Decided to put a bit on here. Been a long while.
Got to thinking about life. The old life. Don’t think about it much. Lately too much going on and it is time to maybe write stuff down. Like Marilyn said I write, but am not a story teller or writer like our mom.
Not sure which is my earliest memory of life at Ozada. It was either the little black dog or drowning. I think probably the dog.
Mom knitted me sweaters as the wind always was blowing a Holley. Little girls always wore dresses in those days. I was always outside. My face got chapped. My legs got chapped between my thighs. Don’t know how mom kept me cleaned up ... when she was around. I remember getting a reaming out daily for playing in the nearest mud puddle, climbing in with the pigs, cows etc. Climbing my hill. Thinking mom as much of her sewing for me wrecked by my escapades.
Mom had made me a red sweater with a hood. It was always buttoned up. There was this little black dog. Don’t know if it was ours or someone else’s. This darn dog liked to tease me (more like bug me). He would grab the tassel on my sweater and pull me around till I was so tied up, I needed help. No yelling for me. I just cried at the top of my lungs till someone rescued me, only for the same thing to happen again and again. I guess the dog liked me as when I would go to Mrs. Johnson’s door and point at her cookie jar, she would always give me one. I would then stand and point until she gave me one for the dog. Mom gave her heck for that. She just said “it’s only a cookie”. Don’t know what happened to that dog.
The other early memory is the day I drowned.... or nearly. Bryan was across the yard working on one of his many projects. I was running around as usual. It was a summer day. I think I was headed into the house, but saw the open rain barrel. Dad had left the lid off. In my curious state, I fell in. I remember being at the bottom standing their looking up. The sun glinting on the water was beautiful. The top looked so close, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to just crawl out. That is when I blacked out. Though Bryan was involved in his project, he heard me fall in. He ran to the door, yelling to mom that I had fallen in the rain barrel. She fished me out. The next thing I remember is waking up in the crib. Everything was dripping wet. Mom had just put my hair in rags to curl it and I remember wondering how come me and my bed were wet. At that point I was going to get up and climb out. She told me in no uncertain terms that I had to lay there till all the water was out. Dad got a reaming out for that one.
Great first memories.
