly secrets, and fears. And, if he scorns them, then why it really won't matter, because I will be past the point of being able to be laughed at, or ridiculed. I've been ridiculed, and laughed at, too long, and it still hurts too badly to expose myself. My biggest regret, along this line, is the fact that our oldest son is exactly the same as me. He keeps everything bottled-up too, and it hurts him so deeply. I wish I http://66.213.124.233/files/original/1a8840057482eec0803de1212a663d53.jpg 969b462a6847603e340a1091604c42c4 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (32) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 30 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl could help him, but I can't relieve his torment by telling him how I've suffered. That's a strange word - the pencil seemed to write it alone - I guess I have suffered. And I think that this kind of suffering is the worst. I've had my share of physical suffering, maybe more than my share. This I could bear! Last night, when the scenes of my childhood flitted past my eyes, I was wide awake. I know somewhere there was an answer, but I didn't find it. It got away. It always does. And, finally, the long night ended. I was reminded of the prayer I used to say, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake. I pray thee, Lord my soul to take". It must have bothered me, it does now. I taught my children to say only the first two lines, and then to say, "God bless everyone I love," naming all the relatives, and friends, and then everyone else in the world, "and make me a good child!" But, I've always had the feeling that I've deprived them of something, in a way. Maybe I've only kept the fears from them, and, if so, I'm glad. The fears! Lord, how I've hated those fears. Fear of dark, fear of death, fear of going places, fear of ridicule, fear of people's opinions about me. I was twenty-five years old before I could even think to myself about a person, "Go to Hell, I don't need you!" I still haven't been able to say it out loud. Someday, I just might. I don't know who I'll say it to first. This has certainly given me a certain amount of inner satisfaction, imaging their response. It's almost as good as telling them to their face. The trouble is, I really do like most people. I love to talk with sales ladies, I used to be one, and it's nice to have someone notice you, and be nice to you. I can catch the eye of another mother, coping with her small child, as I used to mine, and a recognition will pass between us, and she'll smile, and so will I. I don't really know if you can call that empathy, compassion, or just plain nosiness. I only know that that's the way I am. this bothers some of my friends, who are always asking, "Did you know that salesperson?", or woman or whatever. And then, that puzzled look comes over their faces. It's the same response my husband gives me. Some look in awe, so I guess I'm something of a "kook", because no one understands - except my oldest boy. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/060ba7c92f90841cc9e3541584ccdb65.jpg 1861f0403a606e157c039ad8bca26bef Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (33) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 31 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl I do love to talk with people. Any people, anywhere. I'm reminded of the by-line of one early TV program; "There are a million people in the Naked City, there are a million stories. This has been one of them''. I think that, when I drive down streets, and roads, and past houses. Maybe not a million, but hundreds. They all have stories. So do I, but I can't tell mine, and I don' think they can tell theirs. It's like two parallel lines extending, ad infinitum, going the same way, side by side, but never touching. Dear God, I don't want to be a parallel line! I wish I could tell my story to someone. I don't know why, I don't really know to whom, but I feel sometimes as if these layers and layers of reaction, responses, impulses, stimuli, must come out. Or does everyone carry around the muddle of their thinking until their dying day? There are times, dear pencil, as if I'm really afraid to trust you. Because, once it's written, I cannot recall it, and the chance of being read, and misinterpreted, would be as bad as saying things and having them misunderstood, or ridiculed. Other people seem to have such well-run lines, neat, orderly. Are their minds the same? I don't really think so. As I know some of those neat, orderly people. Houses always spic and span, children always clean, the blasted ironing always done, and not a dirty dish in the house. i can't believe their minds are this tidy. Maybe they have better control over theirs than I do. I've thought of writing this as a story. Changing names, especially mine, and trying to palm it off as an imaginary story. My imagination isn't this powerful, but maybe someone else would think so. I don't really know what I'll do with it. but, here goes - most stories start off with either a very happy, or very unhappy, childhood. I wish I could remember my childhood, but I don't think I ever had one. I can remember almost to when I was two, and I can't remember a childhood as such. It certainly wasn't unhappy. It certainly wasn't a joyous occasion. I never remember enjoying it because I was always waiting for another time. The other time has never come. Will it ever? I don't know, I've done the same thing with my children, never fully enjoying the ages they are - always trying to picture "another time." I've lost all the memories that I wish I could remember. Certain times stick out in my mind, but they are http://66.213.124.233/files/original/291a6789fac398dc2fb0cbe4994ddb23.jpg 68ccde2fc7137282d6d40001c10e3b2a Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (34) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 32 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl few. What happens to the days? I guess I've wished them away -always waiting for "another time." I could put on a stoic face, and keep the tears of agony to the time when I'm alone. My husband doesn't like to see me cry. Or anyone. He had sisters who used this for their own means. There have been times, when I've screamed inside of me, to him, to please say "go ahead and cry, cry all you want!" I know he never will. It's the way he is. He just doesn't think anyone needs emotional release this way, and he just doesn't understand me. The trouble started last night over the same thing. It's usually always the same thing and it always ends the same way. Only last night, I didn't fight back after he went to sleep. I didn't toss and turn, or turn on the light, but I accepted things. I had the sensation they say a dying man has of seeing things, and scenes pass before my eyes. I wondered if each of us, complex humans that we are, all have such an inner-turmoil. My husband doesn't. Things are so simple for him. things are black and white - there's no middle gray anywhere. He has come to accept some of "gray" in his own life. He's learned to accept the fact of "breakdowns" in his own family, and in mine, but not in ours. But, he looks on these cases as weaknesses of the individual. I don't think he will ever have a nervous breakdown. I sometimes don't think he has nerves. i don't know what sustains him; sheer physical strength, I suppose, guts, no spiritual fallacies. Oh, he believes in God, but not in Heaven. It's all here and now with him. It's rather disconcerting really. He hates to go to funerals. It's all over in his estimation. There's nothing left. No hope, no thought of heavenly rewards, or threats of eternal damnation with him. It's here and now, and he's the master of the situation. It's really very sad! He doesn't need people. I crave people. Or books, except of course, for the face that books have a happier ending, most of the time. Either a good book, or a visit with someone, or a telephone conversation will work the same therapy on me. It's an intrusion to him. Maybe he's got a simpler mind, or a single track one. But, these things aren't important to him. People, books, music, solitude. If he spends five, or ten minutes alone, he goes to sleep. Just shuts his eyes and goes to sleep. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/773767a638266d0d179eec9e8c18d206.jpg b7fddba91079d8eca055dcd4d06d4af4 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (35) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 33 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl So many things came to mind last night. I can't hardly remember them this morning. So many scenes of growing up - "Growing UP" to what? That's certainly a strange phrase - Growing Up. It presupposes you are smaller, or shorter, then you grow up, straight and tall. We have a lot of strange phrases in the English language. "Grow up", how often we say this to children - "Grow up and act your age!" - most of the time, that's exactly what they are doing. Acting their age, their physical age. I like "maturing" better. It sounds more like a flower opening. It sounds more like a cycle of events, instead of physically growing up. I guess the problem basically hinges on the fact that I didn't have much of a childhood. I went to stay with elderly grandparents when I was two. I think, sometimes, I've lived for a hundred years! The stories they told me were like the fairy tales read to other children, by their parents. The time was one, mid- depression, and in a very small town, so things like sanitary sewers, bathrooms, refrigerators, kerosene lamps, ice boxes, quilting blocks, hand-knitted mittens, and kerosene ovens seemed to me to be mixed up. See, normally the generation who lived with kerosene lamps would have been my grandparents. My mother's generation would have lived with the ice boxes, and the quilting blocks, and the mittens being knitted, and the bread rising in the pans to be baked in the kerosene ovens. so, I guess you'd say I was a composite, and it's all mixed up. I had a friend when I stayed with my grandparents. Her parents were the right age. She had store-bought clothes, and a bathroom, and a fireplace, and a refrigerator that made ice cubes, with pop stored in it. How I envied her! My goal, even yet, is the fireplace, and the store-bought clothes. I wanted all these things so desperately, when I was a child. I'd go back to stay with my parents part of the time. They lived in the house with no electricity. I was in High School before they moved. It was finally to a house with electricity - but still no bath. To this day, they don't have one. We finally installed one, five or six years ago. It's still new to me. I've always wondered why they didn't move, years before they finally did. I guess it's habit. I don't think it was love of the place. I though when we http://66.213.124.233/files/original/b53c8f6bc40f907c08d7970e1ba0d22d.jpg a18bd901645a08aaa56480faa5c29fbf Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (36) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 34 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl moved to town, it would be a whole new world. It wasn't. It was still the coal stove in the corner, still the slop bucket in the corner to empty dish water and plate scrapings into and the kerosene stove in the kitchen. Still, the two-piece pad irons, heated over the stove. But, we did have electricity. They've finally installed water in the kitchen, an electric range, a refrigerator and a freezer, a dryer and gas space heaters. It's almost up to date. But, my folks aren't. Whether it's habit or whether they like it, they've lived in this house as long as they lived in the one in the country. I still live in my grandparent's house. We didn't have much company. Of course, in the Depression years, I don't suppose people went visiting much. One of those fears I had was traveling. I was in Jr. High before I went to the nearest city - twenty miles away! I may have gone before that, but I can't remember. Things big have always frightened me. I still don't accept this as a manner of course. It's still an excursion, still has an element of fear, uncertainty about it. I still see intrigue lurking in corners, and doorways, still manage to get lost, so to speak, in unfamiliar stores -still consider it alien ground. I've been a small -town girl too long. Oh, I go all right. Go into town for meetings, and visit art galleries, shop, etc. My husband doesn't take me. I go alone, or with women friends. I take the children. They romp on the escalator, and self-serve elevators, to their hearts' content. They've never worried about being lost, or being stolen by Gypsies, or murdered in the doorways by dope addicts. As I said, though, we didn't go much, and we didn't have much company.I did travel to another state a couple of times. My grandparents went to visit my aunt, and I could go too. As I grew older, it meant joys without end. This town had a movie house, middle-sized stores, sidewalks that were broad enough, and smooth enough, to skate on. I made friends across the street, and down the street. We drank lovely Pepsi's by the carton - full! Ate potato chips and pretzels. Played Ping-Pong. Blissful summer days. Those were the days of my childhood, I think. the only days, and they came much later, about eleven, or twelve, and ended suddenly with the death of my grandfather and trip back to the house I grew up in. The absence of that dearly loved, familiar figure, http://66.213.124.233/files/original/3b7fa5bc33c48a8fc6e07bf19b62be95.jpg d691b6ae005922a208aceaa5e502f19b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (37) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 35 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl upon whose lap I loved to sit, and rub my cheek in his scratchy, wool sweater, duck to one side as he spit tobacco - most always unerringly in the Chase & Sandborn coffee can. Reach in his pocket for a pink peppermint lozenge. Beg for a nickel to run to the corner store for an ice cream cone, whose last remarks, as I went our the door, were always, "Remember who you are". I never asked who I was. I never knew who I was. Only that was his grandchild, and my grandmother's grandchild. My brothers and sisters I hardly missed. I didn't know them to miss them. You cannot miss what you do not know, and I didn't know them. I can still sometimes still hear, "Remember who you are". I still do not know, but I don't know whom to ask. I guess I must find this answer alone. Things changed then. I went home to stay. My grandmother wasn't well, my older sister, who was out of school, went to stay with her, and took my bed, and my dresser drawer. Strange, I can only remember one dresser drawer. I guess that held all my belongings. These were never many. There still aren't. Back I went to the house in the country. Back to the family I hardly knew. I had lived with them during school terms all the time. But, I waited on weekends, and summer vacations, to go to town. I waited on those nickels, those laps to sit in. The pampering I suppose I got. I never remember being called in the mornings, except Sundays. Sundays we went to Sunday School and church. We walked , unless it was terribly inclement. then, my grandfather got out the Model A and took us. He always came after us. Always drove up after everyone was gone. My grandmother was always the last one out of the church. I never knew if it was because he was always late, and she waited on him, or thought she'd be late so he waited on her. I never knew. I guess it doesn't make any difference now. I waited all the time I lived in the country, with a sort of detached aloofness. I probably was hard to live with. I know of no teenager that isn't. I had Rheumatic Fever. Spent months in bed. My mother was a good nurse. But, she never talked to me. No on ever really does. I think. We spent days together, me waiting for the school bus. She doing things around the house. It was winter, so we were living in only part of the house. She did play the piano. She played beautifully! She didn't teach me though. I taught myself. I had lessons once, when I was a little girl. We must have had some money then. