Where Did You Come From, Baby Dear? by George MacDonald

They Are Not Long by Ernest Dowson

Louisa Carroll Thomas

I'm Nobody! Who Are You? by Emily Dickinson

All To Myself by Wilbur Dick Nesbit

I Shall Not Pass This Way Again by Eva Rose York

I shall not pass this way again---
Although it bordered be with flowers,
Although I rest in fragrant bowers,
And hear the singing
Of song-birds winging
To highest heaven their gladsome flight;
Though moons are full and stars are bright,
And winds and waves are softly sighing,
While leafy trees make low replying;
Though voices clear in joyous strain
Repeat a jubilant refrain;
Though rising suns their radiance throw
On summer's green and winter's snow,
In such rare splendor that my heart
Would ache from scenes like these to part;
Though beauties heighten,
And life-lights brighten,
And joys proceed from every pain---
I shall not pass this way again.

Then let me pluck the flowers that blow,
And let me listen as I go
To music rare
That fills the air;
And let hereafter
Songs and laughter
Fill every pause along the way;
And to my spirit let me say:
"O soul, be happy; soon 'tis trod,
The path made thus for thee by God.
Be happy, thou, and bless His name
By whom such marvellous beauty came."
And let no chance by me be lost
To kindness show at any cost.
I shall not pass this way again;
Then let me now relieve some pain,
Remove some barrier from the road,
Or brighten someone's heavy load;
A helping hand to this one lend,
Then turn some other to befriend.

O God, forgive
That I now live
As if I might, sometime, return
To bless the weary ones that yearn
For help and comfort every day,---
For there be such along the way.
O God, forgive that I have seen
The beauty only, have not been
Awake to sorrow such as this;
That I have drunk the cup of bliss
Remembering not that those there be
Who drink the dregs of misery.

I love the beauty of the scene,
Would roam again o'er fields so green;
But since I may not, let me spend
My strength for others to the end,---
For those who tread on rock and stone,
And bear their burdens all alone,
Who loiter not in leafy bowers,
Nor hear the birds nor pluck the flowers.
A larger kindness give to me,
A deeper love and sympathy;
Then, O, one day
May someone say---
Remembering a lessened pain---
"Would she could pass this way again."

Home by Edgar A. Guest

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ‘preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
An’ hunger fer ‘em somehow, with ‘em allus on yer mind.
It don’t make any difference how rich ye get t’ be,
How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything.

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;
Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then
Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;
And gradjerly as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part
With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumb-marks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh
An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart,
An’ when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ‘em each day;
Even the roses ‘round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ‘come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear
Who used t’ love ‘em long ago, an’ trained ‘em jes t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.

Life Sculpture by George Washington Doane

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor boy
With his marble block before him,
And his eyes lit up with a smile of joy,
As an angel-dream passed o'er him.

He carved the dream on that shapeless stone,
With many a sharp incision;
With heaven's own light the sculpture shone, --
He'd caught that andgel-vision.

Children of life are we, as we stand
With our lives uncarved before us,
Waiting the hour when, at God's command,
Our life-dream shall pass o'er us.

If we carve it then on the yielding stone,
With many a sharp incision,
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own, --
Our lives, that angel-vision.

The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

BETWEEN the dark and the daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower,

Comes a pause in the day's occupations,

That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me

The patter of little feet,

The sound of a door that is opened,

And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,

Descending the broad hall stair,

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,

And Edith with golden hair.

They whisper, and then a silence;

Yet I know by their merry eyes

They are plotting and planning together

To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,

A sudden raid from the hall!

By three doors left unguarded

They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret

O'er the arms and back of my chair;

If I try to escape, they surround me;

They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,

Their arms about me entwine,

Till I think of the Biship of Bingen

In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,

Because you have scaled the wall,

Such an old mustache as I am

Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,

And will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungeon

In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,

Yes, forever, and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,

And moulder in dust away!

Anonymous

With Aunt Bernice--Daddy's sister, and our favorite aunt.

The Land of Dreams by William Blake

Daddy would sleep so hard that we could dress him up when he had a nap. I think we even put lipstick on him!

If No One Ever Marries Me by Laurence Alma-Tadema

If no-one ever marries me--
And I don't see why they should,
For nurse says I am not pretty
And I'm seldom very good--

If no one ever marries me
I shan't mind very much;
I shall buy a squirrel in a cage,
And a little rabbit-hutch;

I shall have a cottage near a wood,
And a pony all my own,
And a little lamb, quite clean and tame,
That I can take to town;

And when I'm getting really old,
At twenty-eight or nine--
I shall buy a little orphan girl
And bring her up as mine.

Sir Henry Wotton Quote

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quote

When I Awake I Am Still With Thee by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Still, still with thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with thee!

