Today is our 54th Wedding Anniversary! I know! Hard to believe! Actually, we celebrate the date we eloped in 1967…
My goodness we were so young!
…not the next August (1968) when we fessed up and told the family. Long convoluted story for another time! We renewed our vows and had the reception! Who knew it would last 54 years!
Bert, Grandpa John Bixby and Mary.Bert made me this beautiful box/picture frame last year. A real keepsake!
Our family now has two grown kids with kids of their own! We were thrilled to spend time with all of them over the last few weeks. Ted’s family lives in California and it’s been two years since we’ve been together. Luckily Kathy’s family is near Pittsburgh so we’ve seen them more recently. We are blessed!
What a pair!All four cousins got to bond and Erin was able to get into the picture too! Not sure how Steve got away with not being photographed!
What a wonderful visit! More pictures about what they did at Grandma’s house in the next post! Enjoy!
In 1955-56 my family spent a school year in the Philippines. My father was on a sabbatical and taught at the University of the Philippines near Manila. My sister had just graduated from high school, my brother was 15 and I was turning 9.
Many animals in the Philippines were different from what I saw every day here in State College, Pennsylvania. Instead of tractors in the fields (or even horses like the Amish) the rice fields were being plowed by Carabao, or water buffalo.
Chickens were wandering near homes in our neighborhood and the roosters woke us up each morning. I remember my brother having fun fashioning a trap with a box, a stick attached to a long string, and some bait to try to catch a chicken. As I recall, he was successful, but the neighbors were not too happy. Of course, he had to let them go and the chickens continued to wander the neighborhood.
We were offered the opportunity to “adopt” a pet monkey while we were visiting in the Philippines. This monkey had been living at a nearby lab and was probably used in experiments…who knows (remember, this was 1956)! She was being “retired” and we could have her for a pet for a few months.
She lived outside our back door and was chained just like a dog. Her sleeping area was a box high off the porch. She had a bar to run across and could reach the ground with the chain on. She would leap off the bar and then climb back up the chain to her perch. My brother loved putting her on his shoulder and walking around the house.
When we were first introduced to this monkey in the living room, she looked so sweet. Her long arms could wrap around your neck like a big stuffed animal. I was sitting on the couch with my legs crossed and we watched her explore.
As she moved around, I uncrossed my legs and ACCIDENTLY bopped her on the head! She instantly leaped on me in anger and started pulling my hair! Yikes Not fun!
She finally calmed down, and everyone felt that she would be OK, I had just surprised her. From that day forward, she did not like me. She was smart and knew when I was around. I stayed out of her way!
Several times over the next few months, she would get loose and run to the roof of the house. It was hard to get her to come back. Soooo…Mary became the bait!
I would stand on the porch and call her. She would come running across the rooftop, jump onto my shoulders and start pulling my hair, screeching all the time. Mark would quickly grab her off of me and take her away.
Needless to say, I was not sorry to see her go back to the lab when we were getting ready to leave. My brother had a nice pet for a few months, but I don’t have fond memories of the animal. I hope she had a good life…someplace else!
I’ve been told that the memories that “stick” are ones with strong emotions attached…good or bad. I guess that’s why this one stuck with me all these years!
One of the things I treasure from my parent’s generation was their foresight to save many written stories of their lives. Sometimes it was an envelope of letters from a loved one overseas, or stories they wrote for historical societies documenting life “back in the day” like my Grandfather did.
Sometimes, they specifically wrote “Autobiographies” with photographs, assembled in their later years. My mother had even saved a handwritten autobiography she wrote in high school (around 1926) that shared her life up to age 12 or so.
As I get older, I feel like I’ve let the next generation down. Somehow, I was never able to document my life adventures as it happened with daily journals. In 2013, I had written several letters to my grandchildren which summarized my early life. The first story, which I posted here on April 14, 2021, titled “Born in the middle of the story,” shared some of my earliest memories. This account of my visit to the pyramids in 1956, when I was just 9 years old, was the second story I wrote for them. After this, I’ll try to continue with more memories from years ago and build my “Book of memories from Grandma Mary.”
***
In 1956, when I was 9 years old, my family was visiting Cairo, Eqypt for a few days as we traveled from the Philippines to London. We had spent a year in the Philippines while my Dad worked at the University of the Philippines.
One of the places we visited was the pyramids and the Sphinx on the edge of the city of Cairo. I thought we were going to make a long drive out into the desert because in all the pictures I saw, the pyramids were way out in the desert. But the city had grown and was quite close by.
It was hot, noisy and unfamiliar. There were camels everywhere with colorful tassels, bells and blankets on them. When they walked the bells would jingle. The men leading the camels around offered to take us for a ride…for a price, I’m sure! My brother, Mark, wanted to take a camel ride. My sister, Jean, said she would sit on a camel. I wasn’t sure about it at all.
