Morrison - Part Two

The rest of our days consisted of cleaning out all of the places we could find (or think of) in the attic, basement, second & first floors.  Up around 7:30 and in bed sometime around 1:30 am because of the heat.  Work until it was time for lunch and giggle at how we were all eating like farmhands.  Work makes you hungry!  In between cleaning were moments of beautiful discovery, such as this letter from Levi Handford dated September 14th, 1795.  1795 people!!  That is the oldest thing I have ever held in my two (clean *ahem*) hands.  Wowza.

Enormous Ledgers 

(It was as big as a two-year old child!)

Family photos & tintypes

Sunday we went to church.  My mom and I attended the Presbyterian church and then walked over to Ann & Aunt Marion's to have cake and coffee.

The County Farm Bureau was once the Fallout Shelter

We think it's very cute that Ann attends the Church of St. Anne.

Waiting in the beautiful garden beside St. Anne's.

After church there was a jaunt to the Morrison Museum where bits of family history can be found such as this High School portrait of Aunt Marion.

The football team from 1915 and a Shia Lebeouf look-a-like!

I put coins on the rail road tracks.  I know you're not supposed to do that, but when in Morrison, do as the Wildi girls do.  It's a rite of passage.

Great Grandpa Carl's work room in the basement.

Tired and happy toes at the end of a long, good day!

Dear Scott.  This was shot by a family member and stuffed.  My Uncle Scott wanted it so we took to calling it "Deer Scott".  

In the cool of the evening we gals could be found lounging and chatting on the front porch of Grape St House.  Since we had to do a Radon Test (closed windows and doors for 48 hours!) it was the only place with a cool breeze.  Apparently the neighbors found our lounging on the front porch to be amazing.  Aunt Marion hadn't sat out there once in the 25 years she lived at Grape St.!

The 92 year old Ginko Tree that was planted the day Aunt Marion was born.

The Sun Room

The fabulous bricks that make up the front porch.  These bricks can be found in remnants of sidewalks around the house and I was sorely temped to wiggle a lone one free and take it home.  But I resisted.

Aunt Margarete was affectionately referred to as our "German Cleaning Lady."  Originally from Germany, she found Grandpa Carl a delight to chat with since he was raised speaking German in the home.  Aunt Margarete cleaned the kitchen and made us lunches while we hauled dusty everything out to the dumpster.  We gals all aspired to clean things as well as she, but never quite got the hang of it.

Do not be fooled by the seeming solemnity of this picture, Margarete is quick with a giggle or a conspiratorial wink.  She is darling and I enjoyed every moment with her.

Some of the sunsets were gloriously orange and this picture had to be filtered to get the accurate colour!  It was amazing.

All of the fire hydrants in Morrison are silver.

The Sauer (correct spelling Miss Editor?) House across the street.

To finish this edition of Morrison I leave you with a collection of photos, family and otherwise. 

There was an empty frame hanging on the back of the garage door, so we filled it with this charming little lady.  There was debate as to whether she was a boy or a girl.  I like girl.

Great Grandma Martha.

I believe this is my namesake, Anna Handford Kentfield, but I could be mistaken.  

My Editor will let me know.

Martha, a lady, and Carl out for a canoe ride.

Aunt Marion and Uncle Bob circa 1953

I believe this was a prom dress of Aunt Marion's.  Very cute!

We ended at Dairy Queen one night for salad and ice cream.  Mom found they had Mini-Blizzards (on the right) and I got a small (left).  It was very nummy, I can't remember the last time I had a Blizzard.

Ta for now my dears!  Third installment to come soon and once I finish editing the videos I took there will be "Movies from Morrison"!  Whee!

xoxo,

Anna

Morrison - Part One

Edit: My Mom corrected me to my referral of our location.  Since I have only ever lived in the Pacific Northwest, traveling to Illinois felt like going "back East" when, in fact, it is the Midwest.  My Midwestern Mother said so, and since I correct people that I'm not merely from "the west coast" but from the Pacific Northwest, specifically, I respect being proud of where one comes from.

I apologise for my absence!  I didn't realise it was actually that long since I posted.  Nearly a month.  Goodness.  Life has been whirling by full of adventures and story.  It is unique that I should help clean out two family homes in one summer.  Perhaps not so unique, but I've never had to do that before.  

This story takes us back East (excuse me!) to THE GREAT MIDWEST, to a sweet, tiny town called Morrison in the state of Illinois.  

