Searchfortreasure's Blog

…a Bible student's notes…

Conversations with my GRANDdaughter…

Grandma, when and where were you born?”

Soooooo glad you asked! 4802 13th Ave., Chattanooga, TN. No zip code back then – on August 30th, 1942, on a Sunday. It wasn’t dark at 6:00 pm when my crying broke the sound barrier of the singing in the church across the street. That was the time for the assembly of Training Union back then. All windows were open – no air conditioning at home or the church (or our cars, for that matter). Most babies were born at home in those days, I reckon. Mama hated hospitals. My grandma Duggan lived with us and she said doctors and hospitals would kill us. So, the doctor came to the gabled-roofed, white house, on 13th avenue – front bedroom. Mom and Dad had bought it, along with the out house, a couple of years before I was born. It had no underpinning, so they rode out in the country a lot, gathering rocks and stones worthy of their endeavor. (There is a black and white photo on the piano of my mom holding me while kneeling in front of the new, stone, underpinning. Oh, it’s a cute picture of me, and all, but I like the memory of the underpinning. I liked hearing how they built it – the hard work – their togetherness working on the project. Oh, I cherish the laughter on my face because my dad is taking the photo. He was my “heart heart” and I was his “sweetheart.” More later about that.)

The first project, though, was putting in the inside bathroom. My dad did it all, I think. He could do anything and everything. He had strong arms and a mind to work. He loved projects. Mom used to tease that he broke things just so he could find out how they worked and fix them back – uh, most of the time. (Maybe I can get to that, later.)

In addition to the doctor’s presence, there was Betty Taylor from next door and Mrs. Ladd from down the street. Betty Taylor just died last year at the age of 99. Don’t know about Mrs. Ladd’s death, but I loved her dearly. She had a big wrap-around porch and had a big lap to match it. Sitting in her lap, I felt loved on the soft folds of her body; and as I got old enough, I was allowed to walk down to her house by myself.

My grandma was present, also. Can’t remember if she was the one who washed me so as to be presentable to my mama, or not. 🙂 But, ugly – me, not grandma. Bright red, sensitive skin, jagged finger nails, covered in fuzzy light “hair,” a bald head with just a preview of fine red hair. Mama exclaimed, “Oh, my, isn’t she…….ugly!”

(I was there when you were born, also. Another time…)

Hey! The house still stands – must be about 75 years old – I was born there 69 years ago. Wanna’ see it? When you get your car back, you can drive me down there. It is just over the hill. I saw some folks from Mexico standing on the porch last time I was down there.

 

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June 29, 2011 - Posted by | About, Conversations with my GRANDdaughter

1 Comment »

  1. Great. I can hardly wait to hear more!

    Comment by Bob Patterson | June 29, 2011 | Reply


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