Showing posts with label Out of Print Writings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Out of Print Writings. Show all posts

Friday, April 30, 2010

Sunday-afternoon Circle – Page 8, Part 1 and 2

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I am including two clippings today because they come from the same page and may follow each other in dates. They are designed to be a study guide for quiet Sunday afternoons. (Where did those go?) Answers to last week’s questions appear at the bottom so I’m not sure if one of these clippings answers the questions of another. One of the benefits we enjoy is the luxury of the internet. The answers to these questions are at our fingertips. I will be Googling them and then looking up the references.
I won’t be typing the text today as I believe it is clear enough to read here. If I can keep this kind of clarity for future posts, I’d rather not type out the text because I love seeing it and reading it in its original form and I imagine you do, too. If any of you that are following find it too difficult, just let me know and I can type it.
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©Copyright 2010

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Who Were The Bryans? Page 7 – Part 4

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This clipping interested Chastena enough to cut it out and paste it in her book. I wondered who these people were and why she found them worth remembering? They were the children of the great William Jennings Bryan, the famous Democrat who represented his party as the Presidential nominee, served as Secretary of State under Woodrow Wilson, and probably most famous for his role during the Scopes “Monkey” Trial. Finding out that Chastena admired him gave me yet more insight into my great great grandmother.
Wikipedia has this to say:
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William Jennings Bryan (March 19, 1860 – July 26, 1925) was the Democratic Party nominee for President of the United States in 1896, 1900 and 1908, a lawyer, and the 41st United States Secretary of State under President Woodrow Wilson. He was noted for a deep, commanding voice. Bryan was a devout Presbyterian, a supporter of popular democracy, a critic of banks and railroads, a leader of the silverite movement in the 1890s, a leading figure in the Democratic Party, a peace advocate, a prohibitionist, an opponent of Darwinism, and one of the most prominent leaders of populism in the late 19th and early 20th century. Because of his faith in the goodness and rightness of the common people, he was called "The Great Commoner."
In the intensely fought 1896 and 1900 elections, he was defeated by William McKinley but retained control of the Democratic Party. For presidential candidates, Bryan invented the national stumping tour. In his three presidential bids, he promoted Free Silver in 1896, anti-imperialism in 1900, and trust-busting in 1908, calling on Democrats, in cases where corporations are protected, to abandon states' rights, to fight the trusts and big banks, and embrace populist ideas. President Woodrow Wilson appointed him Secretary of State in 1913, but Wilson's handling of the Lusitania crisis in 1915 caused Bryan to resign in protest.
He was a strong supporter of Prohibition in the 1920s, and energetically attacked Darwinism and evolution, most famously at the Scopes Trial in 1925. Five days after winning the case but getting bad press, he died in his sleep.[1]
Bryan opposed the Theory of Evolution for two reasons. First he believed that what he considered a materialistic account of the descent of man through evolution undermined the Bible. Second, he saw neo-Darwinism or Social Darwinism as a great evil force in the world promoting hatreds and conflicts, especially the World War.[
To read the full account of his life and politics, you can link here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Jennings_Bryan
©Copyright 2010

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The Squirrel’s Arithmetic – Page 7 – Part 2 and 3

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As we continue with the book, the family history is growing. Utilizing my membership with the Daughters of The American Revolution (DAR), I have been able to identify this branch of our family. Little did I know how the Lila/Chastena book would lead me, literally, to the doorstep of so much more family history.
It has become obvious that this book didn’t belong to Lila alone. There is another owner and it would have been her mother, my great great grandmother. Her name was Chastena O. Alcock Richardson and her husband was Horance J. Richardson. Horance came from Illinois and was born Oct. 28, 1855. He died April 1931 in Los Angeles. That was the same year my father, Douglas Richard, was born in Los Angeles. At some point, Marjorie and Bradley, my paternal grandparents, and Lila and F. Ray, my paternal great grandparents moved to Los Angeles from Oelwein, Iowa. It must have been in the late 1920’s or very early 30’s. I don’t know what brought them out here but surmise it was Lila’s sons who owned property here. My grandparents and great grandparents obviously moved back to Iowa, but why and how I do not YET know. My mother would meet my father in Oelwein as a teenager, in the late 1940’s, and they wouldn’t come out to California until the early 1950’s.
Chastena, Lila’s mother, and my great great grandmother, came from Masonville, Iowa. She was born December 29, 1863. She died December 24, Christmas Eve, 1925. Chastena obviously passed “our” book down to Lila where she continued to add to it with the last entry being three years after Chastena’s death. She would have then passed it to Marjorie, my grandmother, who gave it to Sandra, her daughter, who passed it to me. When I think of all of the hands it COULD have ended up in (with seven children and scores of grandchildren – great and great great) I am even more honored to have this special piece of history. My Aunt Sandy states that Chastena was reported to have been profoundly deaf and not just in old age. I don’t know why but that makes my book even more special to me. Perhaps it was one of the only ways she could fully express herself.
I hope you’re happy with what I’m doing with your book, my great grandmothers. :) I love you and look forward to meeting you in Heaven. And Lila? Your love of Judy, my sister, will always be a great warmth and comfort to me. Your daughter, my grandmother, Marjorie, never liked her and degraded her mercilessly as a tiny girl. She, along with others, played a part in her suicide. I am glad that Judy is with you now where she is loved and happy. What happened to Marjorie to make her who she became is a subject for another day.
(I am making an exception today and adding two clippings because the second is so sweet about grandmothers – my two greats are the ones I’m thinking of.)
THE SQUIRREL’S ARITHMETIC.
_______________
HIGH on the branch of a walnut tree
A bright-eyed squirrel sat;
What was he thinking so earnestly?
And what was he looking at?
He was doing a problem o’er and o’er;
Busily thinking was he
How many nuts for his winter’s store
Could he hide in the hollow tree.
He sat so still in the swaying bough
You might have thought him asleep:
Oh, no; he was trying to reckon now
The nuts the babies could eat.
Then suddenly he frisked about,
(the poem is disintegrated here and only gives me pieces of the words “-an and doubt” but the rest is lost so I’ll make it up!)
Then suddenly he frisked about,
And up the tree he r-an,
He gathered nuts, without a doubt,
Because a father does all he can!
___________________________________________________________
Waking Grandma
Mamma said, “Little one, go and see
If grandmother’s ready to come to tea,”
I knew I mustn’t disturb her, so
I stepped so gently on tiptoe.
And stood a moment to take a peep-
And there was grandmother fast asleep.
I knew it was time for her to wake;
I thought I’d give her a little shake,
Or tap at her door, or softly call;
But I hadn’t the heart for that at all-
She looked so sweet and so quiet there,
Lying back in her high arm chair,
With her dear white hair and a little smile
That means “She’s loving you all the
while.”
I didn’t make a speck of noise;
I knew she was dreaming of little boys
And girls who lived with her long ago,
And then went to Heaven-she had told me
so.
I went up close and I didn’t speak
One word, but I gave her on her cheek
The softest bit of a little kiss.
Just in a whisper, and then said this:
Grandma, dear, it’s time for tea.”
She opened her eyes and looked at me
And said, “Why, pet, I have just now
dreamed
Of a little angel who came and seemed
To kiss me lovingly on my face” -
She pointed right at the very place.
I never told her ‘twas only me-
I took her hand and went to tea.
-Exchange
©Copyright 2010