There is a family home there from my mother's side of the family on Grape St.  The property has been in the family for a very long time, 130 years or so now, and two houses have been built on it.  The first was sliced off of it's foundation and relocated in town.  The second, the house that is there today, was built sometime around 1918 atop the former house's foundation.  My grandfather was born in that house and his sister, my great aunt, lived there for many years after she raised a family in Seattle.  It was interesting to see how special this house was for my mom's family who live in Wisconsin.  This house is to them what my grandfather's house in Seattle is to me.  A special place filled with memory and story.

The first time I visited was in October of 1988 when I was on the cusp of three years old.  My parents were back to bury my Grammie Lou (my mom's mom) when she passed away after a long battle with Leukemia.  I have a few very vague memories of the trip.  Waking up on the air plane and trying to find my house.  Pushing a little orange and yellow plastic shopping cart around the neighborhood.    

Now, 24 years later, I make different memories.  I wondered if things would jog the memories of my younger self, but nothing in particular presented itself.  On Thursday night we packed, wrote emails, made phone calls, checked, double checked, and triple checked the to-do list.  I became my mom's Personal Assistant for the evening so we could stay on track.

At about 6 in the morning we made it out to the airport and the general feeling of anxiety subsided into an unabashed sense of excitement for the adventure we were about to embark upon.  The first flight was a series of cat-naps, punctuated by the stewardess asking if we wanted anything.  A little more sleep, perhaps?  Seattle to Chicago passed quickly enough and we found our gate at the large, tangled web that is O'Hare Airport.  

Lunch that was hastily purchased in Seattle was consumed happily in Chicago.  We wondered later why on earth we bought it in Seattle, when there were plenty of places to buy lunch in Chicago.

Our next flight was a little hopper, about one hour, which took us to Moline, IL airport, from there we carpooled with Ann (My mom's cousin) and Aunt Marion (Ann's mom; My mom's aunt) on the final leg into Morrison.

Yes, that is a gleaming Dodge Charger.  We drove a muscle car through the corn fields in semi-rural Illinois.  It.  Was. Awesome!

The first stop once we reached Morrison was at Sullivan's Grocery store just off of Main Street.  We obtained the absolute necessities; Coffee, bottled water, and ice cream!

Once we reached Grape Street, we settled in to chat and open up the house.

While the gals chatted downstairs, I allowed myself to slip away to do a little poking around before we raised too much dust.  My first stop was upstairs in the attic.  I have been in many an attic before and every time I found myself wishing it were a little larger, a little more finished, filled with REALLY old treasures.  It wasn't until I came to Morrison that all my wishes came true!

Trunks filled with decades of correspondence, clothing worn by ancestors, furniture, chamber pots, obsolete books, and dusty prams.  This attic was perfect in every way shape and form.

a hammered dulcimer

the tiny spot is the moon, the large one is my camera flash

water heater

the oh, so beckoning stairs...

Bright and early the next day we set about cleaning.  Starting with the garage.  License plates from as far back as 1938 decorated the rafters, while tools and gardening detritus leaned up against any available space.  And if that wasn't enough the entire place was coated in a hearty film of dust and spider webs!  Whew!

We swept, bagged, dusted, schlepped, hauled, and paused for sips of water.  Around lunch time we began to look about for another task, or a dumpster.

Great Aunt Marion and Aunt Margarete came out to have a look-see at what we had accomplished!

Grape St. garage has grape vines growing along the front.

So very clean!  I leave you here whilst I prepare parts two and three of this escapade.

Cheers, darlings!

Documentary Review: King Corn

I've been on a documentary kick lately, partially because I've run out of Dr. Who episodes to watch and partially because I crave learning something new.

King Corn was made by two guys just out of college who wanted to know what happened to corn?  They planted an acre of corn in Greene, Iowa to see where the corn goes.

What fascinated and astounded me about this documentary was just what America uses corn for.  We put corn in EVERYTHING, primarily because corn is used to make high fructose corn syrup, as well as eating corn fed beef.  We used to eat corn with a greater protein content but after decades of genetic modification we now eat corn that is treated to resist certain weed killers, etc.

What I am taking away from this is a greater awareness of what the beef is fed that I eat.  I'm not going to give up beef, but if I can afford to purchase grass-fed beef I'm going to do that.  Typical, cheap beef is fed cheap feed, which in this day and age, is corn because it is cheaper to produce than say, grass or wheat.  Add into that how quickly farmers want to get their beef to a sale-able weight, so they feed their cattle corn, and you have stationary cattle who will die after being fed corn after 160 days.  Cattle are meant to eat grass and the majority of cattle today is being kept in a pen, quite stationary ("Contained" is the term) and fed corn to get to a weight that is best for slaughter and sale in a short amount of time.

Grass fed cattle are allowed to range thereby using their muscles and producing a better, leaner type of meat.

