Vintage Photo Friday

One of the things that I really enjoy in doing genealogy is finding out things we didn't know. Like this lady, Fannye Lupkin. We had no idea that great-aunt Fannye had been a beauty queen until I ran across this old newspaper photo online*.

It turns out that 18 year old Fannye was the 1924 Queen of the Arkansas State Fair, and Miss Arkansas at the American Legion National Convention in St. Paul, Minnesota.

You can't really tell just what she looked like, from this clipping ('Humph!' said the Camel) so here is a better photo from a few years later.

I can see her as a beauty queen.

To see other vintage photos check out Paper Dolls for Boys.
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*From the Iowa City Press-Citizen. Caption reads: BEAUTY QUEEN OF ARKANSAS - Miss Fannie Lupkin of Helena, Arkansas has been selected by Florenz Ziegfield, Jr. as Queen of Arkansas State Fair. She acted as "Miss Arkansas" at American Legion National Convention in St. Paul, Minn. (Int'l Newsreel)

Sometimes it's really nice that the past is past.

Well, well, well. Guess who signed my guestbook at *one of the many high school reconnect sites*?

Back in 5th grade my family picked up and moved to another state. I wasn't wildly thrilled to move - I left my best friend behind and thought I'd never be happy again - but I started to adjust. Happily for me, a few weeks after school started a new family, with a girl my age, moved into our ward*. Better yet, the girl was going to the same school I was going to. A friend, a friend! We would be best friends and spend all our time together, and have lots and lots of fun! I was so excited.

Yeah. Not really.

We got along OK. For a while. I'm not sure what caused the change, but before long she started picking on me. She got other kids involved. Eventually I found that I had no friends at all, not at school, not at church. People would get up and move away if I sat down by them. People threw things at me, yelled names at me - and here's the kicker: blamed me for the way they were treating me. It was all because I was weird, they said, too weird to be treated like a human being.

She kept this up for five years, the entire time we lived in that town. Anyone new was warned that if they befriended me they'd get the same treatment I was getting. Even going on to junior high school didn't help - she spread more poison there. By the time we moved, I had given up hope, was convinced no-one would ever love or be friends with me, and I was even considering suicide.

Now, please understand - all this is absolutely ancient history now. I don't hurt over those things, and I don't even feel angry with her. I forgave her a long time ago.

Those experiences had a huge impact in making me who I am, though, for good as well as bad, and I've thought about her several times over the years, wondering whatever happened to her. I even tried to Google her a few months ago.

And now, here she is, looking me up. I wonder what she thought when she saw my name on there. Does she ever feel guilty about what she did? Does she even realize how badly she hurt me? When she read my profile was she relieved my life has turned out so well, that she didn't ruin my life? Was she glad for me? Or does she still hate me?

Her profile gave her married name. Yeah, I did a search. I admit it.

She didn't come up anywhere. That's probably just as well. Obsession and stalking - not a good way to hang onto forgiveness and peace of mind.
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*Wards and Branches. Members of the Church are organized into congregations that meet together frequently for spiritual and social enrichment. Large congregations are called wards. Each ward is presided over by a bishop, assisted by two counselors. Small congregations are called branches. Each branch is presided over by a branch president, assisted by two counselors.

How many steps? *shrug* I dunno.

"I’ve had cheap pedometers and expensive pedometers, and I just must walk weird, because I’ve never yet had one that was remotely accurate." (Quoting myself, from a comment over on Segullah. )

My first pedometer was a very nice one, a gift from my mother when I was complaining to her about my post baby weight. It was nice, but I had the darndest time keeping it on. It had a very small clip and had a tendency to flip off my waistband every time I bent over, and since (as a mother) I bend over many, many times during the day... I kept using it longer than I would have, just because it came from my mother (Hi, Mom!) and her thoughtfulness really touched me.

Then we moved, and it disappeared, so a while later I picked up another one, cheap. Very, very cheap. It was also the best one I've ever had, as long as I wore it on my pocket instead of my waist band. That way it managed to count about 7 or 8 out of every 10 steps. Unfortunately, a pocket is not the most secure location. One day I went to look at my numbers and the pedometer wasn't there. I went back to the store to buy another one, but they weren't selling that kind anymore.

Since I was already there, I bought the replacement cheapo, but it was horrible. I could take 10 steps and wind up with the pedometer counting only 1 step. Or 3 steps. Or 4. (Never as high as 7 or 8, though.) It didn't matter where on my waistband or pocket I put it - the only way I could get an accurate count out of it was to hold it in the palm of my hand. Not exactly convenient for someone who rarely goes 10 minutes without plunging her hands into hot water.*

My fourth was more expensive, but just as inaccurate as the cheapo, with a tendency to reset itself at unpredictable intervals. And so it has gone with every pedometer since then, leading me to conclude that either I am doing something wrong with the pedometers, or I walk weird.