Alone with thee, amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born;
Alone with thee in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.

As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean
The image of the morning star doth rest,
So in this stillness thou beholdest only
Thine image in the waters of my breast.

Still, still with thee! as to each new-born morning
A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,
So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking,
Breathe, each day, nearness unto thee and heaven.

When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eye looks up to thee in prayer,
Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading,
But sweeter still to wake and find thee there.

So shall it be at last, in that bright morning
When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee;
O, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with thee!

She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms by Emily Dickinson

This is Grandma Pope in the kitchen. And I always think of her with aprons flying, so this poem is perfect. She put her leg up on a stool while she was working because of back pain. She also had migraine headaches. I remember her smearing mentholatum all over her face to try to distract her from the pain of the migraine! How did women survive? Without back surgery and magic pills that melt the migraines away. I really respect them.

I had to include the whole poem:

She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!

You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you've littered all the East
With duds of emerald!

And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars -
And then I come away.

It's all I have to bring today by Emily Dickinson

Unknown Author

Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth

"Hope" is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

The Old Familiar Faces by Charles Lamb

Child and Mother by Eugene Field

One summer when I was visiting Cindy, I put together this book of old photographs with verses from poetry. You'll recognize a similar photograph I've already posted with Daddy on the fence instead of Mama.

Barstow, California

I asked Daddy if he took this picture. He said "yes." I said "tell me about it." He said, "well, the one with the big ears is Rhoda." Rhoda was visiting California to see Mama and Harry, who spent a portion of each year inspecting potatoes in California.

Dad was stationed in Barstow, California when he was in the Marine Corps. Mama wanted to join him after Cindy was born, but they couldn't find a house to rent off-base. Dad found the house in this picture, but the owner had two or three hundred acres of alfalfa and wanted the house for the hired man to harvest the hay. So Dad made a deal with the owner that he would bale, haul, and stack the hay for $1 an hour, and pay $100 a month for the little house (in other words, he would work a minimum of 100 hours a month). This was in addition to working at the Marine Corps Base 40 hours a week!

During the winter months, the hay was sold to a dairy in Los Angeles, about 150 miles away. The trucks would arrive in the middle of the night and honk their air horn. Dad would get out of bed and go load the truck, which would take a few hours.

Mom and Dad didn't have any money for furniture. A civil service worker at the Marine Corps Base, Pee Wee from Oklahoma, took a liking to Dad. Pee Wee and his wife cosigned at a secondhand shop for $200 worth of furniture. Mom and Dad were able to get the bare necessities: a refrigerator, a stove, a mattress. Dad paid the debt off monthly.

Their sole source of recreation was Dollar Nite at the drive-in theatre. Every time the movie changed--which was about twice a week--they would load Cindy in a basket and put her in the back of the car and head to the drive-in. She was less than a month old when they moved to Barstow, and 18 months old when they left.

One afternoon Mom was hanging clothes up to dry. She brought Cindy out in her basket, and covered her face with a blanket to shield her from the unforgiving sun-- it was regularly 110 degrees in Barstow. Mom and Dad had adopted a stray dog, and the dog pulled the blanket off Cindy's face without Mom knowing. When she was done with the clothes, Mom was shocked to find a sun blister about the size of a silver dollar on Cindy's little face! The new parents were afraid it would scar her delicate skin, but luckily, that didn't happen.

After Daddy finished his stint in the Marine Corps, they returned to Blackfoot where Dad farmed Grandpa Winmill's acreage for two years. This picture of Cindy was taken at that time.

The History of Hair

This photo must have been taken between church meetings. Did you know that we used to attend Sunday School in the morning and then return in the evening for Sacrament Meeting? I always have Jasmine in mind when I share this type of trivia, because when I tell her something she doesn't know, she sounds outraged and says "why didn't anyone tell me?!?" We had Primary on a weekday afternoon, and YM/YW on a weekday evening, but not on Sunday.

Several observations:

1. My dresses were always as big as Cindy's were slim.

2. I am always giggling.

3. Tube socks with black patent leather doesn't work for me.

4. Again, the hair! Always perfectly coiffed. "How did we do it?" you might ask. Let me tell you the history of hair.

When we were young, Mama curled our hair with rags. She ripped strips from an old white sheet (of course, they didn't have anything except white sheets back then), about 18 inches long and an inch-and-a-half wide. She would take a lock of our hair and wrap the strip around and around the hair, tying a knot in the end. This would create beautiful, Shirley Temple-like curls. Cindy could sit on her hair before it was ever cut, so you can imagine how beautiful this looked.

