View allAll Photos Tagged KeepingPromises
Uploaded on May 28, 2006. My mother, Martha Jane, died 5 years ago today. I was not able to afford to keep my promise to take her ashes back to Texas and bury them with my father's ashes, until October of 2001. But I did do what I said. Six years before my Mom died, my father died, also in May. He wanted his ashes buried at the foot of his grandparent's graves. He didn't get his very exact wish, but pretty close. My mother and I did not like that his grave was unmarked for 6 years. I asked my mother when her time came, where did she want to be buried? She hedged a bit, about maybe the church in Kerrville, Texas, or maybe up in Washington State. Finally she admitted that she really wanted to have her ashes with my father's ashes. They were so tightly enmeshed for 56 years that it seemed appropriate to have them together again. I promised my mother, that not only would I bury her ashes with Dad's ashes, but I would get the best marker I could afford for both of them. It was interesting that she went completely over to his side of the family, as my father did. Her remains rest with my Dad, HIS parents, HIS grandparents, and a cousin, and some brothers of my Dad's that died over 100 years ago, before he was born. One reason I didn't put her maiden name on the headstone, was that she really kind of gave up on that side. Don't get me wrong. She has given me a lot of pictures, and stories, and history about her side of the family. She just didn't socialize very much with them.
It was quite a trip, a real adventure, stoic and funny, and scenic and thought provoking. Insightful too. Historical and genealogical as well. So much! Five thousand and sixty miles in 10 days. Good weather almost all the time.
There is much more to this story, and I do want to write more, one part will be called "The Shovel and the Banana". I ended up finally writing it on November 17, 2006, and calling it "The Banana & the Shovel", and posting it here on Flickr.
I want to tell about the "Stardust". I want to give some idea of how cold and cruel and warm and sentimental, and utterly devoid of feelings, and pretty, and neglectful, unreasonable, and sweet she could be. She would not defend me from false accusations my father made about me, even in front of a dinner party crowd, or should I say especially in front of a dinner party crowd. She would much rather not argue with my Dad, so she left the impression that I was a liar. These things stung and hurt so badly over the years, but as she approached eighty years old, she got nicer. My father was too ill to go on a trip with us: so I flew from Oregon to Texas, picked my mother up in Houston, and she and I had our first trip as adults to go somewhere, just the two of us. My mother became a true companion, a Mom, and fun and cooperative and nice. I urge anyone who has read this far, do not wait until you are 80 to be nice to your children! We had some hurtful occasions the last 6 years of her life, but mostly we had the kinds of times I had wanted forever. We talked and laughed. My mother is the one who finally showed some faith in me about my photography, and said she wanted to to be able to put pictures on Ebay like other people did (I used to do Ebay a lot!). She bought me a Sony Mavica FD-71, my first digital camera, and I thought it was absolutely wonderful. I could take a picture and put the disk in my computer and upload in very little time. I found a place I could get diskettes for about 2 cents a picture. She was proud of a photo show I had, and my notecards I made up by hand with laser prints of my work. I was successful on Ebay. We just had a mutually supportive relationship. She still drank a lot (both of my folks were alcoholic) but not much at all when we traveled together. My father would hardly ever allow my mother to go anywhere with me, unless he came along too. If he weren't interested, she couldn't go. If I went to try clothes on when I was a young girl and teenager, he had to be sitting right outside of the waiting room with her. Seldom could I ask her any mother/daughter type advice or little jokes. I went to one play with her in my entire life. So I treasure the last 6 years of her life, and I am glad I could be there with her in the hospital when she died. She died in Washington State, and I went up there from Oregon on a bus. I did not have a car at the time. The bus let me off in a scary part of town, and it was after midnight, and my brother was late picking me up. It wasn't really even a station you could go into at that hour, and sit, or use vending machines, or use a restroom. I just stood out by the street while the passengers from the bus gradually left the scene. Soon it was just me and the seamier side of life. I was so scared, not to mention wondering if I would make it there before my mother died. My brother picked me up and made light of me being scared, and said he wasn't that late, blah blah. I wanted to go directly to the hospital, but he insisted that we go back to his and his wife's apartment and stay the night, and then go up the 30 someodd mile drive. I didn't have 10 cents to get home on. My brother had paid my bus ticket. At first I thought he did it for me, but as the days went by, I think he did it because he could not take dealing with my mother dying by himself or with just his wife there. He needed me to be there. My mother had an older Lincoln, a great big tank of a car, but it ran, and when we went to see her the next day, he shoved a title toward her, and said, Mom, sign this! Dee Dee (that is my nickname) needs a car! and you don't! My Mom signed, the last thing she ever wrote in her life. She died a few hours later. My brother had one hand and I had the other. My sister-in-law was at the foot of her bed. My other brother, we couldn't locate to have him be there.