I already know how much HFCS (high fructose corn syrup) is in things like soda and juice and I made a commitment long ago to choose things that are actually sweetened by sugar or natural fruit juices.  Americans have a diabetes epidemic because of our consumption of HFCS.  Although now many stores and food products are turning away from HFCS, it's still not quite enough to change the problem.

What you should do is watch this documentary.  Think about what your meat has been fed and if you can make a change, do so.  Think about what you drink.  Think about what you are putting into your body and do not eat blindly.  Eat with thought and purpose.

Alright, I'm getting off the corn soap box.  If you have comments or discussion I welcome it gladly.  Please keep remarks polite.  I agree to disagree and I encourage you to do the same.

xoxo,

Anna

The End of Hatred

I have spent a great deal of my youth being angry.  Angry at circumstances I could not change, angry at the past for mucking up the present.  Angry at my perceived imperfections that I could not magically change.

Today I spent time cleaning up my pictures.  Innocuous enough, you think, yes?  I spent several hours looking through photos of myself.  Pictures I took during various stages of life in various degrees of self-hatred and self-love.  And you know what I discovered?

I am who I am.

Oh, yes, I can change a few things about me; keeping up with good diet, regular exercise and all that rot.  But what I found as I looked into my own eyes was that I didn't hate who I am anymore.

I don't secretly hate my curly hair, my near sightnedness that requires glasses, my seemingly oddly shaped body.  For a long time I have lamented my apparent "lack" of curves, my lack of femininity, and it wasn't until I actually sat down and looked at myself that I realised I am precisely who I am meant to be.  This may be a bit "old hat" to some and for those of you who know me, this may sound a little silly.  Truth is, I go about my day worrying about what you all think of me.  I worry about my appearance, I worry about my body shape and how people perceive me.

Today that all stops.  

Today I am tossing worry, self-loathing, self-hatred, self-mutilation out the bloody proverbial window!

I am Anna.  I am Anna More.  

I am 5' 5" tall, I am 170lbs of awesome and I don't care who knows, and FUCK the BMI ratings.  

They are wrong.

I love every inch and ounce of me.

Now, this isn't an instant thing, what happened today was a turning point in my personal thinking, in my personal journey.  I am taking a different path.  Perhaps parallel to the one I was traveling along previously, but even large ships travel in small gradients to make vast turns.  And what is life but one long jumble of turns and jogs? 

This is the woman who my children will know as their mother.  This is the woman who will make a name for herself in the world.  This is me.

thank you for reading this far.  Thank you for loving me this long and this far. xoxo ~Anna

Never Seconds

Photo borrowed from Never Seconds blog - neverseconds.blogspot.com.es

I wanted to introduce you folks to the young, amazing, and delightful Martha Payne from Scotland.  She blogs about her school dinners to create awareness for a foundation called Mary's Meals which feeds school children in Malawi.  Martha, who goes by VEG on her blog Never Seconds (it stands for Veritas Ex Gustu, truth from tasting, in Latin) photographs her school dinners, rates them and gives an interesting look into the life of a 9 year old primary school pupil.


She is absolutely darling and I fully encourage you to read her blog, and if you feel  like it, donate to Mary's Meals, it is only 6p (6 pence) to feed a child.


This week VEG is away on holiday and an equally lovely young lady from Wales is blogging in VEG's absence.  BLODWYN or BLOD writes half the posts in Welsh (there's even homework for the readers!) and then in English to practise her language.  It's very fun and you should pop on over!

Pictures...

...can be frustrating.  I have so many that I want to share, yet the upload doesn't recognize that they exist on my computer.  I can see and find the images in iPhoto, I can upload them if I put them on my desktop, but who really wants hundreds of images stored on their desktop?  Not I.  This is why there is a storage system just for them.  A storage system that the photo upload interface can't recognize 100% of the time.  Le Sigh.

And now on to your regularly scheduled bloggy-chatter.  Hopefully with more pictures!

xoxo,
Anna

Introducing...The Girls!

I don't think I have introduced the lovely machine that does such nice work with me.  This was a gift that my honey went halvsies on with me.  I got a new sewing machine, and he gets his shirts repaired.  It's a good deal.  This new machine is very computerised from what I'm used to, can't go super slow but that is okay because it can make little flowers and BOW TIES!

Then there is this lady and I'm still pinching myself over her being here.  She was a gift.  A total out-of- the-blue gift from an acquaintance.  He asked if I ever used a serger...I said yes, mostly at school. Why?
Oh, he didn't used his so much and wondered if I would like to have it.  This was the bit where I about died, but remained oddly composed.
I brought her home last week and just unpacked her tonight.  I'm thinking she will be named Daphne.