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| A dress just wasn't complete without a lace collar |
When I was
fourteen years old (1933) I crocheted lace collars and sold them for a dime
apiece. A dime was a lot of money in those depression days. I often helped my
elderly neighbor quilt when I went to see her. But that day I took my lace work to do
while I visited.
“Don’t bring
that inside” she said, “Shame on you for working on the Sabbath!”
I sure was
surprised. I had watched her feed her chickens. She would point her finger at
an old hen, call her by her name, and yell “DAMN IT - SHOOO! You’ve eat more than yur
share!” Would you believe that each chicken knew its name and minded her!
No wonder that I was surprised at her for keeping the Sabbath Holy that day, especially as I had heard when she was so angry at her son for smoking in bed. He had burned a huge hole in a quilt we had made. She called him, her own son, a whore-hoppin’ son-of-a-bitch!
Ten years later (1943) her 42 year old son she had called a whore-hoppin’ son-of-a-bitch was drafted into the war. He was not in good health, but he had to fight through Africa,
His poor old mother was left to survive on six dollars a month from our government. Food was rationed. The only people with a little money were the ones working in defense plants making ammunition or other supplies for the soldiers.
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| The woman's son lived for many years and loved to talk about D-Day |