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/032fed2f59763521863c5b60d2438129.jpg 04b79667b5f1b1d3e93462cdad8ab550 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (38) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 36 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Then with the war, my father changed jobs. We didn't have anything much for a long time. I'm sure we ate. We kept chickens, and a few cows. I remember they butchered a pig once in awhile. My mother canned the meat. We had a big garden and raised our own potatoes. My mother made our bread. The pantry always had big crocks of milk sitting in it. Scraping the cream as it rose. How often do you scrape? I have no idea. I didn't learn. I did learn to bake bread. It's one of my accomplishments to this day. Only now, I make sweet rolls. I made too many loaves of bread then. It seems so strange that I can remember so few times working. My grandmother was the mistress of her home. She didn't ask for help, or tell me to help. She'd wash out my clothes, wash my hair, scrub and clean. She was surprised that I know so little about how to do anything in later years. No one rally ever taught me. I haven't done a very good job of teaching myself. School progressed. I like people, as I've said, and I liked school. I never really was anybody's best friend. No one else was as interested in books as I was. I didn't really have to study harder. I had parts in school plays. Went to basketball games. Was never elected cheerleader, they always picked someone more petite, and graceful. Had a few honors in school. Worked part-time. We'd moved to town by this time; not the town where my grandmother lived, but close to it. I could go back and forth on the Greyhound Bus. I hated those trips. I was always afraid I'd miss the bus. When it finally came around the curve, I'd run to the stop. Then, i was always afraid the driver wouldn't stop at the right station. Once one took me ten miles past my destination. I cried and cried, called my mother, who sent a neighbor after me, and caught up with me on my way, walking back home. It was as hard to accept a favor then as it is now. I'm always afraid it will be an imposition. After graduation, I could have gone to any one of several colleges, but we didn't have guidance teachers then. My heart was set on dress design. Some silly, romantic kid's idea. I could have gone on to any college of Liberal Arts, and should have. I had met my future husband by this time. We enjoyed a friendly, friendship. I suppose, in all honesty, I wanted a friend - he wanted a sweetheart. I had fallen madly in, and, http://66.213.124.233/files/original/89c6c0bde6dae93ae8fc5dc838ec23d7.jpg f284dc2fbf5f5cb1010c7f14ccba9e7d Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (39) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 37 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl disillusioned, out of love just before meeting him. I would have followed this first love to the end of the earth. Only he didn't ask. He was embarrassed at my overtones of affection. He tolerated my playing all these romantic love songs of the day on the piano. He had his obvious faults. My parents didn't like him much. They could see through him. I couldn't see a thing! It was a very short-lived romance. As summer romances are apt to be. I was introduced to my husband by one of the girls I was working with that summer. I, in turn, introduced her to her future husband! We did a lot of double dating. She "had" to get married; we had a big church wedding. Part of the time, after I was out of school, and working in the little town, I lived with my grandmother again. She was in her eighties by now. Never the less, she called me for work every morning. Fixed my lunch at noon when I walked home. Waited supper till all hours if I was late because of visiting, or just plain talking. Washed out my lingerie, ironed my clothes - and I practically ran away! I guess I did run away before we were married - ran back to my parents' because I thought I should be there. Couldn't be both places, close to my husband's work. He came home for lunch, and we played at housekeeping and married life. I finally learned to drive. worked at a job, one and one half weeks, and that's been the only time since we've been married. As I've said before I never really had anyone teach me to do housework. I keep looking to tomorrow's projects, and seem never to get today's projects finished. We've reached the middle thirty's and with forty's breathing down our necks, I can't enjoy today. I'm too fat. The dreams, and aspirations, of that crazy, mixed-up kid of twenty years ago are actually centuries ago. Our four children have had their share of measles, mumps, chicken pox; not Rheumatic Fever. And, I suppose as a mother, I didn't sit down and talk with them either. My grandmother died five year ago , at the age of ninety-six. We finally moved out of our house in the country. Came back and lived with her. We had just the three children then. Our little girl came after. Grandma was still cleaning her own room, and doing my dishes , when she died. We still live in Grandma's house.It's never been mine. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/7732c38338257781d7cd6da932cf835d.jpg aa3939ce9b78b77318114f34d4938df8 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (40) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 38 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl or ours, probably, never will. I trim her rose bushes in the spring, transplant her tulips, and jonquils, every three or four years. We did plant some trees that are ours. But the house hasn't changed that much. But, if I have deep, and ponderous, thoughts, my friend, the pencil, and I write them down. I've lived too long to explain any of my wishes, desires, or thoughts, to anyone else. I haven't gotten the nerve to tell anyone to "Go to Hell". or "Jump in the lake", and likely never will. If I open my mouth to contradict anyone at a meeting , or to voice an opinion, I blush, and my heart pounds. We go to church every Sunday, don't miss a one. Only my husband goes too - we usually are the last ones out the door though, come to think of it. Same church, same door. The words of my grandfather come back. "Remember who you are!" Who am I? God, I wish I knew! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/aa0165dbc466986d1859b55313f6aba3.jpg 74afdf7bf5f3edba24019d1d3dd406d9 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (41) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 39 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Seven WHERE IS HOME? I knew then that I would never forget. All my life, I'd waited to hear them . Every Fall, my brother would talk of them. Only after the war came, and my oldest brother left for the army - only then did they not mention them. I'm talking of the geese of course, the wild geese flying down from the North - flying south in the Fall. Flying to the warmth, and the sunshine, of the South. Leaving their home in Canada, flying the miles over our part of Ohio - going to only they know where, and once I heard them. I used to dream of it when I was a little girl; dream of the north reaches of our hemisphere, wonder at the unknown expanse of country; wonder if I'd ever go there to see the towering pines, and the crystal blue lakes, to feel the spray of sun against my face, to see only trees, lake and sky, in one broad sweep, with no one else in this panorama. I saw it once, one early summer morning, many years later, standing on the edge of the dock. I felt an aloneness that spoke of the grandeur of nature. The sun had just risen, across the lake, the water was so calm, that, after I had taken a picture of this, there was a perfect reflection in the water, so that I still wonder which is real and which is the reflection. I think I know. I think the picture is real the way it was printed, but I always wonder if perhaps the printers may not have made a mistake. It is so perfect that it is really hard to tell. I'd never seen a lake so still before, and I've seen one so still since. The was picking up a rock, here and there, at my feet as its rays were diffused through branches of the pines behind me. I felt suspended in space. It was so still. Not a fish rippled the calmness of the lake, and I do not think that ever a bird's song broke the stillness of the morning. You can drink beauty; absorb it through the very pores of your being; wrap yourself in beauty. I did that morning in the land where the wild geese fly home in the Fall. Then, things changed. We returned to Ohio from our vacation. the Canadians call them "holidays". I like their word better! You cannot vacate your mind - only your place in busy whirl of complex world. For two weeks, or only a week, or even a http://66.213.124.233/files/original/e191463150cbb3c59fb19c39fe9237bb.jpg 52e24e31c7479f9da05c81908f5190d1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (42) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 40 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl few days, the world that depends upon your presence must do without you. You are vacating that spot. But, the idea of a holiday presupposes you with hope of festivity, rollicking good times, a spirit of living free as the birds - rise with the sun, eat when you wish, sleep when you like. So a holiday is far more enjoyable than a vacation. Coming back to our mundane working world. I brought the peacefulness of that early morning stillness with me, wrapped around me like a blanket - protecting me from the coldness of the world. The beauty of that morning was captured forever on the film in my camera, but also imprinted in my mind. We've returned to Canada for many years since then. We return in the summer, after the geese of course. I've never heard them fly North. I wonder, do they sound different flying North? Are they going home, home to the blue, blue lakes, the giant pines, the serenity of the North Woods? Or, is it like my picture? The reality is in the turning Southland. Which way is home, my heart do you know? Or, will you know someday? When you've heard the geese once more? Does my heart search for the quiet solitude of the almost wilderness of the North, or is the reality of my life in the hustle and bustle of a household evidenced of my husband, four children, one dog, several cats, and many friends? Which is the reflection, which is the reality? Is not the tranquility of the Northland lake reflected in my Ohio home life? Just as my reflection is seen in the bountiful lakes of the North. Who can tell me which is which? I think I know, but then again, maybe someone has turned the negative of my life upside down so I do not know. The children grow. They grow fast. Time cannot stand still and the season have changed many times. I did not know the geese fly North the first time I heard them! When I heard them, I was standing with my father. He had been so very, very ill. He had been in the land where the geese must fly, in the sunshine of the South. He flew down, much faster than geese of course! From our spot in Ohio it is a four-hour trip. Very little flying time. Just walking from desk to boarding area and back to the desk on arrival. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/150306ddcee44337a48b7971fc4f2365.jpg 3dde50ac59abfe76a9b7e3b5ddf6321f Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (43) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 41 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl When he came back, he came by plane. The short weeks of this trip had taken a toll of years of his life. He was an old man. a man who had lived with pain; had battled death, had survived. He needed time for his body to mend from several operations, from a foe that had staked a claim on his life. A foe that would be relentless; a foe which is Cancer unsuccessful. The ally's name is Heart Disease and Heart Disease cheated Cancer for my father's life. I think wistfully if one of them should be the victor for his life, I'm glad it was a heart attack. But, of course, when we heard the geese, my father and I, we did not know of the coming battle. It was a night that must be very common in this small town of Ohio, in the middle of Fall. Someone in the next house was burning leaves. The smoke you could smell; nothing could smell like leaves burning in the Fall! Except of course, leaves burning. The air was crisp and clean, but in our town, the darkness cannot be felt with our electric lights, our street lights, with automobile headlights. The silence cannot be felt with the slamming of car doors and house doors; up and down the street someone's dog is barking, some child gives a yell! How to define the yell? Who really knows? We heard the geese winging their way through the darkness, their leader directing their flight in his own manner. Flying South to the warmth, and the sunshine. I had not heard them before. My father did not hear them again. In the spring, before the jonquils and the tulips, before the lilacs and the lilies blossom, before the frogs began their nightly sounds - in the spring, my father lost his battle with his foe named Cancer, even though the true victor was a heart attack. The geese flew North again that spring, I'm sure. And many seasons have changed since. Who knows the true home of the wild geese, my heart, do you? And knows the true home of the soul? I felt my father's presence - not at the cemetery, not in the spot where his monument sits, engraved with the only accounts of any of our lives that tells the story of our lives. Born : January 11, 1896 Died: March 7, 1968 Age 72 years, 1 month, 28 days http://66.213.124.233/files/original/2182bad0da75d6ac8f9207e5cad813ff.jpg a258599028579271a5295c32c3b90e82 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (44) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 42 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl But, which is the true picture of my heart? Which is the reflection? And, is it like my picture of the lake; can it be turned upside down so the reflection is the actuality, and the reality is the reflection? Who knows? I only know my father is not there; not in the narrow grave! I do not know where he is! I do not know my heart's destination . Whether my heart seeks to go home again, or whether it's true destination lies many miles away. Is the wild goose going home to the North, or going home to the South? Oh, I know the scientists know. The bird's home would be the place of his birth, and instinctively they return there. Do they take their little holiday then in the North, or the South? Are our lives our "holidays"? do we go "home" when we die, or do we go on a great adventure? Instinctively we look forward to a homecoming in the future, a gathering of the "class" so to speak. We want to feel that those who have gone ahead of us are waiting for us. Much as the leader of the wild geese calls to his followers to follow. I have not heard the geese since that night. But, today I saw them! Flying South in a sky that forecasts the winter ahead. Gray, November days, with the ground covered with leaves. Soon, we will have snow, and if it is deep enough, you cannot see the graves of all who have gone before, only the markers standing. Today, I saw the geese for the first time. I couldn't hear them, but they were flying in a not too straight formation; flying South. To the warmth, and the sunshine. Maybe in the spring. I will either hear, or see, them flying North. Only they can tell you which direction is home to them. Maybe someday I will know in which direction my heart's home will like. Which is the truth, which is the reflection? I think I know, But I'm never sure; if the negative of my life was printed in the right perspective! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/2474ee028346b529b59be641e4d19d0a.jpg 29b5a0fb1d877fdbf8b4139f0e34cff0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (45) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 43 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Eight MY ROOM I like my room. It's gold, and brown, and rusty orange. It's like the early morning sun, streaming through yesterday's rain streaked, winter windows, before spring cleaning. It's the braided rug- reminiscent of days gone by when home-braided rugs were means of economy. It's the pattern in the old-fashioned oak rocker-bought at an auction years ago, that rocked three babies. It's the green plants growing profusely in the window. The ones that make living center pieces at the table, or maybe arranged on the piano. They really get around, those little plants from the 10 cent store. I like my piano. It's funny about my piano. For years I've liked to play. We even once had an old piano, given to us by a former minister's wife. This is a new one. A Spinet with warm shades of Honey Walnut. That's a new name. You usually hear Honey Maple. But, this is soft Honey Walnut streaked here and there with the grain of Walnut. My piano-a gift of love. Many hours I've spent in the few months we've had it. Playing my soul out. Tempestuous, beguiling, tenderly. Music from me. Love songs for my husband, pop songs for the children, classics to remember from days gone by- all during the quiet hours when they've all gone to school, and to work. Just me-in my room, at my piano. I say my room when it's really everyone's. It invites you to just walk in. What more should a room do? It has memories- oh, so many memories! Gifts, Christmas'. Only one here, but it's still home. My room, my house, my family, my town, my state, my country! How wonderful to say my, when it all belongs to everyone! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/7a9b8ccfd7f71b961a20d97641bcd5b2.jpg 0f291427211a3c0405cacc8337cc8fcf Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (46) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 44 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Nine THE KISS It was the first time she had seen her husband cry! At least, in public. There had been one other time, a long, long time ago. But, then they had been alone, closed up in their own little world, during the hours that belong just to husbands and wives, in the kingdom of the bedroom. But, this was different. He sat on the sofa, with the children around him. Little Karen their pride and joy, on his lap. David and Pat their two youngest boys, sitting in almost stunned silence. Bill, their oldest, who, even at thirteen, would cry, sat motionless, but tears were streaming down his cheeks. The first thing that struck her eye was herhusband's clothes. "Why," she thought, "they're dirty!", and her fingers ached to wipe that streak of grease from his face. Even though he was a repairman, and had to get dirty, and greasy at times, he was usually quite immaculate. He never even liked to have the boys be "little-boy' dirty". And, here he was, greasy and all! She walked through the door and closed it. "Funny, she thought, "I didn't hear the door close, and neither did they!" She had no sense of having come from any particular place or room, the only sense of time, or being, she had centered around the five people sitting in her living room. She looked at her husband, as though he was one of her children, and with an exclamation of utter compassion, and abject sorrow, she swiftly crossed the room and sat on the arm of the sofa. She put her arms around him, and cradled his head on her breast. The children didn't notice her, but only sat, still staring with unseeing eyes. As she sat there, she wiped at the grease spots on her husband's face and brushed them away with her fingertips, much as she had down hundred of times for the children. His sobs were subsiding now, and her arms drew him closer, even closer, his face bowed down, the tears drying on his face. With a sigh of spent relief, he raised his head and looked straight at her. Without a word, she kissed him on his lips, one long, http://66.213.124.233/files/original/096826d74423e9ec3ca12e9ebe09ee16.jpg 16ee873690a317281d4377b828bd8a0d Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (47) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 45 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl agonizing final kiss. A kiss to last him until eternity, and to last her throughout eternity, and she was gone. Her husband sat still, as he had been sitting since he first heard the news. He had not seen her, but had somehow felt her presence, and he gently ran his fingers over his lips. He had not seen her, but felt her fingers on his face, and the wonder and knowledge of what he had felt filled his whole being, so sorrow and grief seemed to vanish and with a sense of lightness of spirit, he raised his head once more. Mirrored in his eyes was an unfathomable smile. With a sigh he spoke the words - the sound -were the first ones heard and as he spoke, the mood of despair lifted. Somehow, though the echoes of time, a whole new world was opened to her loved ones, sitting in her living room - grieving over her death. It seemed like such a long time had passed. Bill was in high school now, and becoming the student his father, and his mother too, had known he could, and would be someday. He had made friends of the boys and girls he had always known, but, somehow, had not really known. A smile had come to stay on his face, the dark scowling from bitterness, pettiness and persecution, had somehow long vanished. It seemed Bill had changed, practically overnight. Since the time of his mother's death, several years before, in fact. His teachers noticed it first. A child of temperament, often in trouble because of inattention, and lack of attention, he had settled down into quite a remarkable young lad. His grades, that had been failing, had risen until he was an honor student. His sullen disposition had changed, and with it the animosity that several teachers held toward him changed, and was gone. A comradeship sprang up between the teachers and Bill. The school psychologist said it was undoubtedly caused by his sudden maturing but was dumbfounded to explain how it worked in just the manner it had. Usually, cases regressed even further into despondence, and he would have supposed Bill would have somehow, he was still unable to explain either premonition, of the actual happenings. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/8269515dfecfabd9a33a87d5d512cd32.jpg 46a6829a0631cc1b6b299147ad5ce3d6 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (48) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 46 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Tonight was the Science Fair. Bill had worked long and hard on his project. He was very interested in science, always looking for an answer, as if it would be found in a test tube. Anyway, he was at peace with himself, working on his experiments, and on his second love - art. It seemed he could almost speak through his fingertips, the beauty he created at such a young age was very strange; almost ethereal landscapes, captured through his memory's eye, from distant places seen on various family trips. Always to the wilderness, or to the far away places. And always Bill was able to capture and elusive beauty that is nature. Always it was an odd, imaginative canvas, as though an extraordinary vision was granted to him - a time from another time. Tonight, however, he received a special award on the district level and, with a proud, but somehow quiet ease, he acknowledged his receiving his award. His father was there, his sandy hair sprinkled with some gray; he often smiled at the gray with a melancholy smile of remembrance of how she always disliked her gray hairs. The whole family had laughed at Mom's gray hairs; he had always liked them and would never let her "touch them up". She would tease about his receding hair on his forehead, and say that whenever it receded another one-half inch, she would like it too. Unconsciously, his hand stole up and touched the bald spots on either temple. It has receded the half inch, he thought, and with just a slight smile, he thought of how she would have loved it. And, with a tug of his heart, he wondered how gray her hair would have been now. His mind went back to that evening so long, yet such a short time ago. A lifetime ago, he thought. And,still his heart was warmed and set at peace by the fleeting touch on his lips. He glanced at his side, almost expecting to see her there, expecting that his remembering might have conjured her up. The lady on his right was the wife of one of his customer though. He quickly glanced to the left, where David, Pat and Karen sat. Karen was growing up so fast. Nine years old now, and looking more and more like her mother. The shade of her hair, the lift of her chin, her hazel eyes that turned green when she was angry. Her nimble fingers that loved to play the piano. His little ray of sunshine he thought. Pat with his freckles, and his serious nature, was thirteen. Pat's natural http://66.213.124.233/files/original/828929afee93f888306296a602712b47.jpg 9aabaa50ea40d54271b0ee93a3e3c828 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (49) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 47 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl bend seemed to be the ministry. His seriousness about the church, at such an early age, was remarkable. The boy's questions, and study about the church, and it's history, had long since amazed him, and caused quite a few lifted eyebrows among the ministers when a new one came, as they quite often do in the Methodist Church. The boy seemed to find a solace there, he did have to admit it. He himself did Sundays when he sat in the choir loft. the peace he found there was precious to him also. with the new church, he found he could concentrate more readily. Somehow, in the old church, the shaft of early morning sunlight had always touched the spot where his wife's casket had laid among the flowers. The beauty of the flowers, the sunlight through the stained-glass windows was almost too much for him though, and he was quite happy when the new church was completed. This picture he could see in his mind's eye, and that was enough. And, the spot in front of the Chancel in the new church had not as yet held the casket of a dear friend, let alone that of his beloved. With a shake of his head, to clear the reminiscing thoughts from it, he winked at David who had just caught his eye. He then centered his attention to the stage where his first-born son, now a tall, six-foot teenager was receiving his award, and once again, he felt the presence of his wife, felt her fingers curl within his, felt an almost imperceptive squeeze of his hand, felt her fingers touch almost fleetingly upon that spot - that spot on his temple. He could feel, as any married person can, the