I'm inclined to the "walks weird" hypothesis.
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*Just life - not OCD. The results of doing things like wiping off counters, cleaning toilets, wiping off messy faces, preparing an inestimable number of meals, snacks, and drinks, mopping floors, washing dishes, doing laundry - seriously, have you ever considered just how many parts of motherhood involve water?

My local Walmart is, ummm, "special".

I went to pick up my new glasses today. After all, Walmart had called me to say that they were ready to be picked up. It was reasonable to assume I could go in and get them, right?

On the other hand, I also though it was reasonable to pick up something on the shelf at Walmart and try to buy it.*

So, there I am in the Walmart Vision Center, watching while the very nice white-haired little old lady who works there is pulling out the box that holds my new glasses. She looks at the contents, then says to me, "All right. I need your glasses."

And I start to take off my glasses.** Then I pause. Something isn't making sense. "Why?"

"To put your new lenses in."

"No," I tell her. "I bought - and my insurance paid for - new frames. The new lenses should be in new frames. Where are my new frames?"

Much searching ensues. No frames.

"Do you see it here, dear?" she asks me.

I look at the two walls full of glasses frames (which have been rearranged since the last time I was there, so I can't even look in the same place) and try to remember exactly what the frames looked like.

"They were $62?" I offer, feeling wildly inadequate. I look some more. There are way too many frames that look very similar to the one I picked out. None of them seem right, though - the shape of the lenses doesn't quite seem to fit the shape of any of the frames I'm looking at. "Doesn't it say anywhere which frames I ordered?"

She shows me the piece of paper with all my glasses information recorded in blue ballpoint. "It just gives a number, dear."

I memorize the number and start looking at the tags on the frames. The format of the numbers on the tags don't match the format of the number on my order record.

I falter at this point, not really know where to go from here. The Little Old Lady finally goes to the computer and looks up the number. It's bad news, though.

"We don't have those frames here, dear. They're gone. You'll have to pick out new frames."

What? I turn and look at the hundreds of frames lining the walls. I can hardly see without my glasses on. Choosing a new set of frames involves getting so close to the mirror that I can't use both eyes at once, much less see my whole face. It's not easy to get a good idea of how the new glasses will look on me.

In other words, I hate picking out new frames. Doing it all over again, after going through the whole torturous process just last week ... My heart quails. I just want my money back. Can I, though? Or has this already wound its way through the insurance system beyond recall or refund?

"Can I just get my money back?" I ask. "Or am I stuck?"

"Oh, you're not stuck, dear."

It wasn't as easy as I might have hoped, but eventually I did get a refund to my credit card. My prescription was restored to me. My insurance will be cleared by tomorrow, if not sooner.

And then I will have the wonderful opportunity of gathering my willpower together and going through the entire process all over again. Hopefully, this time will be successful.
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*It was cleaning solution for my Clorox mop. They came and took it away from me when I was at the cash register and told me they weren't allowed to sell it. When I asked why, they said something about it being recalled.

Really? Because there were no recalls issued that I could find. And the other Walmart in town is still selling it, no problem.

I probably don't want to know, do I?


**I learned to be obedient when I was young. I've been spending the rest of my life unlearning it. Just say no, Jennifer!

I Need A Hunting Blind

Youngest Girl Child is outside on the swingset, intent on whatever game of make-believe she is playing. She waves her hand over her head, looking rather like she is trying to do some fly-fishing; then she will bring her elbows close to her side, hands in fists in front of her chest as her lips move rapidly. Her feet beat in some complicated rhythm against the ground under her and she twists the swing from side to side, making a series of Xs with the chains.

I am watching from the window over the kitchen sink, trying to record some video of her. The screen over the window mars my movie with moire patterns, though, and I don't think it will turn out. I turn over other possibilities, but this is the only option I can find that won't alert her to my observation. The instant she sees me with a camera, this moment will be lost, and all I will have are a series of coy smiles, flounces, and mugs.

When Oldest Girl Child was a baby I could never take a photo of her smiling. She would be all smiles and laughs - until I put the camera in front of my face. She would immediately lose the smile, her eyes growing big, concern flooding her features. "Where is Mommy?" her body language shouted. "Where has she gone?"

Necessity has taught me to be a master of stealth photography. But not today. Today I just have a messy jumble of screening and water spots.

Maybe if I use my phone? I could quietly open the back door and stand there with my phone casually in my hand ...

