Old Fashioned Home Schooling

Ignorance of a nation’s people is the devil’s best tool for overthrowing the world. America was a plum prize. God knew in the beginning that evil would eventually subdue the world. All along we have stood firm, kept the faith, maintained our strong faith in God, even as we were unable to withstand the forcing of immorality into our law and upon us ….. by those, who, by stealth, rose to the highest positions of our government. Politicians, judges, lawyers, abetted by dishonest reporting of daily news, an alien president, one not even born in our country, and raised to finish destroying the Christian bastion that was once America, a law abiding country, a fortress for her people, and a beacon to the world’s down trodden.

But prophecy told us it was not always to be. God had a plan for the end times. He knew he could count on His people not to meddle, but to endure, keep the faith until He saw fit to remove His people at the right time in the twinkling of an eye from this earth. The assault of Obama upon our schools is our modern day writing upon the wall. Babylon fell the very night God’s words were written on a wall, a night of a huge banquet that all attending plainly saw. Before the night had ended, Babylon was no more, sacked by two kings, Cyrus of Persia and Darius, the Mede. Cyrus freed the Jews from their 70 years of captivity by Babylon; Trump freed us from 84 years of captivity by the heathen Democrats.

Fellow Face Book patriots, it’s coming! We see it in the swift unveiling of God’s word that has steered our lives. We have lived by His words and now the future is upon us. We see it in the events of every day that is now in the open, no longer concealed. We see it in the spoiling of our world in a myriad of ways, most notably, in the great deception that is now swallowing common sense around the world. We see it in all the warnings of Jesus to his disciples, passed down through the centuries to us who clearly see we are in the very end of times, and in the hands of God. We now see clearly. We who were for decades, kept by Dems in the dark. But, now it is THEM who are in the dark and no longer controlling us. They trifle with us …. God trifles bigger with them. They have scant knowledge, if none at all, of the seven years to come. But, we do know, and indeed, the best is yet to come. God be praised! Amen.

Friday, November 22, 1963, began like any other day. Because it was drizzly, I wore my new, blue raincoat. As I drove to the elementary school where I was a first year teacher, I heard a peculiar flapping sound outside the door. Not until I had reached my school and parked, did I realize that part of my new raincoat belt had been caught outside. I remember the sinking feeling when I saw it wet and battered. I remember thinking, “Well, it’s done. I’m not going to think about it anymore.” That’s how my day began. The end would be a lot worse.

I remember nothing more until the afternoon recess, which I spent at my desk, grading papers. When I heard the end of recess bell, I headed for the teacher’s lounge, knowing I had just enough time to make the round and return to my classroom door in time to see my students come down the hall.

As I stepped into the empty teacher’s lounge, I saw on the table, the Ft. Wayne, Indiana newspaper. The headlines trumpeted the warm reception President and Mrs. Kennedy were enjoying in Texas. I was not a Kennedy fan. My thought was, “big deal!” Then, I checked my mail cubicle and hurried from the lounge.

On the way back, one of the second grade teachers was standing outside her classroom door, waiting for her students. As I approached, she called my name and said, “Did you hear that President Kennedy got shot?” To my mind came several political jokes from previous elections that had started with similar questions. I had fallen for both. This time, bemused, I said, “Alright, Vida, I’ll bite. What’s the punch line?” “It’s no joke,” she said. “He was shot during a parade in Dallas; that’s all I know.” After a stunned reaction, I continued on to my room.

On Fridays, following last recess, my class had religious education. The teacher for this class always took my students straight from coming in off the playground, down the steps and outside to a trailer that served as an extra classroom. On that day, however, she was late so I directed my students to take their seats where they waited with their coats on. In a few minutes she appeared at the door and motioned me out into the hall, where she apologized for being late. Then she told me she had just heard on radio that the president had died in a Dallas hospital. I was stunned and could find no words. We shared a brief moment of silence.

I did not continue to grade papers in my free time, as I normally would have done. I sat at my desk recalling how only minutes earlier, I had made the trip to the teacher’s lounge and the day had still been normal. I yearned to be back in that frame of time.  I recalled thinking, “big deal!” upon entering the lounge at seeing the headlines, and regretted allowing the thought.  I recalled my battered belt of the day’s beginning, and thought how inconsequential it now seemed.

I didn’t have the heart to tell my students that President Kennedy was shot and now dead. Nor did any of them indicate when they returned to the room that they had heard. Thus, I sent them to their buses still innocent of the world’s evil. That evening, my sister told me my niece, in first grade, had come home from her school, terrified. “Someone had killed the president”, said my niece, “and maybe was going to kill us too!”

