Sally Mudd

November 29, 2016

Grandma Pohlmeyer’s death and funeral were quite the experiences for a just turned four year old. But I’m going to save that for another day. Today I want to tell you about Sally Mudd. Being a sharecropper’s daughter had some disadvantages. One, being poor; I mean really poor. Three room shack, wind whistling through the cracks in the walls, no electricity, no indoor plumbing, looking at the stars through the cracks in the ceiling, scorpions making themselves at home in your bed, outhouse poor. My grandfather Pohlmeyer wanted me to have a doll. He instructed my Aunt Maggie to buy…

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A Special Gift for a very Grown Up Four Year Old

November 22, 2016

It was like twinkling stars encircling my wrist. My birthday gift from papa and grandma Pohlmeyer was a beautiful silver bracelet with little star cut-outs in the metal and a tiny stone in each one. My grandmother Pohlmeyer wore black, walked with a cane and her hair was pulled back and anchored high up in a bun with little wisps of white curls framing her face. I was three years old and considered grown-up enough to have a special gift. Grandma made sure I knew this was not a “play” bracelet and must be treated with great care. This was…

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My First Train Ride

November 15, 2016

The sound of the train whistle penetrated the darkness like a lost soul crying out to his or her God. I don’t remember much about my first train ride but I do remember how I felt when I heard the sound of the whistle. My Aunt Laura, along with her son, Keith, was on her way from Brenham to Corpus Christi. The year was 1946. I was traveling with them and I was three years old.  Our grandparents would be celebrating their Golden Wedding Anniversary in just a few days. They were married on November 26, 1896 in the little…

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A Real “Cry Baby”

November 8, 2016

I was born with a mineral deficiency which made me a little cranky. To hear my brother tell it, I was an insufferable brat. He was nine years older than me. So, I’m thinking that had a little something to do with his perspective. We are the only living children. Anyway, when he could not bear my crying any longer, he moved to the corn crib. Yes, you read that correctly. I said the corn crib. That’s farmer talk for the barn where you keep the corn. Not sure how long he stayed there. No one was ever clear about…

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My First Christmas Morning

November 1, 2016

Mama and I spent my first Christmas morning at home wrapped in a quilt and sitting in a rocking chair as close to our little wood heater as we could safely sit. Daddy and my big brother, Joe, had gone to church in our Model A Ford. The outside temperature was 19 degrees and the wind was howling. Who knows what the wind chill factor was. The shack that we called home was built on a rocky hilltop surrounded by pasture land that offered no windbreak. The wind whistled through the cracks in the walls. She told me years later…

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