Another Great Quote

"...even if they saw him, he must look like just one more in a place full of weary and perturbed guests who had long exhausted every welcome except the one to leave."

Alphabet of Thorn
Patricia A. McKillip

Tails, I Win

One of the advantages of being a stay at home mom is lazy mornings snuggling with little people. Cuddled up to Mommy, they'll talk and talk, pouring out every thought that crosses their minds. I try to encourage this as much as possible; when they're teenagers I want them to be used to long conversations with me. Not that I have much hope of actual conversation during those years, but I figure if we've got an established habit to work with I might have some faint possibility of getting more than eye-rolls out of them.

Hey, at least I've got a plan. Meanwhile I enjoy the fruits of my machinations.

From morning conversation with Youngest Girl Child:

"Mommy, you sing the alphabet and then I'll sing the alphabet."

We did that, with YGC's version ending, "... Q R X, T U V, W X, Y AND Z ..."

As she explained to me, "It sounds better with two Xs."

Later she asked, "Mommy, why do buffalopes not have any tails?"

Trying to recall if buffaloes had tails, I replied, "I don't know, sweetie. Heavenly Father just made them that way, I guess."

She thought for a moment, then said, "I've never seen a buffalope, so I don't know if they have tails or not."

Yep. That makes a difference.

Exploring Career Options: Yes, Your Majesty

Oldest Girl Child informs me that they are having Career Day soon at school. She also informs me that she has changed her mind about what career she wants to have. Before today she wanted to be a Queen or a mother. This morning she changed her mind, and has decided that she wants to be an animal rescuer. (This would be inspired by Diego, for those of you who do not have small TV watchers in your home.)

She is especially interested in rescuing kittens. Indeed, she was so inspired by the thought of cute, cuddly, furry, purring little kittens that she threw herself into my arms and exclaimed, "Kittens! Kittens! Kittens!" over and over in complete rapture.

Something tells me she isn't quite ready to start volunteering at the local Humane Society shelter.

May Flowers (And Vegetables)

My peas are finally growing, and so is the lettuce. I don't know what's happened to the corn. There is no sign of it. I'm going to replant and see if I can get it to sprout this time.

I have some tomato and pepper plants that I bought at the local nursery. It wasn't until after I paid for them that the nursery owner warned me not to plant them that day; it was supposed to get below freezing that night, and she hadn't hardened them off at all yet.So they are still in their black plastic, way overdue to be planted because it has been raining and chilly and I have just not felt like doing anything about it. I also have some cilantro and a rosemary plant to get in the ground. It's taken me awhile there because I have been agonizing about where to put my new herb garden.

The strawberry plants are blossoming very prettily, and the blueberry bushes are covered with white flowers. The ones that survived the winter. One of them is dead. Drat.

The flower seeds I bought through Oldest Girl Child's school fundraiser never sprouted, either. Did I buy bad corn and flower seed, or am I just bad at gardening? I think I am just bad at gardening. No problems, though, because I went and bought some petunia and dianthus plants and put them in the new flower bed around the tree.

I adore dianthus. I think they are just the prettiest flowers, right up there with daisies. Daylilies complete my favorites. The old-fashioned orange daylilies, the kind that grow wild in ditches. Although I am also rather fond of the Blackberry lilies a friend gave me a few years ago. They are in a segregated bed, since they tend to take over, she told me.


The Latest From the Fashion Runways

Every school morning we have scripture study / reading time before Oldest Girl Child goes to school. We would, and should, do this on non-school days, but it's easier to wrangle family members on a school morning, and I tend to forget about it on non-school mornings.

Yesterday morning, the Love of My Life was able to join us.* Youngest Girl Child was unrousable** so OGC sat between her parents as the three of us took turns reading a verse at a time.

She was acting strangely, though, sitting with her scriptures balanced on her lap, her hands firmly tucked into her pants pockets. She refused to hold her book, or follow the line with her finger as she usually does.

Then she had to pull a hand out to turn the page. I saw a quick glimpse of blue-green fingernails before she could tuck her hand back into her pocket. Mystery solved! I glanced over at her father and got a nod in return. He'd seen the fingernails. Then we had to look away from each other to keep from laughing.

Usually my children use crayon to color their fingernails; this time it was permanent marker, so she went off to school with her oh-so-lovely nails intact. Also her blue-green cuticles. And a goodly portion of the skin around her nails.

At least she didn't try to cut her hair.
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*Always a delight when that happens. A crazy work schedule means he usually is either on the road or sleeping during this time.

** Which is going to make kindergarten an exciting time for her and me.