As we got older, we used pink sponge rollers. They were easy to sleep on. But the gold standard for curling hair were the bristly rollers that had the innards of a bottle brush. They were a beast to sleep on--and our hair was so thick it took forever to dry. We didn't have blow driers or curling irons to facilitate the process. Thus, the home hair drier!

Cindy graciously agreed to model this version we spotted at an antique mall last Saturday. This one has an unusual cone-head shape. Ours was more like a button mum and it was pink. When plugged in, it inflated like a balloon. Oh, the hours we spent sitting on a kitchen chair under that drier waiting for our hair to dry. Those were the days. But when the final product was like Mama's hair below, you must admit it was time well-spent!

Easter and Cindy Plays Hooky!

This is Easter Sunday, 1960, in Medford, Oregon. Mom says these were the first store bought dresses we had for Easter (usually Grandma Pope made our Easter dresses). It was so thrilling--from head to toe we were decked out. Notice Cindy's hands--once again they are perfectly folded. Ali's youngest baby, Emilia, always amazes us by folding her delicate little hands in her lap. So we've decided she's inherited that trait from Grammy Cindy!

I remember we had a kiddie pool at that house. Mom set up her step stool at the side so we could climb up and jump in. We had a large chestnut tree in the backyard, and we would create the outline of a house with all the fallen chestnuts. Then we'd play in our two-dimensional playhouse.

Cindy started school in Medford. She was terrified at recess because she couldn't find her way back to the classroom. So there was a boy in her classroom she would spot as soon as the bell rang, and she'd follow him back to class. One day, however, he was absent, and when the bell rang she panicked. She couldn't find anyone from her classroom, and ended up alone on the playground crying. A fifth grader found her, and helped Cindy find the classroom. Her teacher was clearly irritated.

So, one day Cindy decided she'd take a day off! When Mama took me to the sitter's house, Cindy would usually cross the street to the school. But Cindy stayed home instead. She vigilantly stood watch at the window waiting for the children to be dismissed from school. Then she would call Mama like she always did, and nobody would know. As soon as the children poured out of the classrooms Cindy made the phone call, but it was only the first recess! Luckily, Mama didn't make Cindy face school that day.

With mother's sister, Lois, and her husband, Roy Lee Hern.

DADDY

This picture--and the previous one--were taken at our home on Fox Hollow Road in Eugene, Oregon. You can tell how much Daddy loved us. Cindy and I have always known that his world revolved around us. He never made the mistake of putting work first--even though he always had a strong work ethic. Our family life was central to his existence.

When we moved from Medford, Oregon, to Idaho, Dad traded his car in for a 1960's blue Chevrolet station wagon. He rented a U-Haul to put all our possessions in. Mama made a bed for Cindy and I in the back of the station wagon. Unfortunately, it was snowing heavily, and as Dad drove around a bend near Ventura the car started sliding and very nearly drove off a steep embankment. So Mom and Dad stopped and put tire chains on the station wagon. As they were working, Mom heard something, and they stopped to listen. They looked in the back of the wagon and saw that Cindy and I were kneeling, holding hands, while Cindy "was praying like crazy that we wouldn't slide over the mountain in the snowstorm." (Dad's words)

Dad's territory was from Eastern Idaho to Pendleton, selling auto parts and tools for a warehouse in Portland. Mom and Dad had decided to live in Nampa because it was central for that territory. They searched for a day and a half in Nampa for a rental, then stopped for a snack. The lady that ran the convenience store knew of a rental in Caldwell--the pink duplex. Mom and Dad were always certain we were supposed to be in Caldwell. The pink duplex is still there on Indiana Street.

The pink duplex is now yellow!

Bedwetting and Thumbsucking

I love this picture! Cindy was always so appropriate, trying to make me follow suit. But I was a hot mess! You can tell that Mama created an idyllic childhood for both of us. Good thing because I had major problems: I was a bedwetter AND a thumbsucker.

Great grandma made all of her offspring beautiful quilts. Unfortunately, I sucked my thumb with that quilt and it ended up in shreds because Mama had to wash it so much. I'm afraid that after I ruined my quilt I started using Cindy's quilt--sorry, Cindy.

But the bedwetting was the worst. I think I was eight years old before I stopped. I remember a family meeting in the basement of the Caldwell house. Mom said, "I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't find diapers big enough for you." (This was long before Depends and adult diapers.) Even worse was when we visited Grandma Pope's in the summer. She thought threatening would help, so she said she was going to put a sign up in my Sunday School Class and announce to all my friends that I still wet the bed. As I was crying in the bedroom with Cindy trying to comfort me, Grandpa Pope stood in the doorway and laughed at me.

So now you know all my childhood secrets. Mostly I remember happy times. Family reunions, road trips, and loving care from Cindy, Mama, and Daddy.