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

The Woman Behind The Man – Page 7 – Part 1

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In this next piece we see a woman who very much realizes the work she does and wants a voice about it. I can’t help but think this is true or this particular work wouldn’t have been selected to grace the pages of her book. I don’t know who wrote it, no credit is given, but she had a bone to pick. It’s idealistic but speaks to the hardships of women, while diminishing the efforts of men. I think her life must have been a difficult one, without much help or acknowledgment from her husband and Chastena must have shared her sentiment. Of course, it’s also possible that a man wrote this and saw the struggles women went through.
I’ve researched this poem and can find no copies of it or mention of it but the saying is certainly famous. Did that saying come from this long-lost poem? This makes it even more important to save. I realize the book, and blog, have become a preservation project not only for my grandmothers and my children, but for the public. Many of these works might be lost forever if not for people who cut them out and kept them back in the day.


The Woman Behind The Man
I’ve been a readin’ these months past
‘Bout a man behind a hoe:
An’ a man behind a grip-sack
With lots o’ snap an’ go!
Then the man behind the engine,
An’ a man behind the ball,
But one soul hain’t been mentioned
That you bet can beat ‘em all.
Right a gettin’ down to bedrock,
If it hadn’t been for Eve
All the hoeing Adam ever’d done
You could put it right up your sleeve.
An’ I guess that poor old Noah
Wouldn’t thought it very fine
To hoe around his grapes all day,
An’ mosey out to dine.
A’ then a comin’ right on down
To this ‘ere time o’ ourn,
You’d find the men a sorry lot,
Without their right-hand-bowers!
Who is it gets up with the lark
An’ cooks an’ scrubs an’ cleans,
While way out ‘near the spreadin’ oak
Her man rest on his jeans?
His work can wait, but her’s cannot,
And while he hoes the corn,
She does a hundred different things
An’ at 12 she blows the horn.
An’ when at night the hoin’s is done
An’ lays down to rest,
Who is it tired and weary-worn,
Lulls the baby on her breast?
An sews, a talkin’ low to Tom
How he must sleep, an’ grow
To be a big, strong boy right soon,
So he can help paw hoe.
An’ if perchance his country calls,
The man drops his hoe to go,
Who is it then picks up the tool
An’ finishes out the row?
An’ when, all battle-scarred and maimed,
He comes back, one arm gone,
Who is it hopes an’ sings an’ prays,
A hoeing right along?
Ah! talk about your boys an’ men
An’ praise ‘em all yer can,
But remember, the man’s behind the hoe
An’ the woman’s behind the man!
©Copyright 2010

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Page 5 – Part 3 - Humor

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Today we get a glimpse of Lila’s funny bone. This obviously tickled her enough to include it:
Old mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
And unto her dog did beck,
She was looking up high,
For a piece of pie,
And the dog barked “rubber neck.”
Yeah, me either, but this was over a hundred years ago so, hahahahahahahahahaha! :-)
©Copyright 2010

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Page 5 – Part 2

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The next clipping has no credit or title but it may be a literal battle inspiration of wars fought. It would also appear to be a metaphor for the Christian walk.
There is no escape by the river;
There is no flight left by the fen;
We are compassed about by the shiver
Of the night of their marching men.
Give a cheer!
For our hearts shall not give away.
Here’s to a dark tomorrow
And here’s to a brave today!
The tale of their hosts is countless
And the tale of ours a score;
But the palm is naught to the dautnless (sic)
And the cause is more and more
Give a cheer!
We may die, but not give way.
Here’s to a silent morrow
And here’s to a stout today.
God has said, “Ye shall fail and perish;
But the thrill ye have felt tonight
I shall keep in my heart and cherish
When the worlds have passed in night.”
Give a cheer!
For the soul shall not give way.
Here’s to the great tomorrow
That is born of a great today!
Now the shame on the craven truckler
And the pulling things that mope!
We’ve rapture for our buckler
That outwears the wings of hope.
Give a cheer!
For our joy shall not give way,
Here’s in the teeth of tomorrow
To the glory of today. ----Selected.
________________
Can you imagine writings such as this in any newspaper you currently receive?
©Copyright 2010