Our favorite word in Texas is "fixin to"( one word) . Son moved to California. He thinks they know how to talk out there. He 'useta' (always one word) point out every time I was "fixin to" do something. Still does occasionally.
I useta have a baby girl. I don't know where she went. Little baby, sweet and cuddly. Came along before Pampers and ready made formula. Pet milk, Karo ( one of those branded things, any clear syrup was called Karo) and water. Every family had a sterilizer. Big pan on the stove, and if you were lucky it had a rack where you stood the bottles after you filled them . Then you cooked 'em (Texas contraction for them) Got em piping hot. Then Refrigerated. Time to feed you heated "em" up again. Not too hot, not too cold. Did you know that the inside of the mother's wrist was put there by God to use when testing the warmth of the baby's milk. You can look it up. I'm sure its in the Bible.
Washing was done in machine that someone gave mate and I. A big tub with an agitator inside. You filled it with scalding water, turned it on and stood back. It agitated. You lifted items out one at a time, put them in a galvanized tub where you rinsed and then repeated this. We had a woven wicker clothes basket to put the wet clothes in. Some of the wicker strips would come loose and it was usual to be wounded. Laundry was dangerous work. A wire stretched across the back yard and you hung clothes on the line with wooden contraptions called clothes pins. In the winter diapers froze and in the spring they got rained on. Finally the clothes dried and then you ironed nearly everything and put them up. You were through. Wash days were always on Monday. ALL DAY MONDAY!! Some women with large families would disappear for days. Now you know why my generation hangs a towel up to dry and uses it again. You may forget your first day of school, you may forget friends names, and personally, I have never stopped to remember the Alamo (I was after all born in Oklahoma) but I will never forget Mondays.
Washing was done in machine that someone gave mate and I. A big tub with an agitator inside. You filled it with scalding water, turned it on and stood back. It agitated. You lifted items out one at a time, put them in a galvanized tub where you rinsed and then repeated this. We had a woven wicker clothes basket to put the wet clothes in. Some of the wicker strips would come loose and it was usual to be wounded. Laundry was dangerous work. A wire stretched across the back yard and you hung clothes on the line with wooden contraptions called clothes pins. In the winter diapers froze and in the spring they got rained on. Finally the clothes dried and then you ironed nearly everything and put them up. You were through. Wash days were always on Monday. ALL DAY MONDAY!! Some women with large families would disappear for days. Now you know why my generation hangs a towel up to dry and uses it again. You may forget your first day of school, you may forget friends names, and personally, I have never stopped to remember the Alamo (I was after all born in Oklahoma) but I will never forget Mondays.
Baby girl had all cotton dresses. Everything had to be ironed. Nothing wash and wear. Great-Grandmother made little dresses out of gingham check. She had every color that was marketed. The first grand child, the instrument by which I was forgiven for running off and getting married. I never lacked for a baby sitter. The child that cuddled as close to you as possible as a baby and as a teenager seemed as far away as possible. But where did Baby girl go? I really do know the answer. When I wasn't looking, she grew up.
I post this on Baby Girl's birthday. Now a grandmother, and a good one; my friend, and a good one. We fought many battles. I look back and see how unimportant the things we fought over really were. Spent a lot of time on hair. For goodness sakes why? We missed a lot by arguing. Spent a lot of time on clothes. She was always covered, so why? Spent a lot of time on school. Even though not the best grades in the class, she finished. So why? I never knew how to pick my battles. Little things seemed important. Wanted her neat. Wanted her to be the best in class. Wanted her to reflect how good a mother I was. I know now most of what I wanted was for me. It took me a while, and I still slip but I grew up. Now what I pray for is for her to know God, to know how to pray. I want her in Heaven. I want her to know I love her. Much more important than clothes, hair and grades. Happy Birthday Baby Girl.
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