There is more here, about her room and her death, and the nurses, and the doctor and the flowers floating in the trees, and a lock of hair, etc. I'll add stuff as I feel I can.
I was able to drive back to Oregon to my home, in her old car. It wasn't great, but it was a whole lot better than nothing. I had to use it one more time to go back up to Washington State and pick up my mother's ashes. Her old Lincoln lasted long enough until I got a settlement and was able to buy a new truck.The new truck was what I used to drive back to Texas, with the container of ashes in the back seat. I sold the Lincoln for about what I had spent on repairs on it.
One thing my mother did like when my brothers and I were little, was to go on what she called "junkets". Dad would have to work or something, and she had different days off sometimes; so she would drive us places like the Mystery Spot near Santa Cruz, or the Winchester House in San Jose. Things like that. She got "junket" fever from her grandfather, who I have mentioned several places on my site, Kaye W. Dawson. I believe she passed it on to me, and I have passed it on to my daughter as well, who most likely will pass it to Anna Leigh.
(556f100901momdadheadstoneresamadj)
"G" is for GROVES, my maiden name
Uploaded on May 28, 2006. My mother, Martha Jane, died 5 years ago today. I was not able to afford to keep my promise to take her ashes back to Texas and bury them with my father's ashes, until October of 2001. But I did do what I promised. Six years before my Mom died, my father died, also in May. He wanted his ashes buried at the foot of his grandparents' graves. He didn't get his very exact wish, but pretty close. My mother and I did not like that his grave was unmarked for 6 years. I asked my mother when her time came, where did she want to be buried? She hedged a bit, about maybe the church in Kerrville, Texas, or maybe up in Washington State. Finally she admitted that she really wanted to have her ashes with my father's ashes. They were so tightly enmeshed for 56 years that it seemed appropriate to have them together again. I promised my mother, that not only would I bury her ashes with Dad's ashes, but I would get the best marker I could afford for both of them. It was interesting that she went completely over to his side of the family, as my father did. One reason I didn't put her maiden name on the headstone, was that she really kind of gave up on that side. Don't get me wrong; she has given me a lot of pictures, and stories, and history about her side of the family. She just didn't socialize very much with them. She wasn't really allowed to socialize with much of anybody actually. When they social-climbed she could be friendly at charity balls and such. She could be as nice as pie to my Dad's side of the family, but never could she just go out, like for lunch or shopping with just her sister-in-law, my favorite Aunt Dorothy.
It was quite a trip, a real adventure, stoic and funny, and scenic and thought provoking. Insightful too. Historical and genealogical as well. So much! Five thousand and sixty miles in 10 days. Good weather almost all the time.
There is much more to this story, and I do want to write more, one part will be called "The Shovel and the Banana".