We went to some camels that were lying down on the ground. They didn’t look so big. First my brother got on the back of the camel. He didn’t seem scared at all. Then my sister tucked her skirt to look like pants (remember, in 1956 girls and women wore dresses not shorts in public) and got on another camel. Then I was lifted up to sit right in front of her. Much higher than I expected!
THEN the men had the camels STAND UP!
We were VERY high off the ground! The men holding the camels led us around a little. I held on tight but it felt like I was going to slide down the camel’s neck.
Finally, it was time to get off the camels. First, the men had to make the camels kneel down. The men took their canes and hit the camels in the back of their front knees to make them bend down. Of course, the camels didn’t like that! They made a terrible noise! It sounded like they had been hurt but the men didn’t seem to be worried.
Once their front legs were bent, they lowered their back legs to rest on the ground. Finally, I was lifted off the camel. What a ride!
Twenty years later I was teaching 5th grade in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania. That year we had a unit on Eqypt where we learned about the people who lived there long ago and built the pyramids. Most of the students had never seen a camel. In 1974 there was no zoo nearby. The students researched how big camels were and we built an almost-life-sized camel in our classroom. Bert helped by building a wooden frame. It was so big he had to build it in the classroom! Then we padded it with newspaper and covered it with paper mache’.
The students painted it brown and it was part of our class while we studied Eqypt. (I couldn’t find a picture of the finished camel.) We didn’t want to tear down our camel friend at the end of our studies of Eqypt so the floor under his belly became a cozy place to read. He kept us company the rest of the year!
***
Watch for more adventures from my past…posted under Around the Kisner Homestead: Memories from Grandma Mary.
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One of the things I treasure from my parent’s generation was their foresight to save many written stories of their lives. Sometimes it was an envelope of letters from a loved one overseas, or stories they wrote for historical societies documenting life “back in the day” like my Grandfather did.
Sometimes, they specifically wrote “Autobiographies” with photographs, assembled in their later years. My mother had even saved a handwritten autobiography she wrote in high school (around 1926) that shared her life up to age 12 or so.
Ruth at Eleven.
As I get older, I feel like I’ve let the next generation down. Somehow, I was never able to document my life adventures as it happened with daily journals. I did discover I had saved about 12 years of Christmas letters I had written over the years. What a treasure! And this week, while sorting through photographs and computer files, I found my first attempt at my own autobiography. In 2013, I had written several letters to my grandchildren which summarized my early life. I needed the focus of who was going to read the letters and since my grandchildren were just learning to read, I thought about them as I wrote.
I started with an assortment of photographs, hoping to show how as the youngest, I was joining a “family” that already had had many experiences. For a long time that was confusing to me. My sister would say, “Don’t you remember when…?” and it turned out it was before I was born!
I’d like to share that first letter I wrote to my grandchildren. It might encourage you to write your own letters!
April 17, 2013
Dear Aislinn, Annika, Ben and Anna,
My life story started when I was born in 1946 in New Jersey. Since I don’t remember those early years, thank goodness I have a few pictures of me when I was very small. I was born into a family that had been around for quite a few years already. My parents had been married for 11 years and had two children. They had already lived in Minnesota and New Jersey and apparently (from the picture) had a cat!
Bixby family of four.
Before I was a year old, we moved to State College, Pennsylvania. I don’t remember anything my family did before I was born. I had seen pictures of my sister and brother with grandparents, uncles and aunts that I had never met.
Mark, Grandma Cora, Jean.
Here is a picture of my sister and brother with our Grandma Cora Bixby. She was my Father’s Mother. This Grandmother died before I was born.
All this is to remind you that your family had adventures long before you born. Have them tell you stories about some of those adventures! It took me a long time to realize that I had joined the family somewhere in the middle of the story.
Here are some other pictures that show my sister feeding me and my brother playing with me on my new tricycle. Even today…both of us over 65 years old…my sister sometimes calls me her “baby sister.” That used to make me so mad because I’m all grown up now. She remembers me as a tiny baby and thought I was cute. So, I guess that’s OK.
Mark, Jean and Mary.Mary and Mark.Mary at 8 months.Mary on third birthday.Mark and Mary.Bixby family of five.
So…do you remember any early events in your life? Sometimes you can remember a feeling but sometimes you only remember seeing the picture. Don’t feel bad if you don’t remember things like your parents do. As them what they remember from being a baby. And then ask your Grandma or Grandpa to tell you a story about that time and see if your Mom or Dad remembers that story.
Sometimes all they remember is seeing the picture and hearing the story! Your parents were born in the middle of a story too!
Here is a picture of Ted and Kathy playing with a laundry basket. Kathy was 1 year old and Ted was 2 1/2. Ask them if they remember doing this, or if they just remember seeing the picture.
Ted and Kathy.
Never forget, your life story started when you were born. You might not remember the first few years, but pictures can reassure you that you were part of the family from the beginning!
Love, Grandma K.
So, don’t worry if you haven’t kept a daily journal! You can begin documenting your life story now. Start with some pictures and create a story around them. Your children and grandchildren will treasure them forever!