nearness, the way bodies touch each other, when two people sit side by side, as if she were sitting beside him in the auditorium, sharing Bill's achievement. sharing the whole family's pride in one of their members. He sat there motionless, staring at his empty hands, and the coat and shoes of the wife of one his customers. As Bill was walking from the stage to meet his family, he heard his mother's voice just once, calling him "Billy", but though he turned as quickly as he could, stopping so suddenly that he almost made the girl behind him fall, he couldn't see her. But when he saw his father, he knew that somehow his mother's presence had been there that evening, had shared with them this moment of achievement, was a justifiably proud of him as if she had been there in form, as well as in spirit, and as he held the paper, the http://66.213.124.233/files/original/69b5836983961886590423fda051df3a.jpg c145c220059b1821333d81ec6cd2008c Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (50) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 48 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl paper so earnestly and tirelessly, worked for, he was startled to see a splotch, like a teardrop had fallen on the printed William. Time for mortals has a way of flying, even though the days go slowly, and the nights are filled with intolerable loss. However, the time called years hastened on. Somehow, he knew that she would not have minded him marrying again, but he just couldn't find a woman whom he could care for. Even with their mutual loss as a family, his children and he were very close. Much closer, and comfortable about it. They had not spent much time in mourning over their loss of wife and mother, it seemed their grief had lofted long ago, and the expectancy of the future closed around them, and the time called years passed. Bill went to college, to post-graduate work, and was well on his way to a brilliant future. His-self-assurance was amazing. He seemed to go along with the idea that he had reserves of strength to carry him on, like a man that knows exactly where he is going, and how he is going to get there, just the quite confidence that marked him as an outstanding young man, with quite a future ahead of him. David had finished high school with honors, his long ago skinniness had filled out, and he had become quite an athlete in his local school. He had become quite a vocalist too, singing in the A Capella Choir, and quite often sang in the church choir with his dad. Once, long ago, his childhood ambition had been to become a doctor. With the natural grace of all born athletes, and the nimbleness of his fingers, he was fast becoming a good, a very good, med-student. With the charm, and handsome features, he was blessed with when he was born, he had become quite a handsome young man. Quite a son to be proud of! Both boys had worked hard, hard, hard and long. Their father had not had much to help them with. Both boys were soon to be married. Pat was finishing college soon. He would enter theological school soon. His serious nature was still there. His impish grin, and the gleam in his eye, sometimes peeped through, and this only added to his charm! The freckles were still there, and his blonde hair was somewhat darker. He had missed the boys when they left home to go to http://66.213.124.233/files/original/f0ce4dfda1f71c9804ef73516fa4f3cd.jpg 2f34b2b8067a0e07168e2d9c6482c64e Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (51) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 49 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl college, and with his sensitive nature, he might have had quite a time of it, but with his presevering nature, he had been able to adjust to these changes. Karen had become quite a grown-up young lady. Her sunny personality had kept the whole family on an even keel. As the only female in a masculine household, she might have been quite a tomboy, but with a protectiveness few older brothers have, they had managed to keep her practically unspoiled. She had grown up in a small community that loved her, and she loved it in return. The town was just small enough, that quite a few people had known her from the time she was born. She had grown up with a realization of her loss of a mother, but with a deepening awareness of the love her remaining parent had for her. She could vaguely remember her mother. She could remember that at times her mother was cross, she made dresses for her, helped her write, and taught her to read at such a young age that she just couldn't remember learning. It seemed she always knew how, like she just knew a lot of things. All these things Karen could and did, remember. She could remember how her mother rocker her occasionally, even when she was a big girl of five! Of how she sang to her, and played games. These times over-shadowed the cross times in Karen's memory, but she did remember that mother got cross! Tonight, Karen was walking home slowly. She knew Mike would soon want an answer. He had asked her to marry him last night. She knew she would say yes, even at nineteen people are sure when they are in love, she thought. Gram had told her that her mother and father had been married at nineteen, and even the hardships that early marriages often entail, she knew they had been happy, and would not have changed a moment of it. She would tell her father as soon as she got home. She hoped he wouldn't be too lonesome, (how that word tugged at his heart-strings; she never realized, but it was a word she had used quite often as a small child). She knew her father liked Mike, he was so much like her dad. She was sure that her father would not object. Karen's favorite game, as a very small child, was one of pretending, and her favorite pretend partner was her mother. So, this day she talked to herself as she walked home, that lovely Fall day in September. She wouldn't have remembered it, but it was http://66.213.124.233/files/original/fa76a6c07593644209785dc455aaf852.jpg 32325e14446d8fbc05d3bcb0d4b1247d Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (52) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 50 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl her mother's birthdate. She scuffed through the fallen leaves, and thought. " Oh, Mother, I wish you knew Mike. You would like him. I know you wouldn't mind if I were married, would you? I'll bet you and Mike's mother were friends when you were here though and she's so nice. She's almost a mother to me anyway. We can talk about the silliest things, and still be serious. I must ask Daddy if she knew you. You know, there are some things you just can't talk about with men. We'd like a Christmas wedding at the old church. They're going to tear it down in the spring. But, that's where you were married, and that's where I want to be. The boys will be married soon, and Pat is away at school. I'd like to finish college, but if we would happen to have a family very soon I'd have to quit. Remember, how I've always loved babies, I think I always wanted to have a baby sister or, or brother, and never did, but Mike and I would like to have lots and lots. The first girl, we'll name after you, if it wouldn't make Daddy too sad." Karen was very intent on her conversation and reached the corner of her street almost before she realized it. As she turned the corner, her "talk" with her mother concluded with, "Oh, and yes, Mother, Mike says he thinks my great-grandmother's wedding band will be fine." As she opened the door, she stood back just a moment, as if to let someone else enter first. Her father happened to glance up as she came in, and somehow, the sunlight and shadows made two of Karen, only one was much older. The realization hit him then, that the children were almost all grown, the boys were on their own, had been in fact, and the approaching marriages would soon be here. This boy Mike, that Karen was interested in, was a good boy, good worker, he had known him all his life. He wondered if Karen was seriously interested, and then the expression of her face, an unguarded expression told him all there was to tell. He slowly put the paper down, and held out his arms. She shyly came to him, and together, they sat on the sofa. Karen impishly perched on his knee, and started her carefully rehearsed speech. One look at her father's face told her that further conversation would certainly be unnecessary. As she flung her arms around him, and giggled like a four-year-old, somehow, again her dad had felt his wife's presence; her breath against his ear, and over his daughter's laughter, and talking and planning, he heard his wife say, "You've done your job, not too much longer now, not http://66.213.124.233/files/original/8d41ccc6d7b27bcdfe448a6f25ba2ab7.jpg 31a4c9020e7209172f32ed1097688974 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (53) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 51 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl too much longer.", and once again, and somehow he knew not again, he felt her kiss, and this time the kiss held the promise of eternity, soon to be. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/3ff793349e9752f415ad5f3c45162c39.jpg 68014334feb9983c85d8e69a1d3c539e Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (54) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 52 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Ten SO IT GOES IN DREAMS Every girl, while she is growing up had dreams of the family she will have some day. It starts with naming dolls, and probably because the dolls are usually girl dolls, our babies-to-be are girls also. At least in my case they were. In my daydreams, there were four little daughters. Stairsteps, always immaculately dressed in frilly, white pinafores, with black, patent Mary Jane shoes, white gloves, and crisp little bonnets for church; velveteen snowsuits in the winter, and little short sets in the summer. You've seen the pictures in magazines yourself. You know what I mean. I even had these little girl children named, knew their personalities, their clothes practically made during these growing-up-days of mine. There would be Sharon - curly haired with dancing, brown eyes, pig-tailed Rebecca, with freckles on an up-turned nose; Ann and Susan would be composites of the other two, but with their own distinctive personality. all would be adorable, beautiful, mannerly little ladies - no resemblance to their tom-boyish mother in her younger years. With protruding front teeth, long-legged and with the the grace of a knobby-kneed calf instead of the graceful fawn, and with green, or rather hazel, eyes - nearsighted too - I would definitely not be expected to have such lovely children. So, for the father of these little cherubs, I imagined a husband patterned after some of the more famous Greek Gods, and as consolation and tribute to this wonderful man, I would produce - after these daughters - a son. For him. the would undoubtedly inherit my myopic vision, stumbling feet, and my rather low, alto voice. Enough that the girls be beauties. So it goes in dreams. As I became older, my dreams changed to thoughts of becoming a dress designer in a far-distant city, where the streets were paved with gold, and there were penthouses, glamorous nightclubs, and my fashions would become the most sought after in the world. After tiring of all this worldly fame, and having made my fortune, I would return to this little midwest village, and flaunt my hard-won, worldly gains in front of all my girlhood chums, who because of some reason or other, had never left this little town, and who http://66.213.124.233/files/original/a210551b6f43fc6c85f8de3ac73a5670.jpg a992368f058bf90ec545f2619fd4bbc5 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (55) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 53 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl would turn just "green with envy" at the sight of my mink-coat, the foreign convertible, and of course, the fabulous wardrobe, the reason for my success. So it goes in dreams.. But. Lo and behold in my senior year of high school, I met the love-of-my-life, and, after dating rather steadily during our final school year, reality gradually crept into some of those dreams. For instance, my daughters-of-the future were going to have to be red-haired, more sturdily built, with definite freckles and fair complexions. No brown eyes either, and their temperaments might just become slightly fiery, which would be due of course, to their red hair! However, since this love-of-my-life was quite an athlete, I would compromise my dreams and we would have twin sons after the four girls. First of all, though, there would be college, then fashion school, them my career, which would have to be shortened to allow plenty of time, for the planning of six children would of course have to be considered. But. After graduation, our class took, what was known in those days, a senior trip. For seven wonderful days we toured the East! Over the Skyline Drive in Virginia we went to Washington, DC, Atlantic City, and wonder of wonders, New York City! Here, I found the widest streets, the tallest buildings, the hustle and bustle of the city. From the seventeenth floor of a mid-town hotel, the subways, the automat, Radio City, Music Hall, Rockefeller Center, shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue, riding the subway to Long Island to visit a cousin who had made it to the city! All the thrills, all the dreams coming true! And if, while riding around the city in a boat, we saw parts of the seamier side of any large city, if the apartment shared by my cousin with three other girls wasn't a penthouse apartment, and the rooms were smaller than I had imagined - if the stores were not any different than Columbus - only larger- certainly none of these reasons were enough to justify the sudden tarnishing of the streets of gold! Or was it? Maybe it was, because the love-of-my-life was graduating form another school while we were gone, and absence does make the heart grow fonder. Having seen through the tourist eyes, the sights of Washington, from the top of the Washington Monument, where the view of the White House also encompassed the view of some of the slums; visiting the Senate and the House of Representatives, and