I want to tell about the "Stardust". I want to give some idea of how cold and cruel and warm and sentimental, and utterly devoid of feelings, and pretty, and neglectful, unreasonable, and sweet she could be. She would not defend me from false accusations my father made about me, even in front of a dinner party crowd, or should I say especially in front of a dinner party crowd. She would much rather not argue with my Dad, so she left the impression that I was a liar. These things stung and hurt so badly over the years, but as she approached eighty years old, she and my father was too ill to go on a trip with us, my mother became a true companion, a Mom, and fun and cooperative and nice. I urge anyone who has read this far, do not wait until you are 80 to be nice to your children! We had some hurtful occasions the last 6 years of her life, but mostly we had the kinds of times I had wanted forever. We talked and laughed. My mother is the one who finally showed some faith in me about my photography, and said she wanted me to to be able to put pictures on E-bay like other people did (I used to do E-bay a lot!). She bought me a Sony Mavica FD-71, my first digital camera, and I thought it was absolutely wonderful. I could take a picture and put the disk in my computer and upload in very little time. I found a place I could get diskettes for about 2 cents a picture. She was proud of a photo show I had, and my note-cards I made up by hand with laser prints of my work. I was successful on E-bay. We just had a mutually supportive relationship. She still drank a lot (both of my folks were alcoholic) but not much at all when we traveled together. My father would hardly ever allow my mother to go anywhere with me, unless he came along too. If he wasn't interested, she couldn't go. If I went to try clothes on when I was a young girl and teenager, he had to be sitting right outside of the waiting room with her. Seldom could I ask her any mother/daughter type advice or little jokes. I went to one play with her in my entire life. So I treasure the last 6 years of her life, and I am glad I could be there with her in the hospital when she died.
One thing she did like when my brothers and I were little, was to go on what she called "junkets". Dad would have to work or something, and she had different days off sometimes; so she would drive us places like the Mystery Spot near Santa Cruz, or the Winchester House in San Jose. Things like that. She got "junket" fever from her grandfather, who I have mentioned several places on my site, Kaye W. Dawson. I believe she passed it on to me, and my daughter as well.
I have a question about the mini-series, Lonesome Dove. I cannot remember which one died first, Gus or Call, and the other one promised to bury him in Texas. He took his body all the way from Montana to Texas. I felt a little bit like that (not as rough a journey, but still a journey nonetheless), taking my promise seriously and going from Corvallis, Oregon to a small town in Texas.
Also, I am reminding myself, and any of you reading this can remind me, to write a tiny little story about the Denver Airport, on the way back to Texas.
****************************amended version from the similar picture, but with the entire headstone shown. I corrected one, but not the other; so each picture started out with the same story, but one or the other got some variations along the way. I want to try to keep it straight.
Uploaded on May 28, 2006. My mother, Martha Jane, died 5 years ago today. I was not able to afford to keep my promise to take her ashes back to Texas and bury them with my father's ashes, until October of 2001. But I did do what I promised. Six years before my Mom died, my father died, also in May. He wanted his ashes buried at the foot of his grandparent's graves. He didn't get his very exact wish, but pretty close. My mother and I did not like that his grave was unmarked for 6 years. I asked my mother when her time came, where did she want to be buried? She hedged a bit, about maybe the church in Kerrville, Texas, or maybe up in Washington State. Finally she admitted that she really wanted to have her ashes with my father's ashes. They were so tightly enmeshed for 56 years that it seemed appropriate to have them together again. I promised my mother, that not only would I bury her ashes with Dad's ashes, but I would get the best marker I could afford for both of them. It was interesting that she went completely over to his side of the family, as my father did. Her remains rest with my Dad, HIS parents, HIS grandparents, and a cousin, and some brothers of my Dad's that died over 100 years ago, before he was born. One reason I didn't put her maiden name on the headstone, was that she really kind of gave up on that side. Don't get me wrong. she has given me a lot of pictures, and stories, and history about her side of the family. She just didn't socialize very much with them.
It was quite a trip, a real adventure, stoic and funny, and scenic and thought provoking. Insightful too. Historical and genealogical as well. So much! Five thousand and sixty miles in 10 days. Good weather almost all the time.