Like most Americans, we spent the three day weekend glued to the television, immersed in the oppressive gloom that permeated our nation. By the time I’d arrived home from school, on that Friday afternoon, bit by bit, information on the assassin was rapidly pouring forth.  First – how in fleeing the scene he had killed a bystander, then a police officer by the last name of Tripett; his apprehension in a theatre; his name Lee Harvey Oswald; his alias – O. H. Lee; his date and year of birth: October 18th, 1939, which I curiously noted, made him just one day older than me.

Throughout the evening we continued to get snippets of information about Lee Harvey Oswald.  We learned he was a dissident who had once left the United States to live in Russia; that he had returned to America with a Russian wife and had since engaged in anti-American activities. As this news broke I recalled reading about Oswald leaving America for Russia, several years earlier when I was living and working in Washington, D. C. Then, we watched, over and over, in astonishment and horror as Oswald, himself, was gunned down in a Dallas police station by a Dallas night club owner named Jack Ruby.

This was not the America we had known. Television was still a new medium and that weekend, it presented gripping news scenes to the still innocent American psyche. We were mesmerized by ceremonial trappings of our fallen leader. Images were etched in our minds: long lines of mourners waiting to pass the closed casket that lay in state in the rotunda of the U S Capitol; the veiled, stoic face of Jackie Kennedy, clothed in black;  the obedient salute of the child Americans had come to know as John-John;  Jackie, at the end of a pew in a Catholic church,”genuflecting” (I learned a new word). 

I can still hear the cadenced, haunting drums as the funeral procession passed on Pennsylvania Avenue, where a few years earlier, my own feet had daily trod. I can still see the spirited horse, Black Jack, boots turned in the stirrups — as symbol of a fallen leader. I remember holding my breath as the accompanying soldier strained, intermittently, to control the rearing horse that had no rider. I shall always remember that is was a long, dismal weekend.

I heard many times afterwards, although not in recent years, people say that life was never the same afterwards, and that America lost her innocence with President Kennedy’s death. I’m not so sure about that innocence part. That we were seared by this experience is undeniable. But for American children, the seeds for loss of innocence had already been sown by enforcement of the 1962 Supreme Court decision to ban prayer in public schools.

The prayer ban began a new era in our country that continues to this day. It is the era of schools not teaching children to police themselves; it is the era of legislating immorality; the era of stepping up the pace in transforming the brave new world of our pilgrim forefathers from a Christian to a secular nation. As the old guard of WWII days continues to fade away, it is for us to conjecture: What comes next? And where do we go from here?

My memories of the above on the day John Kennedy was killed was written two decades ago. I probably would have written pretty much the same if left until today.  That’s how graphic the entire three day weekend was to me and I’m sure, was to many, many others, as well.

Vocabulary words for your children are high lighted but not listed below as in previous posts.  Have the child or children look up the words before reading the above.   To keep tedium at bay  and to not dispel the importance of developing respect for the dictionary, let several take turns finding and informing others around the table of what the words mean and how they are pronounced.  Include yourself in taking turns if you have just one child.

Don’t let yourself feel children can be too young to develop the dictionary habit.  Even if they are not yet reading, they can still absorb the importance of knowing the meaning of words, and they will learn from the experience. Check to see if there are any words not highlighted that they did not know.

The poem for this post is Walt Whitman’s, “Oh, Captain! My Captain! This poem is about the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. I don’t know about today, but the poem is found in high school literature books for many decades after the Civil War. I can remember my high school English teacher assigning my class to memorize one of the three verses to recite for the next day’s assignment. I chose the first verse and still remember reciting it for my teachers and classmates.   It is a good poem to recite to self or others.

Explain to the children that the use of “ship” refers to America, and “the fearful trip” refers to the Civil War. Walt Whitman lived in Washington, D. C., during the Civil War, and volunteered his service as a nurse in hospitals for wounded soldiers.

Suggestions: encourage your children to learn more about Whitman – one of America’s finest poets – and his poem, for discussion at the dinner table.

O CAPTAIN!  MY CAPTAIN!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’s wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head!

It is some dream that on the deck,

You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful read,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

The beautiful fall day when I left home in southern Indiana to drive to northern Indiana — to begin my first year as a public school teacher — my mother walked out to the car with me. In her parting words was a message that has gone with me  lo —through out these many years.  I’ve treasured the memory as I’ve  treasured the words. Whether they imparted the best instruction I ever received or not, one thing is certain: they have gone with me throughout my entire life. It just took her putting them into words to make me realize that is exactly what she had done in the raising of my siblings and me.

I hear your thoughts:  WHAT WERE THE WORDS?