http://66.213.124.233/files/original/0db725bf8e2153897db83a2f2c36768e.jpg 8a21191a8e442823a91ec4db8eb3c4e9 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (56) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 54 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl meeting congressmen in the halls, and watching from the visitor's gallery while these elected men, who run our country, as they were actually doing this, somehow, in memory's eye, they appear as somewhat weary businessmen who sometimes disagreed with each other, and the selfless dedication, one might suppose, to the service of this nation, was overshadowed by a great number of empty seats, and the affairs of state are sometimes quite repetitious and boring. Somehow, the majesty and excitement were missing, and so went a dream! And while we saw the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and even a television studio; ate at a hotel dining room, and left the city that never sleeps at 4:00 am, had hamburgers for breakfast, somehow the streets didn't glitter nearly so bright at 4:00 am! "The sunrise over the East River", (or whichever river is mentioned in the novels of yesteryear) couldn't be seen for the buildings, and to a simple, small-town girl, the lure of seeking my fortune in this city had lost quite a bit of its magnetism. Even the river itself smelled mightily of fish - dead, as well as otherwise - and the seagulls flying overhead were beautiful, until one considered they were gliding so gracefully to pluck a piece of garbage floating on the surface. "Litterbugs" were active in those days too. And, so, in the midst of the soot and grime, in the city of my dreams, another dream was gone. In not too long a time, after working and saving for a small nest egg, the love-of my-life and I were married, in a typical small town wedding. On a beautiful Fall afternoon, in a gown of bridal satin, that I made myself, complete with train and a "something borrowed" veil, with flower girls and bridesmaids, and a white Bible - before a church, packed with friends and relatives, favorite uncles and aunts, little cousins -we repeated the vows that made us man and wife. And, for our honeymoon trip, as in all dreams, we went to Niagara Falls! We started "housekeeping" in a big, old, country farmhouse, with a well-stocked china cupboard - gifts of well-wishing friends and relations. That was the year of the famous "Snow-bowl" game between Ohio State and Michigan, and since the honeymoon was far from over, walking through the now covered yards, and drifts, to the car was http://66.213.124.233/files/original/6776272d03705329e03128538c619361.jpg ca0ae1ab31083496cda1ccf28ead8b1b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (57) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 55 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl fun! As well as piling comforters on the bed and snuggling down while outside the wind roared and the snow swirled. Spring came, and with it apple-blossoms in the old orchard, strawberries in the garden, and, on a rather cool, summer evening, toward the latter part of the summer, our first dream child arrived! Not brown-eyed , curly haired Sharon came to us that summer evening, but rather a little fellow, with an old, wizened-up face, and perfect toes and fingers, and a very loud voice. We named him Gerald William. To my husband, who the oldest child in his family, with three younger sisters, a dream came true! Two years later, on a hot, summer afternoon, during State Fair week, when traffic is at an all time high, Thomas David arrived to keep his brother company, and Rebecca left to join Sharon in Dreamland. Back from the hospital we went, to the farmhouse on the hill, and if I felt the arm of justice was a little heavy in the other direction, I had only to look at the two boys and realize how fortunate I was. So, time passed, and there really was so little time then to dream. Three years later, when we brought Douglas Patrick home, I packed the little gift dresses, and the frilly sweaters, and tied them with the ribbon of my dreams, and gave them away. Now, if the boys had not been the dream children I envisioned, in reality they are three very handsome sons. Jerry, the oldest, does have brown hair and eyes, and when he was a baby, it was even curly, and with a dimple in his cheek, and a twinkle in his eye, all five foot, six inches of him is solid muscle. Since he is only thirteen, I'm sure he will grow a few more inches, and while his voice is husky with change, I still can see the little blonde, curly haired boy he once was. Tom, at eleven, is quite an individual in his own right. He's our Little League ball player, and with the natural grace that born athletes seem to have, he would have been the one with the dancing feet, but with his "bandy-rooster" spunk, I feel his dancing feet are quite useful. He's the tease of the family, and with his blue eyes, and freckles on http://66.213.124.233/files/original/51e303c7615444d60a50bf73ff0d85e8.jpg 0f40b17db7f204c56a98bf8577f090a7 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (58) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 56 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl his nose, he stands straight in his choir robe, and looks like all the little cherubic pictures of choir boys the world over. Douglas recently became a cub scout, which has been his burning ambition since the days of the den meetings when Jerry was a cub and I was a den mother. With a shock of blonde hair, and more freckles than skin, almost, stocky built, and with a grin that really does reach from ear to ear, he is at times, the far more serious-minded of them all. And now, when four men are dressed for church on Sunday morning, with their polished shoes gleaming, the bow ties in place, and the cuff links all found, and the crease in each trouser leg so straight, my heart contracts as I realize how fast they've grown - this family of mine, how long ago the old farmhouse in the country, the time when they were small, and how much farther away even the time when I dreamed dreams. And as I pull on my gloves, and straighten the latest "silly" hat, I glance down at Karen Susan, our soon to be five year-old. Our "little surprise" from a Heavenly Father who knew all the time the dreams of a foolish child who had to learn things like patience. Susan, in her black patent Mary Jane's, with little white gloves, a tiny purse over one arm, a doll baby usually clutched under an arm she's had the ruffles and the pinafores, but the new "shift" fashions some how seem to fit her personality better. And, while her hair is neither curly, nor long enough for pig-tails, the little girl bob some how fits that shade of brown, and with her hazel eyes, and a very sweet smile, she's still not too big to give an unexpected hug and kiss. And, when her brothers are in school, Susan and I have plenty of time for tea parties, time to make doll clothes, and if we do have to walk over and around the balls and bats, the trucks, the football shoes, and the bikes, somehow, just one tiny smile from Susan makes the sun shine brighter. We now live in an old house, not as big as it once was, in town. And, if once in a while the call of the country gets through to the boys, Susan and I maintain we like it in town. I'm sure the winter evenings would be far from lonesome anywhere with our gang around now, still, who knows what dreams are waiting? http://66.213.124.233/files/original/774845775e190b3b1e86abe3b38ca5e8.jpg 59095e8bad68d2ce86569efbd6f3f236 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (59) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 57 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Maybe someday curly haired Sharon and pig-tailed Rebecca, and little smiling Ann, will come to live with us, as did Jerry, Tom, Doug, and Susan. Somehow, I haven't thought of my dream children for a long time. For one thing, my heart is too full of the real-life children to spend much time thinking of what might have been. Which one of my three sons would I not have wanted to have, or could have done without? Not one! Because each of them, in their own, way, is such a wonderful gift from God. And each of them has such a large part of my heart. And, if our "little surprise', our most unexpected gift from God, had not come, I think, in time, I could have tucked all my dream daughters away. Tucked them away with a kiss and a sigh, to be sure, but away. Reality is such an unexpected thing, but when it comes, we thank God for both the reality and the ability to dream. For the loving care of a Heavenly father, who knows that the heart is blessed and warmed by the way our dreams go. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/d5f1ae2c2061db6968f26e644cabdaf3.jpg 495de67d8f23f40fa92b5b398c59ecf5 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (60) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 58 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Eleven HOLD FAST THESE THINGS The very things in life we cherish, are the most fleeting. Who of us has not yearned to be an artist, and portray a gorgeous sunset, or sunrise? Who has not yearned for the eloquence of a poet to describe a moment of pathos, tenderness, love, or hate? Yet, these moments are the most fleeting of our lives, and very few of us are a "Thoreau", a "Shakespeare", "DeVinci!" Most of us are simple folk, leading a complicated life, very small ducks in a very large river. How can we hold these intangibles - how can we share these unsharable moment of exquisite beauty, unquenchable desire, unbearable pain, if we do not first realize that these moments exist? When pursuing our every day vocations, we hurry to catch a bus in the rain, do we miss the rainbow in the other direction? With our minds full of "Get that train", "Tote that attache case," Lift that toll change", do we ignore the people closest to us? Are we, as housewives, fulfilling the creative urge of our children, when we scrub the floors, walls, the window, the clothes? Make the bed and light the light, Daddy will be home at 6:00 tonight! But, what about the children? Up at 8:00, breakfast, outside to play, clean up for lunch, take your nap, outside to play, take your bath, supper and so to bed, sleepy head. What a schedule for a pre-schooler - yet school days are not much better. With organized baseball, organized football, basketball, cub scout, boy scouts, brownies, girl scouts, 4-H, swimming lessons, dancing lessons, and ceramics, choir practice, and youth groups, the extra-curricular activities of many a grade school, or high school, student leaves no time for such mundane things as daydreaming, exploring attics (who has them?). cleaning cellars (who needs them?). Even mowing lawns - a good 50 cent per occupation in my youth has been vanquished by the power mower. Everyone has one of those, can't you tell on Saturday mornings? http://66.213.124.233/files/original/984399d1808ae22f73b00855234588b6.jpg cccf46b75c296e7f648f5f60a1b74ebf Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (61) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 59 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl The frantic hustle, and bustle, of our everyday existence leaves little time for even a wish to do something creative! Yet, our whole being cries out for this. Some mark to make upon the world! Some influence felt by others to show - to prove that I exist! Perhaps it will never be a beautiful painting as the Mona Lisa, perhaps it will never be a Hoffman's Head of Chris, the Angeius. Perhaps not the children's Hour, "The Barefoot Boy", "The Ancient Mariner". perhaps not "Profiles in Courage". How then, can we, you and I, make an impression on the sands of time? Hold each fleeting moment of beauty. Guard it well, because it will not come again. This sunset will be like no other, and no other will ever be like it. Look out of your window some cold, winter morning, when there is a full moon. The shadows on the snow! the gray - blue - black of the sky, the stars are so close, and so large, and so bright! Every limb on each tree wears a powder-puff of snow. The frost has etched designs on the sun- porch windows! Walk outside. The snow glimmers, gleams, shines, crunches under foot. Your breath makes a halo around your head, like Santa Claus! Of course, to get the whole effect of this winter fantasy, you must get up early, very early, and you must not be going home, you must just have gotten up, because, otherwise, you will be tired and you will have seen too much, and done too much. But, in the morning, your mind is clean as the snow. You haven't yelled at the kids, fought with your husband, kicked at the dog. You have a whole , glorious, God-given day ahead of you! Enjoy it. Make it before the dogs start to bark, the cars start to idle, the kids start to yell, before the milkman cometh, also by yourself. Or, take a stroll in your own backyard, in the spring of the year. Come walk through ours with me. See the first violet there on the little bank, in front of the peony bushes. Their little stems are so short, too short to pick, leave them there, the fairies enjoy them too. The apple, and peach, trees have tight little buds, curled up like a mouse's ears. Soon, They will bloom, and the leaf out, with little parasols, the tulip and jonquil leaves look like little spears all lined up for battle. Look deep into each little clump of spears, the bud is curled up inside, waiting for the sun to get just a little warmer. One of our boys spent almost a half-hour, one spring, examining a single. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/4876d9273c763c807b0aafe850c5bbf8.jpg 643f6efaea2ccc09dfe447d57e33c2c5 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (62) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 60 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl jonquil from every angle. From one side he saw the jonquil, with a background of our tall, stately evergreen, so very green against such a blue sky. From another angle, he had as a background, the twisted, gnarly trunk of the mulberry, brown and bare, from yet another, he could see past the jonquil, the neighbor's yard, and then a field with a brown and white cow, slowly, and methodically, chewing her cud. I'm sure he saw all these things, because, after he left, I went out myself and down to a four year-old level (height wise) and I looked and looked, and looked. And I felt the southerly breeze, warm against my face, and was lucky enough to see a cardinal perched up in the evergreen. Maybe he'll never paint the pictures he saw there that day. By the time he's grown, he'll have forgotten. And I'm afraid I have not the talent, but oh, how I wish I had. ut, neither of us will forget. Someday, a scene will flit through his mind, very briefly, and a vague sense of having seen just one jonquil, before the "crowd of golden daffodils", against a green, green evergreen, against a blue, blue sky. Or, pet a small, furry kitten, just big enough to walk straight. Or, take a youngster to the zoo for the first time, when they're about four. Did you know elephants were so large, so huge, so just plain big! Or peacocks had so many different colors? Do you remember how the merry-go-round makes your stomach go down when you go up? Try it sometime! With a four year-old to remind you. We've seen it too many times, done it too many times. Walk in the summer dew, with little spider webs gleaming on the grass, walk barefoot so the grass can tickle those tired feet of yours. With civilization, and a Bath, instead of a "path", all those morning walks in the dew became unnecessary - what a shame! Pull a radish form the garden; don't worry about Strontium 90, or whatever, wipe the dirt on the backside of your jeans, chew like a bunny until you get to the leaves. rinse a few blades of crinkly lettuce off under the faucet if you must, but don't add any dressing. Put a little spoon of sugar down along the big vein of the leaf, wrap it tight and eat it. Good! Did you bring the one, big luscious strawberry in with you? Rinse if off, dip the end in the sugar bowl, hold it by the leaves and eat; eat it, all by yourself, and don't let the kids see you, or you'll have the sugar bowl to wash! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/baf233caa0ed517938078fa75a0ba6ff.jpg 55b5bbfe0c248700b2884fc5eb564008 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (63 ) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 61 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl These are the things that can instantly conjure up a picture in your mind, can make the sweetest perfume, can make you taste just one strawberry, can take any given number of years off anyone's age, and make them a child again. If. If we don't keep them too busy, make them too grown-up, too soon, steal from them the very things we should be giving them. Childhood, youth, and time to enjoy themselves. doing nothing, yet everything, filling the storehouse of their minds with all the beauty, joy, that sight, sound, smell, touch can bring, and then the awareness to enjoy. Hold these things fast. Next year, the eager six year-old will be a jaded seven year-old. The sunset tonight will be like no other, and no other will be like it. Look for the rainbow, it'll be there somewhere, it always is. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/0a87a7e0447d7a974d7f329ab680f9ca.jpg 44788b5cfa51b1f05a898cdde037f543 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (64) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 62 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Twelve A Day Ends, Another Begins A day ended and another day begun. So she had taught herself to look at the complexity of this substance called "Life". up at 5:00 am, breakfast prepared for one, for two, for three, three more times before the four of them would leave; her first-born on a newspaper route, her husband, the other two boys, the little girl who always announced her presence at each day's, "Mommy, here me is!", and with her arms outstretched, a little actress beginning each day' performance with a smile on her impish little face. A day ended, another day begun - so has time marched across the pages of history, not in decades, generations, centuries, but as day's dawning, and the sun's setting, time and time again for all the days of creation, and even into eternity. The land that was here, will be here; the sea, the stars, and beyond, and we who are mortals , dare to presume, inflict our wishes, our fears, our demands upon our world as a child in a tantrum; kicking, hitting out, being hurt ourselves, and so, to solve our hurts, we seek to hurt others more. And, even as the child knows that more hitting and hurting really won't make him feel better, he thinks that in hurting someone else, it might. The tears, so sorely needed by children, and parents of our modern civilization, are not allowed to flow. No healing process is allowed. This kind of world we created in our time - the world we are leaving to you, the coming generation. With each day's downing, and sun's setting, we add to our world's problems of housing and food, we add misery to misery. May you, the new generation, use your time to the betterment of the world, to solve the unsolveable, to cure the incurable, to feed the hungry and house the homeless. As our Lord said, "If you have done it to one of the least of these, so ye have done it with me." Each day's dawning, each evening's sunset, even to eternity. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/b3727674ae219755713b7a7e45003c23.jpg 719800079d512d660810f9045b91fc8b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (65) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 63 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Thirteen ONE WOMAN WRITES Today we all had coffee together. Janet, Verna, and I. Sometimes I feel we're the "Three Musketeers". We're not always of the same mind. But I do feel we have a kinship. Age, children who are contemporaries, maybe just three women who met. Certainly our backgrounds are not too similar. Age is certainly one factor. Our attitude toward age another similarity. Our children are close to the same age. At least three of Janet's and three of mine. One of Verna's and one of Janet's. We do go to the same church, PTA functions, etc. Anyway, our discussion today started over coffee as usual. It certainly got serious pretty quickly. How does one American housewife, Mrs. Average American Housewife, make herself known - her beliefs, her thoughts, her attitudes? How do you speak out against, or in favor of, politics, the Vietnam War - our teenage sons eventually facing the draft? How does one find the strength, and courage, to meet these issues. From where do we find our strength? Is our opinion of any value to anyone, save our families? The terrible circumstances of life in the late 1960's are certainly topics that should be dealt with on a different day than one like today. With the grass growing, the frogs singing in the creek beds, Verna hanging her wash on the line. Her cozy kitchen. But, on the other hand, what other kind of day could one bear to think of these things. Certainly not on a day of gloom and dreariness. Maybe God's answer to our questioning lies in the greening grass, the budding flowers, the peepers in the creek. Maybe the answer is one of hope and promise. The use of seedtime and harvest mentioned in the Old Testament. Maybe life goes on whether we are here, or not - whether we live and breath, and have our being. Our children will because of us. If the world we bequeath to them is the strife-torn, warring world, we've made it, and our parents made it then truly the sins of the parents will be visited, even to the sixth and seventh generation. With all the advances of civilization, we stall are living in a feudal era. Oh, the names might be different. We have the middle class, the upper class, the poverty stricken. We have http://66.213.124.233/files/original/a1d6c8450855165f1e28a0e9b61cfaba.jpg 2ae95a9958e15147dac2a98b9122c0cd Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (66) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 64 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Advantages, and lack of advantages. But, how to solve the problems? We really wished we knew. To whom could we write? To whom protest? To whom congratulate? Where can we go? Where is the Utopia we could migrate to, to give our children freedom? Where can we go to give them peace? And, how crowded it would be with all the mothers of the world, wanting the same thing for their children! It seems so little really. A patch of blue, blue sky, a clothes line to talk over, the frogs in the creek, the sun shining brightly on a warm, warm March day, and, please, for every child, and every mother in the world. Please, may it one day be real. Amen. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/39995c760686c5ab2daf8a7c70c8ffc8.jpg ce81edde5f5e1bcd774b79d8925aabec Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (67) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 65 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Chapter Fourteen A LIFETIME IN A SPLIT SECOND A person's lifetime is but a split second in the passing of time. As a single second can change a person's life - either for good, or not so good - so can a person's life change the course of the world, although, not the destiny of the world. We're sent here for a purpose. That purpose is two-fold. To do what we can to influence others to do good, and in so doing we justify our existence here, and prepare a way for ourselves in the world to come. A person has only to look at the beauty, and glory, of nature to realize that a power greater than ourselves, made this world. It was no accident. And, when the world is destroyed, again it will be no accident. God has had a plan for this old world of ours since it was created, just as a the teacher has a plan for a day's activity in school. As we grow older, we realize we cannot slow down the passing of time, and it seems to pass more and more quickly. At four, or five, a day is a year, a week is a lifetime, and it's forever until Christmas. At ten, or twelve, it goes more quickly, however, High School is so far beyond the grasp of so many children, at that age, that a high school student is old! A high school student thinks that twenty-five is practically aged. And, a twenty-five year-old mother, or father, of a tiny infant realizes that the cycle is starting over, and that they must take the responsibility and raise a child to be an adult. The years go so fast, and then the children are grown, the grandchildren come, and then the great-great children. All of this expires in a time so brief in the passing of time, and centuries, that it may well be called a "split-second". Grown-up adults are always faces with a decision. Parents are faced with decisions every day. Not just one either. Usually they are many. It's a difficult thing to be able to respond quickly enough to insure the right decision. The time for right answers comes but is gone. parents must be always on guard to make sure they answer the questions right, at the right time. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/9d3e3f28182da97792a9c72ef4a41b82.jpg 578d569d467b321f556d5b6edd0b941d Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (68) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 66 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl There are people who spend their entire life being busy at nothing. They are so busy all the time, they never have a free moment for anything of pleasure, and still, their lives may not have left any impression upon the world. There are others who aren't so busy that they cannot take a few minutes, now and then, to revel in the white fluffy clouds, in the clear blue sky to laugh with a child at the antics of a pup, to listen to a baby gurgling and cooing in a basket, and be thankful for all these blessings. The blessing of sight, of laughter, and of - with the help of God - creation. People are so much inclined today to look at the material side of life, and to hurry with the hustle and bustle, of the work to gain a material bank account. Then, in a split second disaster, it is gone. We, who live in a powerful nation, militarily speaking, and who blind ourselves with our armies, and navies, against the thought of aggression with some other powerful nation, are helpless against the forces of nature - hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, etc. Our weather bureau is doing a fine job of predicting the weather so that proper precautions can be taken, to guard against the loss of lives, but the aftermath of a storm still reveals thousands, and sometimes millions, of dollars worth of damage to homes, school, factories, and places of other business. We are helpless against the fury of nature. In another respect, we are helpless against the love of God. a mother can remember times when their children ask for something and she, absent-mindedly, says yes, only to discover a few minutes later she's said "yes" to request to do something altogether different than she thought she had heard. A person can hear God speaking to them through beautiful music, through the lives of other good, conscientious, people, through a minister's sermon every Sunday, and still not realize what they are saying yes, or no, to. Until, in some instances, it's almost too late! You've heard people say, "Christianity is all right I guess - and when I get a little older!" They don't stop to think they may not get any older. A faith in Christ, and in God, isn't a punishment for old age. It's definitely not in the same category of white http://66.213.124.233/files/original/e5577b9e942c686e7c111461312a42e8.jpg bf097d3592306c01d1e231c1af1db921 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts:The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (69) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 67 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl hair, glasses and dentures. It's a guide for everyday living, right now. Today! There may not be any tomorrows for me, it's today I'm concerned with. The day you open your heart to God, and let him take over your life, is one of the most glorious days in your entire life. Suddenly, everything is just all right. You know, you just know it is. Indecision may have dogged your footsteps for months, perhaps years, but suddenly the whole world is so much more glorious than you ever thought possible! All that is needed is to open the door when God knocks, and be willing to do as he commands. If he wants you to do something, and you are willing, he'll show you the way. Be sure of that, and be sure it only takes a split-second. Very few people wait until middle-age to marry. Yes, marriage is a wonderful climax to a courtship of two people in love. Conversion is a climax between a God who loves his children, and the children who experience the ability to love more deeply than they thought possible. June, 1956 http://66.213.124.233/files/original/e07fef47ed1e43ca57c66d55f6206a64.jpg 49948c95d06345552ecc5d657162c26b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (70) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 68 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl CHRISTMAS '64 I did the shopping in the store, with bells and bows and carols in the air; I did the tree, did the wreath for the door, wrapped the presents, baked the cookies and more - then, why didn't I find Christmas? We went to church, like I knew we would, saw the tree, heard the sermon, and the children's songs, taught the lesson, made the gifts, did all we could, lit the candles, went caroling, just like we should - then, why didn't we find Christmas? Up till three, the night before, Old Santa had nothing on me that night; Spent hours, and dollars, on wrappings so bright, sewed each little snap with a thread so tight - Maybe this will make Christmas? Up at seven, the day's begun, the wrappings are littered the room a mess; the toys are clattering, clamoring, chattering, hanging, shooting, clanging, hammering; TV's blaring , no one caring - Who would even hear Christmas? The day has ended, thank the Good Lord! The relatives have all been visited, the gifts bestowed - deplored? The three old wise men, of yore, had nothing on us, with gifts of frankincense, myrrh and gold - They started gifts of Christmas! Now it's all over for another year: Settle back in your easy chair, let the dishes whirl in a new machine; Life is so easy, now, without a care, of pots and pans, all that work - My aren't we glad for Christmas? http://66.213.124.233/files/original/b35ecbe81c45e588f46b1864fe77dd78.jpg c01f81219918f5388ccfab0b49898564 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl(71) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 69 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl And, if your heart doesn't go a-flutter, at my rhyme, rhythm, poetry; Perhaps it's obvious at your house, with not a creature stirring, not even a mouse - You might have had Christmas! No decoration expensive, with bows so lavish, no tree, no tinsel, no bulbs so bright; with only a candle to brighten the night - with only a creche for decoration, on the table a Bible - with only these, you had Christmas? Tell me, my friend, now it's over and done, the New Year's bells are soon to be rung; The partying's over, the gifts are exchanged, the tree's dismantled, the rooms rearranged, tell me, my friend - What happened to Christmas? http://66.213.124.233/files/original/b50e138ae9493ecec5cf866d770d89a6.jpg 648034a95cc6bc5ae4fabc12c22f895b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (72) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 70 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl NEVER IS FOREVER I walk in the silent rooms alone; the dust swirls at my feet; The one I loved is gone, Nobody's child am I, My youth, my past is gone. I walk in the silent rooms alone, the dust swirls at my feet; The silence echoes through these rooms, my memories bittersweet. How many years these walls have seen, Love and laughter linger here; Pain and sorrows there have been; The memories haunt and sear my empty heart. Nobody's child now am I, alone I must go on; My youth, my past they fly, and having flown, leaves like the down, my empty heart. My heritage surrounds me now, My life - by me all they stand; My manly sons, my daughter fair, Life's cycle moving , moving still, and I'm alone. Nobody's child I must remain. Through years of joy and pain; Through all of life with memories, never to feel again my Mother's love, her gentleness, nor hear her voice, nor see her smile, to feel her kiss, or her caress; Nobody's child and I'll forever be. Alone, I walk these empty rooms, the dust swirls around my feet; The silence echoes through the air, my memories bittersweet. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/b5f0af23eaae4e996f4b35b8dad89e0f.jpg b1fac6c4a46eb545c654af5d0a5f9025 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (73) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 71 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl HAPPINESS Happiness is not a one-way street, Everyday there are trials to meet. When you are weary, And things just seem to go wrong. Just plan to greet it with a song! Rest and be thankful, Count all your blessings, Rest and be thankful, Count all your joys! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/708e5e236040efa61f432fcd2ce8730f.jpg 112de23ea454138ea80de0a3f9593661 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (74) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 72 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl A BABY'S SMILE A baby's smile, a sweet caress, Will give you pause for thankfulness, So look around you will find, All around you a halo of sunbeams! http://66.213.124.233/files/original/90981cbb019c666124ec3a47ba5d89c5.jpg 4c6b03048851cb1915fd599687d30d6f Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (75) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 73 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl A MOTHER'S LOVE To Susie-Q from Mother (May 6, 1964) To my daughter - Karen Susan Today is a lovely spring day - 3 days before your birthday. In 5 days you will be 4 years old, and in the midst of the lovely, beautiful spring weather, your mother has the "blues", so to speak, and will write you a letter, I hope you never get. You see, in the midst of the beautiful spring, Mother's thoughts have been turning morbid (for me) thoughts. I waited so long for you Susie-Q, and do so want to see you grow up to become, a beautiful young lady, but sometimes, I get a little scared that I won't. You see Susie-Q, the world today is kind of funny. There are so many accidents, have been here in town even, that I never knew about when I was a child, maybe they were there and I didn't know, but anymore it seems there are so many accidents, and sicknesses, or diseases. All of these things are not pretty, my sweet, and your Daddy and I keep them from your brothers and you, which is how it should be, but sometimes things are too nice, too, and a person gets kind of worried , so today, I'm writing you a letter; to tell you how much I love you and all your your big brothers, and your Daddy too. Be the sweet, little girl you are now, all the rest of your life, "punkin"; remember how much you are loved, and will be loved in the times to come. Sometime in the future, your world of love and security may shake, but it won't fall apart, because the same God who made the birds, and the clouds, and the pretty green grass, and the kitty-kats, will still be loving you, and taking care of you, as he's taken care of Mommy and Daddy and the boys, and all the people who know, and love, you. So my little Susie-Q, daughter, be that good little girl. Keep reminding you big brothers, and your Daddy, how important love is, and all the hugs and kisses that go with it. Don't let them forget. And, next year, on your birthday, I'll write another letter, I hope, one you'll never receive, I hope. With all my love, You Mother http://66.213.124.233/files/original/1d0a4d649d1e3291e4915992111de028.jpg 542900c540cab7583b0750514fc4d60c Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (76) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 74 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl LITTLE RUNT - A THANKSGIVING STORY BY DELLA LUTES Note: This story was found among Mother's journals. The name Della Lutes is believed to be her "pen" name. My father thought that it would be nice to include it in this collection, and I agree. Mother may, or may not, have included experiences and memories from her own childhood. This story may also, in fact, be the works of another writer and Mother may have copied it from something. Holidays in my childhood, some fifty years ago, in southern Michigan, were celebrated mostly by a foregathering of relatives and the generous consumption of good food. And so, on such holidays as fell in winter, the men tipped their chairs back against the wall of the front room, and swapped local history, while the women swung between the parlor bedroom, where they had laid their wraps, and sleeping children, and the kitchen, where they fell to and helped. Thanksgiving was the day of days for intimate family gatherings, and unstilted feasting. On Thanksgiving, my mother welcomed numbers; only numbers could provide suitable scope for her prowess as a cook. A young sow, once in early Fall, presented herself with a lively litter of thirteen husky pigs. All but the 13th! My father brought him into the house, scrawny, unable to stand on his little, spindling legs, blear-eyed, and pallid, and laid him on my mother's lap. "Runt", my father said succinctly. "Though maybe you'd like to put him in a little box or something". My mother placed an old apron on a chair, and laid "Little Runt" upon it. Then, she warmed some milk, stuck a finger in it, and let the little creature suck it off. This he did repeatedly until, satisfied and warmed, he feel asleep. In a few days, a bottle was substituted for fingers, and in a week, Little Runt not only had a chance, but was on way to normal pig life. He was given a small box near the kitchen door, and all day his contented grunts, and more demanding squeals, as mealtime http://66.213.124.233/files/original/85d3afd01d5c3a224c9686166548fca7.jpg d56a4f48d7f542e065cf3643110b4fe0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (77) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 75 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl grew near, were heard. I became my duty to dump the box, give him fresh straw, and see that he had water. "Fat him up," said my father eyeing Little Runt critically, "and we'll have him for Thanksgiving dinner. I've always wanted roast pig for Thanksgiving!" So, Little Runt was fed on sweet milk, fresh corn meal, and vegetables, and throve to a state of porcine beauty, beyond all rightful expectations, considering his early state. He tagged at my mother's skirts when she looked for eggs, and when she fed the hens, always sniffing at everything in his path, continually expressing his affection, gratitude and general satisfaction in life, with cheerful little grunts, or a high-pitched squeal. He allowed me to wash and scrub him until his skin was pink and smooth, and firm, and made no serious objection to the still-pink ribbon tied about his neck. With his little round-quirking nose, his small bright, watchful eyes, and his up-curled, wiry tail, Little Runt was a pig to be proud of. My father watched the process of his growth with evident approval. "going to look pretty good spread out on the dripping pan "long about the 29th!", observed my father, early in November. My mother made no reply, and, as for myself, I looked at my father with positive distaste. How could he be so cruel, actually smacking his lips at the thought of Little Runt spread out in a dripping pan! Poor Little Runt! I ran and grabbed him up, and held him, kicking, squealing, protesting, in my lap, glowering at my father as at an Ogre. "Just how," queried my father at another time, "do you make stuffing for roast pig?" For quite a few minutes my mother did not reply. The subject seemed to lack favor with her as it grew in the approval of my father. Surprised at her silence, he set his penetrating eyes upon her and said "Huh?" "Stuffing?", she repeated with apparent reluctance. "Oh, I make it 'bout the same as for turkey. Little more sage, maybe." http://66.213.124.233/files/original/07210374cbf62226298f9515adf89455.jpg 895f43c777b5ce6a0379f2f937a2d154 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (78) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 76 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl "Umm-mm", my father made pleasant reminiscent sounds in his throat, "Sage~! You picked the sage yet?" "Yes, " she replied, "long ago. Savory too, and all the herbs." "Put any onion in it?" "Yes," said my mother, shortly, "plenty of it!" And, then all of a sudden, Little Runt took to following my father about, his nose close to the heel of the man whose favor he seemed to think it vital that he should gain. At first, he was merely tolerated. "Get out of the way, you dad-rotted, blame little ole fool!" my father would exclaim, accompanying the admonition with a thrust of boot, designed to caution rather than to harm. But, within a short time, as Little Runt, with porcine stupidity, ignored his master's indifference, the companionship seemed to be encouraged. "Come along then , you old cuss fool." Father would invite lamentably, "you get underfoot and you'll get your tarnation nose knocked off!" And, into my father's voice crept an extra note of bravado when he referred to the succulent dish so soon to be served upon his plate. "You going to have anything besides roast pig?", he asked of my mother, in what was intended to be a casual tone. "Potatoes," replied my mother, "and squash, and boiled onions--." "I mean any - any other - meat?" He explained in a manner strongly hesitating for all of his forthright spirit. "I didn't know as just the - the pig 'a be enough." "Well," said my mother, judiciously, "I didn't know as 'twould be myself, seein' how your mouth's waterin' for it. So I thought I'd roast a turkey. Old Tom's good and fat." My father's face lightened "Maybe's well," he remarked, carelessly, "When you want him killed?" "Not yet, anyway", replied my mother, shortly, "You can kill him when you butcher the pig." http://66.213.124.233/files/original/3b1ee9865cc61059b40bbc99f790cf08.jpg d0b507cee66da3d16eba37f8a0971c86 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (79) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 77 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Abruptly, my father rose and went outside, where we heard him being vociferously greeted by Little Runt, with his won response made in loud and threatening, tones. My mother smiled with her eyes, but her lips wee tightly shut as she went on about her work of clearing away supper. After that my father talked loud, and often, of the Thanksgiving feast so rapidly approaching. He asked my mother if she was going to put a raw apple, or a cooked one, in Little Runt's mouth. With the imminent approval of the festal day, Father haunted the kitchen. He watched the filling of the cookie jars- gray stone for sugar cookies and a brown glazed one for molasses. He sampled each batch of doughnuts as it came from the kettle , and said they were not up to Mother's usual standards. He took, at my mother's invitation, repeated tastes of the mincemeat under preparation, and, with the air of a connoisseur, suggested the addition of wee bit more boiled cider, just a speck more of allspice, and finally, with a tentative glance at my mother's face, just a touch of brandy. Adding and mixing and stirring and tasting, together they brought the concoction to, what both were satisfied, was a state of perfection! Two days before Thanksgiving, my father beheaded Old Tom, filled the big brass kettle with boiling water, scalded and plucked him. the wing tips were cut off whole for brushing the hearth, and the tail feathers were finally gathered up and tied together in the form of a duster. He was then handed over to my mother, with the somewhat ostentatious remark, "There"s you turkey. I'll fetch the pig in tonight. Stub Obart's goin' to butcher him for me." As for my father, there was no understanding him. He had seemed, especially in the last few weeks, to love Little Runt. He had fondled him, scolded him, even called to him when not in sight! He scratched his back, and now he talked callously about cutting off his head. After supper that night he set off with Little Runt, squealing, kicking, protesting, in a box in the back of the prong, (a type of sleigh) it having snowed during the day. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/d0e44e51f1d24c33e62730dea27c14b9.jpg f57484d3996fc38ba100a781123a83e7 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts:The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (80) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 78 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl My mother and I sat close together by the evening lamp, she mending, I playing half-heartedly, with paper dolls. Our ears were strained to catch - in imagination only - the shrill cry of fear and pain, our eyes seeing crimson splotches on the sweet new snow . Along about 9:00, my father returned. "Where you want him?", he called lustily. "Put him in the cellar," my mother replied, "on the bench." She did not rise, she made no inquiries. She took me off to bed and sat with me until I slept. The little pig's carcass was brought up as soon as breakfast was over, and, at the sight of it it, I burst into tears and fled the kitchen. Time is no respector of emotions, and as the hours wore on, the tempo of activity increased. Potatoes were pared and left in a kettle of cold water. My father brought a huge Hubbard squash up from the sand pit in the cellar, and broke it into small pieces with an ax. He was not a handy man when it came to household procedures, but on this day he seemed unusually eager to make himself useful. At 2;00, we were all seated around the the board, the turkey, his crisp , juicy skin bursting here and there in the plenitude of his stuffed insides, before my mother at one end of the table, and the rosy brown, crackling-coated, well-rounded porcine frame before my father. The little pig's legs, now untied, squatted wantonly beneath his well- padded hams and shoulders, his golden body crouched upon the plate. Father, holding the knife above the riddled carcass, said with odd gusto, "Now, Missy, I'm going to cut you a nice juicy slice." My mother, struggling to control herself, said, "I don't care for any, thank you," and burst into tears. We all, with no accord, turned to look at her, the guests in astonishment, I, with streaming eyes and sobbing breath, and my father in consternation and apparent anger. "Well," he said, with what would seem to be a righteous indignation, "I was waiting to see if you was goin' to show some signs of feeling, 'Missy. Wait a minute." http://66.213.124.233/files/original/00a310f6e112a8801b63899af6f65afc.jpg ba77ba7bad8eac90ee4577c39b3fcc91 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts:The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (81) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 79 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl He threw down his napkin, shoved back his chair, dashed through the kitchen, snatched his hat from a nail, as he went all, it seemed, in one whirlwind of motion, his guests staring after him in rooted amazement. My mother wiped her eyes, and a shamed voice, said, "It was Little Runt. I fed him by hand - he t-tagged us around - I didn't see h-how he could - I d-don't know what he's up to." But her tearful, broken apology was interrupted by a confusion of the strangest sounds - a mingling of sharp, staccato squeals, the innervoice of a struggling pig, snuffles, and grunts, my father's voice raised in affectionate abuse, the back door opening. "Hol' your tongue, you tarnation fool-cus" - there he was, white hair flying hat awry, and in his arms, leg kicking snout wrinkling, small pink body squirming, was - sure as you live - Little Runt! "There!" said my father, wheezing a bit from exhaustion, "Now what you think?" Every chair had been pushed back. Food was cooling on the plates. I had flown from my chair to greet Little Runt and pull into my lap. "Why!", cried my mother gasping. "What - where - ?" "Well," said my father, flinging off his hat and smoothing hair and beard and beaming with satisfaction in his own exploits, "when I saw you [addressing my mother] were really bent on having roast pig for dinner [my mother lifted hands, opened her mouth, and remained silent], I figured I'd have to fix it some way to save Little Runt's hide. You see, [he now turned to his dumb-founded guests] this was the runt we raised by hand, and he took to following me around, so when it came time, I didn't have the heart to - so I took one of Stub Obart's instead." Then, with a swift turn from the still silent table, he addressed the contented, adventuring pig. "Come along now," he said, and executing a flank movement, caught Little Runt by his hind leg and hoisted him to his arms, admonishing him sonorously. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/70773aa536c24b2daddf86d7bf78522c.jpg 475cea18acae60a8ddbbaf858ebcf0b6 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (82) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 80 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl "Thanksgiving for you all right, you fool runt, but hogs don't celebrate it in the house.", and, in an uproar of squeals and protesting kicks, Little Runt was born away. "Lije," said Uncle Frank, in his absence, "always was a sentimental old fool!' "Let me", urged my mother, politely ignoring the remark, "give you some more turkey." And so, as far as I can remember, Little Runt lived to a fat old age and died in his pen. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/84eea11c4d5e1515678c8bea3948565f.jpg 253bde0e68441eee6a319e6853020124 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts:The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (83) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 81 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl "My Manuscipts" A HISTORY OF THE STORIES I have tried to calculate approximate dates that these journals were written. Through the content of my mother's journals, and research done by my father, I have determined these dates to be as follows: CHILDHOOD MEMORIES: My grandfather, Douglas Gorsuch, died in 1943. It is not known when my mother wrote this story. Perhaps it was sometime in the late sixties, following the death of her father, Harold Roof, in 1968. HAPPY BIRTHDAY: Mother wrote this sometime in 1962. My great-grandmother, Minnie Gorsuch, passed away in 1961. MY OUTSIDE INTEREST: Mother wrote this story during the summer of 1962. IN BETWEEN DAYS: This story would have been written sometime during the Spring of 1968. Grandpa Roof passed away on March 7, 1968 A LETTER TO MR. BISHOP: This letter would have been written late 1968, or early 1969. WHO AM I?: This story was written in March, 1966. WHERE IS HOME?: According to the time frame that Mother speaks about, it appears that this story was written in the Fall of 1968, following the death of my Grandfather that prior March. MY ROOM: this story was written sometime during 1968. THE KISS: This story is fiction. I have spoken with my father about the times that I was now aware of, and it appears that she may have been writing from the perspective of what she wished for her children. The most amazing thing about this story is that we http://66.213.124.233/files/original/ed224ac996d6dc8a1ab0bf156932d85f.jpg 3be2985fb02b10fa6650593cfab1c410 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (84) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 82 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl really did sit in the living room, following her death, and felt much of the feelings that she described. We had not yet found these journals, and when we did, after reading them realized how eerie it was that she could almost foresee such a thing. The date that this was written was probably sometime during 1969 or 1970. Footnote: My oldest brother, Jerry (William) did marry a wonderful woman named Barbara Jo, and they have three beautiful daughters, Jessica Loraine, Jennifer Marie and Joslyn Dyann. My brother Tom (David) also married a wonderful woman Barbara Jean, and they have two beautiful daughters, Lindsay Anne and Loren Lea. My brother Doug (Patrick) married a woman named Kathy and they had a daughter named Amanda Lynn. Kathy and Doug later divorced and he re-married. His wife's name is DiAnna, and they have the first grandson, Gerald Kenneth Douglas Crowl (we call KC - he is blessed with two of his grandfather's names, Gerald and Kenneth and his father's). I, Karen (I go by Susan) was married and have no children. My husband and I also divorced. I have not remarried as of this writing. SO IT GOES IN DREAMS: According to the ages of myself, and my brothers, my mother would have written this sometime in the spring of 1965, shortly before my 5th birthday, which is May11. HOLD FAST THESE THINGS: This story must have been written in late 1969, or early 1970. Mother speaks of dancing lessons and that is when I was taking Ballet lessons with a friend of mine. I would have also been the last one in Grade School. A DAY ENDS, ANOTHER BEGINS" It is difficult to determine when this was written. The reference is made to our approximate ages so I am guessing that it was in the early 1960's. ONE WOMAN WRITES: Mother references in this story that it was written in the late 1960's. Her friends that she writes about were very dear to her. Janet passed away http://66.213.124.233/files/original/21fac32a92d92f13a99396610b2cec16.jpg f323ec185da21e91239a1d6f022c50ee Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (85) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to page 83 of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl many years ago, after my mother had died, and Verna is still alive and living in the same area. A LIFETIME IN A SPLIT SECOND: The date is know because Mother wrote it on a notepad with the date at the top. This is the only time that she had dated anything and the date written was June, 1956. CHRISTMAS '64: I do not know if Mother wrote this following Christmas, 1964 or if she wrote it later, remembering Christmas. NEVER IS FOREVER: Mother wrote this poem sometime following the death of my Grandmother, Edith Roof. Grandmother passed away July 7, 1970. HAPPINESS and A BABY'S SMILE: These are both poems that were found with these journals. It is not known when they were written. A MOTHER'S LOVE: This is a very personal letter that was found in the folder with these journals. I cried the first time that I read it, and I have cried each time after. I have included it with these journals because I feel that it is important to k now all of mother's feelings to fully understand her, and who she was. I hope that you, the reader, see the love that is there. I named it myself because I feel that she loved me so much, and this was her way of showing me that love, even though she hoped I would never see it. She wrote it to me before my birthday in 1964. http://66.213.124.233/files/original/3ba8a045ad7a65ba37b830a3d4047b6c.jpg f315bdb142dbe3a94dfbc585d4c7f0f3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl (86) Description An account of the resource Corresponds to back cover of My Manuscripts: The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Family Histories Description An account of the resource This collection contains family histories that have been written by residents of the Big Walnut area. Items in this collection generally contain genealogical information about the families, personal anecdotes, and images of family members. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource "My Manuscripts" The Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl Subject The topic of the resource Local History--Sunbury--Delaware County--Ohio Personal Narratives--Loraine Roof Crowl (1931-1975) Description An account of the resource From the Introduction of "My Manuscripts, the Personal Journals of Loraine Roof Crowl,": "I have compiled these journals in a book form, so that my mother's dream of someday becoming an author can finally come true...I have learned a great deal about the mother I lost at such a young age of 15. She was only 43 years old, a whole lifetime ahead of her." Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Author Loraine Roof Crowl Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1998 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Compiler: Karen Susan Crowl Bennett Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/NoC-US/1.0/ Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Book Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 31116841