There is much more to this story, and I do want to write more, one part will be called "The Banana & the Shovel". I want to tell about the "Stardust". I want to give some idea of how cold and cruel and warm and sentimental, and utterly devoid of feelings, and pretty, and neglectful, unreasonable, and sweet she could be. She would not defend me from false accusations my father made about me, even in front of a dinner party crowd, or should I say especially in front of a dinner party crowd. She would much rather not argue with my Dad, so she left the impression that I was a liar. These things stung and hurt so badly over the years, but as she approached eighty years old, she got nicer. My father was too ill to go on a trip with us; so I flew from Oregon to Texas, picked my mother up in Houston, and she and I had our first trip as adults to go somewhere, just the two of us. My mother became a true companion, a Mom, and fun and cooperative and nice. I urge anyone who has read this far, do not wait until you are 80 to be nice to your children! We had some hurtful occasions the last 6 years of her life, but mostly we had the kinds of times I had wanted forever. We talked and laughed. My mother is the one who finally showed some faith in me about my photography, and said she wanted me to to be able to put pictures on E-bay like other people did (I used to do E-bay a lot!). She bought me a Sony Mavica FD-71, my first digital camera, and I thought it was absolutely wonderful. I could take a picture and put the disk in my computer and upload in very little time. I found a place I could get diskettes for about 2 cents a picture. She was proud of a photo show I had, and my note-cards I made up by hand with laser prints of my work. I was successful on E-bay. We just had a mutually supportive relationship. She still drank a lot (both of my folks were alcoholic) but not much at all when we traveled together. My father would hardly ever allow my mother to go anywhere with me, unless he came along too. If he wasn't interested, she couldn't go. If I went to try clothes on when I was a young girl and teenager, he had to be sitting right outside of the waiting room with her. Seldom could I ask her any mother/daughter type advice or little jokes. I went to one play with her in my entire life. So I treasure the last 6 years of her life, and I am glad I could be there with her in the hospital when she died. She died in Washington State, and I went up there from Oregon on a bus. I did not have a car at the time. The bus let me off in a scary part of town, and it was after midnight, and my brother was late picking me up. It wasn't really even a station you could go into at that hour, and sit, or use vending machines, or use a restroom. I just stood out by the street while the passengers from the bus gradually left the scene. Soon it was just me and the seamier side of life. I was so scared, not to mention wondering if I would make it there before my mother died. My brother picked me up and made light of me being scared, and said he wasn't that late, blah blah. I wanted to go directly to the hospital, but he insisted that we go back to he and his wife's apartment and stay the night, and then go up the 30 some odd mile drive the next day. I didn't have 10 cents to get home on. My brother had paid my bus ticket. At first I thought he did it for me, but as the days went by, I think he did it because he could not take dealing with my mother dying by himself or with just his wife there. He needed me to be there. My mother had an older Lincoln, a great big tank of a car, but it ran, and when we went to see her the next day, he shoved the title toward her, and said, Mom, sign this! Dee Dee (that was my nickname) needs a car! and you don't! My Mom signed, the last thing she ever wrote in her life. She died a few hours later. My brother held one hand and I held the other. My sister-in-law was at the foot of her bed. As for my other brother, we couldn't locate to have him be there.
There is more here, about her room and her death, and the nurses, and the doctor and the flowers floating in the trees, and a lock of hair, etc. I'll add stuff as I feel I can.
I was able to drive back to Oregon to my home, in her old car. It wasn't great, but it was a whole lot better than nothing. I had to use it one more time to go back up to Washington State and pick up my mother's ashes. Her old Lincoln lasted long enough until I got a settlement and was able to buy a new truck.The new truck was what I used to drive back to Texas, with the container of ashes in the back seat. I sold the Lincoln for about what I had spent on repairs on it.
One thing my mother did like when my brothers and I were little, was to go on what she called "junkets". Dad would have to work or something, and she had different days off sometimes; so she would drive us places like the Mystery Spot near Santa Cruz, or the Winchester House in San Jose. Things like that. She got "junket" fever from her grandfather, who I have mentioned several places on my site, Kaye W. Dawson. I believe she passed it on to me, and I have passed it on to my daughter as well, who most likely will pass it to Anna Leigh.
*****************************************************************************
STEWART >> MARTHA
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"Cyber warfare? I brought you the ICIT advisory. Russian influence operations? I brought you CCIOS advisory. Space Warfare, I brought you Center for Space Warfare
Studies advisory. Now give me more shit to fix! " - James Scott #DeepState #AmericaFirst #FakeNews #DrainTheSwamp #KeepingPromises #CyberWar #ColdWar #CyberWarfare #SpaceWars #cybersecurity #infosec #security #malware #hacking #IoT #CyberAttack #cyberattacks #hackers