“Make the most of the magic moments”, my Latin and English school teacher mother told me. She explained there would be moments in the classroom for teaching valuable lessons that have nothing to do with what is being taught.  Here it is in Latin: carpe momentum — seize the moment!

As I drove down the lane, my reflecting upon her words softened the dreaded impact of  leaving home, of leaving behind a childhood fortified by magic moments. As stated in previous posts most of the growing up years —  for much of my generation  — was during lean decades of our country’s long, slow recovery from the 1929 depression. By experience, however, I knew that growing up poor was no deterrent of magic moments.

Several years ago, I had a pleasant conversation with a sibling of how much we loved summer thunderstorms, because of Mom.  Mom loved hearing the crashes of thunder – so did we. She loved the flashes of lightning – so did we. She loved the sudden change in the atmosphere — so did we. How could we not, but have appreciated and loved an event of nature – though scary to some – for us, was made exciting and invigorating?

Originating in our minds in one magical first moment was delight in crashing and flashing in the upper regions.  So it was in many ways throughout our youths — because our minds were ever being shaped by her through  countless examples, instructions and words, always honorable.  To this day, I welcome summer thunderstorms, but of course not the more violent ones. Magic moments do have their limits!

Limits or no, many times magic moments proved useful in my classroom. About twenty years ago, I did a stint of substitute teaching in local schools. One morning I was called to teach art. Students in the first class were reasonably behaved considering a sub was on hand — except for one lad who kept vying for attention. I soon learned that his father was stationed at the nearby, now defunct, Fort Harrison – aha, the magic moment – and a needed one, too!

Art could just wait!  Seizing the magic moment, I responded with how much I admired the posture of those in the military –how pleasing and professional they were in appearance, and how fortunate for him to have in his father so accessible an example – that he might be reminded just by seeing his father – to stand straight and not slouch while sitting – and in that way, he too could be an example.  To see him beam and hear his brief response that revealed a young lad’s admiration for his father was an unexpected morning’s gift – and another magic moment – to point out that good posture was all part of giving some action of self to make the world a better place, and that it wasn’t a gift that was purchased by money.

Then ensued a brief discussion with the class on other ways that individuals could give to others – not with physical gifts – but from the heart.  They came up with, “sharing my book with someone who forgot theirs”, “giving someone a pat on the back who looks unhappy”, “not ignoring a new student, etc.  I challenged, “what about giving your quietness if you finish the lesson first, so that others will have the same quiet that you had?  In your own ways, you can give in making the world more pleasant for yourself and for others.”

The students from that art class are now grown, and some with children of their own.  Do any remember those long ago moments spent pondering the realm of thoughtfulness?  More importantly, in what ways might they have gained from it?  Did they leave the room with minds expanded in the invisible activity of thought?

Two magic moments — not missed — allowed art class to continue without further issue. Thanks, Mom, and thanks and thanks, and many thanks!

For her — gone ten years, now — and other mothers:

“Who can find a virtuous woman?  For her price is far above rubies.”  Proverbs 30:10

“Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.”  Proverbs 30:25

“She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.”  Proverbs 30:26

“The mother’s heart is the child’s schoolroom.   Henry Ward Beecher

The great academy, a mother’s knee.”   Thomas Carlyle

“What the mother sings to the cradle goes all the way down to the coffin.”  Henry Ward Beecher

“The peace she put into my heart I shall carry all my life and share with others.”  ed.

Vocabulary words:

lo – look!  see!:  now mainly in lo and behold! (Webster’s New World Dictionary, pub. 1994)

lo – look; see; behold; observe.  This word is used to excite particular attention in a hearer (or reader) to some object of sight or subject of discourse.  (Noah Webster’s The American dictionary of the English Language – 1847 edition)

stint – a specified period of time spent doing something – see Webster’s for additional meanings

vying – that vies, that competes

beam – a radiant look, smile, etc. – see  Webster’s for additional meanings.

defunct – no longer living or existing

Today’s ending poem came to mind as I was finishing this post.  Once again, it is an untitled verse from Emily Dickinson (1830-1866), and has always been one of my favorites for the beautiful message it imparts:

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

—Emily Dickinson

When I was five, my father began to accumulate a dairy herd for our farm. The cows were purchased a few at a time from other farms around our county, and brought home by Dad in his stock truck. They were then given names that began with the same letter of the former owner’s last name: Lena, Lana, and Lucille – I remember – came from Mr. Lane. But, lo – these many years, the other farmer’s names have slipped my memory. Of the cows acquired from them, only Beauty, Blanche, Blackie, Ruby, Sally and Sadie do I recall.

Warmly, however, I do recall the great affection my family held for our milk cows. We came to know them so well during morning and evening milking times.  Wonderfully placid were those gentle creatures. With pleasure, oft did I lean against a milk cow to press my cheek against the warmth of a furry side. No other animal on the farm gave me such a sense of heartfelt contentment and inner harmony.

Enjoyment was found in accompanying my older sisters to the pasture to bring the cows to the barn at milking time;  in helping to shut the 20 stanchions after each cow went right to her place in the barn; and in scooping feed into the long troughs that flanked the center aisle between the two rows of cows.  My initial walk between the two long rows of heads was a little scary, but on that day I learned how dependably docile cows are. Well, there were exceptions. For whatever reason, known only to Beauty, she let me and my younger brothers know she held no love for us. We just knew enough not to be caught in the barnyard alone with Beauty.

Early on, Dad, Mom, and my oldest sister milked the cows by hand – until my father bought a milking machine. Then the entire chore became my sister’s. Dutifully, she milked the cows mornings and evenings, during her last two years of high school.

Our farm was never without cats and a dog or two. A grain farm draws plenty of mice and rats.  Cats – helpful and essential in keeping down the unwanted intruders – surely earned their keep.  The most cats and kittens we ever had at one time was 17.

At milking time, the cow barn was exactly where the cats wanted to be to not miss their daily portions of milk. In their impatience to be fed, they were often at bovine hooves. Sometimes a raised hoof was unintentionally set down on a tail or paw of a too rambunctiously impatient, too trusting ….. feline. Then there would be a flurry of action:  bared claws and flailing paws accompanied by emphatic meows of vocal protest that I always likened to, “Oooowwwww! Get off, you big lummox!” The cow’s split-second reaction invariably released the trapped tail or paw whereas the cat invariably made a rocket-like exit from the barn.  As you might imagine this scene was oft played out, usually with just bruised extremities.  Less often the result was one less feline in the barn.

Any time my prankster oldest brother was helping with the stripping – finishing up to get what milk the machine missed – we three younger ones stayed out of reach should he try to squirt milk on our bare legs. What he thought fun, was no fun for us! But, the cats loved to have milk squirted their way and would even stand on their hind legs if it would help to catch more milk in their mouths. That sort of squirting, we loved to see.

The evening and morning milk was placed in dairy cans and set out front to be picked up every morning by a dairy truck. In looking back through the decades, I marvel that the milk could usually be counted on not to spoil, although, once in a while it did! Then the truck that hauled it off would bring it back, and the sour milk would then be fed to the hogs – thus not all was lost!

Some milk – as needed – would be set aside for our household, brought to the kitchen, strained, poured into a crock and allowed to set in the pantry until the cream had risen to the top. That I’d, now, throw out a carton of milk that had set overnight on the counter, seems a concern that was absent then.

A handy kitchen tool, called a skimmer, was used to skim the risen cream from off the top. The skimmer was full of holes to insure getting only the cream. For me it was a child’s delight to slide that tool beneath the cream to lift it up to put into a pitcher. Cream straight from the cows was rich, and thick enough to heap in a spoon. That’s not the way cream is viewed today.

The process of today’s homogenization breaks the cream up so fine that it doesn’t rise. Additionally – over the years – cream has continued to be thinned by the dairy manufacturing plants to meet the needs of our country’s increasing population in lieu – I suppose – of shrinking numbers of dairy farmers and to help keep down rising costs. How times change! Rich, thick cream back then was a valued farm commodity for the table as well as for sales. Higher grades of cream garnered greater profit for the farmer.  We didn’t worry about getting fat from cream and all the fried foods that found their way to tables back then.  Farm life kept us too active for pounds to accumulate!

Alas, after a few years in the dairy business, a new cow infected the herd with Bangs Disease caused by the Brucellosis bacterium, and our farm was out of the dairy business. The loss was financial and emotional as the  cows – as required by Federal law – had to be destroyed. Bangs Disease – known as Undulant Fever in humans –is a much lessened problem, today.

Afterwards, for a number of years, we kept one milk cow – Rusty, off-spring of Ruby – for family consumption. But, eventually, the milk and cream quit coming up from the barn; for a while was delivered in cartons by a milk man; and finally, was purchased at our village grocery store. I recall, as I type, the different times in following years that I heard my father, with dismay, say – after he had opened a new carton of cream and poured some into his coffee – “oh, my, they’ve thinned the cream, again”!

Back in the eighties, I frequented a health food store that, one day, had a new yogurt in stock called Brown Cow. On top was a layer of cream – obviously, not homogenized. I was delighted! