Shoveling Snow - Wordless Wednesday



The first home I remember. The house is still on Sheridan Street in Wichita, Kansas.
It looks like my parents had already started me on chores! I think I could have used a bigger shovel!



Another Snowy Day!

I think it was a Sunday in January, somewhere in the 1960's. My friend, Francine, had been to church with us when the snow started. Snow fell through the afternoon while we had fun at my house. By the time Francine was supposed to be home, the snow was "too deep" to make the trip across the field, Pleasant Valley Jr. High schoolyard, behind the tennis court and down a block to her house. Of course, our parents had cars that might have made it through at that time, but it was more fun to be snowed in. By the next morning there was a foot or more of snow on the ground. School was canceled that day and then the next. I wish I remembered what we did with our time but the memories are not there. I imagine we played with our troll dolls. We probably read for a while and I'm sure we played in the snow. It was atleast three days before school was back in session and Francine was back at home. Snow days are fun. They are even more fun with a friend.
Dad wasn't so lucky. He was an estimator for Eby Construction Company with a big job to bid on Monday morning. It wasn't too difficult for a construction company to plow a five mile path from the office to our house AND clear our driveway so he could get to work. That is exactly what Mr. Eby ordered that morning. Lucky for us that path didn't lead past Francine's house!
I'm sitting here at home many years later after reading an email canceling school for Wichita tomorrow; the fifth snow day this year! I have a lot of work I could do in my office at school but I'm kind of thankful that the district hasn't started plowing paths to our doors and has granted us a snow day.
NOW... Let it SNOW!

Snow at the Dibbens Homestead - Wordless Wednesday

Snow day on the Dibbens farm near Cheney, Kansas

Christmas 1958 - Another wordless Wednesday!

Shari (me) and Kristi (one of my sisters) at Christmas, 1958 in Wichita, Kansas.

Ho Ho Ho! Christmas Grab Bag

Do you see cute little Santa sitting between my younger sister, Kristi, and I? I continue to hear the story of his arrival year after year. For some reason my dad has never forgotten how this jolly elf with a tiny coke bottle in his hand came to live at our house, but neither have I.
According to my dad's memory of the event, he was innocently driving down the road with his happy little family when he noticed that the car needed more gasoline. It seemed simple enough to pull into a nearby filling station for more, right? The way Dad tells it, it almost seems like a horror story but I remember it differently...
Dad pulled up to the pump and rolled down his window. Out of the station popped a friendly gas station attendant ready to put gas in the car, wash the windows, check the oil and, generally, be as helpful as possible.
He must have seen me sitting in the back seat and realized I was totally without a toy. What three year-old would want that? That nice young man left the gas running and ran as fast as he could back into the station. He was back in a flash. Now he was my hero, for in his hand was the cutest little Santa anyone had ever seen.
He proceeded to tell my dad how wonderful it would be if he would purchase the Santa for me. (After all, I deserved it!) What a great idea! Of course, I was all for it! For some strange reason, Dad wasn't impressed at all. I began to try to convince him which cause the attendant to have to speak louder and my dad to shake his head a little quicker.
Now, this is where our stories really begin to differ. Dad says I began to cry loudly when I realized that my hero might loose the debate and have to return to the station with my Santa! Surely not! I thought we were just having a conversation about the benefits of having our own personal Santa come to live with us.
Eventually, I made my point and Dad agreed to buying Santa AND the tank of gasoline. For some reason, I don't think Dad liked my hero as much as I did. He talked to Mom about that attendant for quite awhile on the way home. Oh well, what did it really matter? I no longer felt alone with my new friend, red velvet suit, shiny black boots and belt and silky white beard and all, sitting on my lap.
Just look how happy I am!

Portal to the past

My mother-in-law, Helen, handed me an old canning jar during one of our trips to pick up more stuff for a garage sale we are preparing for. She said I might be able to sell it. Emily, standing on my other side, said, "Mom, that would look good in your kitchen". She knows me very well! It's now sitting in my kitchen window with it's glass lid clamped down tight and proudly displaying it's logo, "Ball". According to the Internet, it was made in the early 1930's.

I like how it looks, but even more, I like how it makes me feel when I look at it. This jar would have been in kitchens when my mom was a little girl. She would have watched and helped my grandmother and her sisters can all sorts of things in jars like this one.

I look at it and immediately smell dill or vinegar or tangy apple or sweet preserves. I see sunny windows in Aunt Ella's farm kitchen near Kingman, Kansas. This is the same kitchen my grandmother helped her mother in when she was growing up and my mom visited and cooked in during her childhood. Embroidered dishtowels hold clean jars ready for some yummy food that is being prepared by skilled hands. Steam is rolling above tall, well used pots on Aunt Ella's gas stove. There is talk and laughter as sisters, mothers, grandmothers, aunts, daughters, cousins and granddaughters all find a way to be a part of the process of preserving fresh food and fond memories.

Without all of the sensory input of those days, the memory might be buried deep in my mind forever. There is no chance of that happening, considering the activity of the day.

One small object, like my canning jar, opens a portal into my past that allows me to experience again the love and rich heritage I share with so many special people.