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    Garden of Memories
    Garden of Memories
    Garden of Memories
    Ebook160 pages1 hour

    Garden of Memories

    By Margaret Woverton Hamilton Baldridge Porter, Judy Wolverton Glazier Hyde, Joan Wolverton Slatalla and Mary's Girl

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    We are all still here, so our garden of memories will continue to grow. While we have lived very different lives for the past six or seven decades and seldom have the occasion to visit, we need only be together for a minute to know we are sisters who still love one another and we are still Marys girls.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateAug 8, 2013
    ISBN9781481776998
    Garden of Memories
    Author

    Margaret Woverton Hamilton Baldridge Porter

    This is a collaborative effort by three sisters in their twilight years. It is an effort to leave behind some of our memories and stories of the people we’ve known and loved. We grew up in a different era than our grandchildren will ever experience. Hopefully these pages will portray some of that era. If we’ve learned one thing in our seven plus decades it’s this: As we age we tend to pay more attention to the past.

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      Book preview

      Garden of Memories - Margaret Woverton Hamilton Baldridge Porter

      © 2013 by Mary’s Girls. All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

      Published by AuthorHouse 07/27/2013

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-7697-4 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-7698-1 (hc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-7699-8 (e)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2013912788

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Contents

      My Garden Of Memories

      1997

      Early Childhood

      Waterworld

      Pets

      Walking Away

      Hero

      Thoughts On Southern Cooking

      Life In The 1940S

      Snakes

      Snake In The House/Hot Water In The Bed

      Rats

      Decades

      Bridge

      Ancestors And Terrorism 2001

      Getting Older 2006

      Enduring

      Guardian Angel

      Living Conditions

      New Surroundings

      After Marriage

      Single Parenthood

      Raising Twins

      Holidays

      Judy’s Ghost Stories

      For A Time

      My Garden Of Memories

      Snitch Sister

      Education

      Composure Lost

      Travel In My Neck Of The Woods

      A Ventilator

      The Presence

      The Gingerbread Santa

      The Cactus Elf

      Frazzlehopper Diddlepop

      Jabella

      Minitilda

      Poetry

      Colours

      Shades Of Gray

      Colors

      Who Am I

      Living Landscapes

      Old Yellowed Letters

      Arizona Alchemy

      Flying At Daybreak

      Nightshades

      Footnotes

      Desert Dawn

      Hummingbirds

      Through The Night Backwards

      A Wedding Portrait

      Our Flag

      Grandchildren

      A Wedding Prism

      Deerfield Academy

      Embracing Love

      Ellie

      Partnership Understanding

      Insomnia

      Prejudice

      Compu-Poet

      Why Write

      Tragedy

      Your Word Or Mine

      Apache And Shiloh

      The Hillbilly’s Home

      Politician

      Final Pages

      Walk Of A Stranger

      Three Wishes

      Circle Of Love

      Salute To A Rose

      1959 Dale Bright

      1959 Bob Spellman

      Terry Walker Clifton

      The Ring-Tailed Wowzer

      Final Pages

      My Garden Of Memories

      I have a garden of memories

      That dwells within my heart

      All the memories living there

      And I will never part

      I nourish each and every one

      With joy and tears and laughter

      They in turn sustain my life

      From past to ever after

      They spring forth in their season

      With every turn I take

      Reminding me of where I’ve been

      My accomplishments, my mistakes

      I call them Love, Joy and Grief

      Hope, Regret and Strife

      All of them collectively

      Comprise what is my life

      Garden of Memories

      This is a collaborative effort by three sisters in their twilight years. It is an effort to leave behind some of our memories and stories of the people we’ve known and loved. We grew up in a different era than our grandchildren will ever experience. Hopefully these pages will portray some of that era. If we’ve learned one thing in our seven plus decades it’s this: As we age we tend to pay more attention to the past.

      Have you ever said to yourself, I wish I had spent more time with my grandparents: Or "I wish I had asked more questions about what their life entailed. For the benefit of our combined nine children and twenty grandchildren we hope this book will fulfill some of those wishes now or after we’re gone.

      We dedicate this book to our children and grandchildren

      Joan—

      Michelle, Jack, Joe, Dan—Zoe, Alex, Ella, John, Austin, Laura, Jake, Clementine, Abigail, Emma

      Judy—

      Sue, Mitch, Steve—Stephanie, Ryan, C.J.,

      Connor, Austin, Grant, Logan

      Margaret—

      Mary Ann, Mark—Margaret Marie,

      Chastity, Madison

      Thank you Al for all your help editing and Franklin for putting up with 1:30 a.m. calls.

      Joan (pronounced Joanne or Jo) Getting old is a process, or so I’m told. That sounds like one is proceeding toward something. What is at the end of the getting old process? Looks like a one-way street to oblivion to me. While I never thought I would live forever, oblivion has a nasty sound. How does one avoid that regretful predicament?

      I think it is a little late to become a great inventor, artist, or savior of mankind to pass my memory down through future generations. Since the thing I most often revert to when I have nothing else to do is write poetry, short anecdotes and children’s stories, now seems as good a time as any to enlist the cooperation of my sisters in publishing some of our thoughts and memories for the enjoyment of our friends and relatives, or obligatory reading as the case may be. One never knows how long one of these mementos can survive in the attic chest for some unsuspecting future generation to happen upon. It’s worth a chance.

      1997

      I am of an age when many of my friends are already experiencing some of the ravages of aging, so I am no stranger to ailments which involve memory loss. Before I join those ranks, I want to make a record of some of the things that make me laugh and maybe one or two that make me cry.

      I’ve experienced the best many times during my fifty-six years on this earth; the best family, friends, food, entertainment, the best highs and the best lows. How can you have a best low? Well, my low points have taught me that without them, I’d never fully appreciate the highs. English food is a perfect example of what one should experience in order to fully appreciate a great French cuisine. Family is never more welcome than after a period of loneliness. You get the idea.

      These are some of the funniest stories and some of my favorite memories and poems of my first half-century.

      EARLY CHILDHOOD

      Just to clarify the name. I was named after the mother of Mom’s best friend. Joanne was often spelled Joan in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Such was the case in this instance. Thus—the spelling of my name. This might be of particular interest to Ella who has the same middle name.

      My earliest memory is of standing in a crib in my grandmother’s house and reaching for my father. It is a mixed memory. I’m both excited and scared. I learned later that my father was having an argument with my granny about whether he should pick me up when I should be sleeping. Arguments were a way of life for my Grandmother, Hesta.

      The next memory is of hanging on the wooden school-yard fence, waiting for my oldest sister Margaret to come across the playground and hand me a nickel to go fetch an ice-cream bar at the corner store. I must have been no more than three at the time because my next oldest sister Judy was hanging on the fence with me, so she had not started school yet either. Margaret was a year ahead of us. At this time we both dutifully met our idol every day at recess to do her bidding. We’d scamper quickly down the block and race back with our prize before it melted. This is not a terribly exciting thing, but I think I must have lived for those five minutes every day. It is one of the few memories I have retained from that age. The other is of a salmon pink coat that I adored. Pink is still my favorite color.

      Six weeks after starting kindergarten at the age of five, my all-time favorite teacher, Miss Vance, promoted me to first grade because I insisted,

      Mit Vance, I can read as good as the other kids. This turned out to

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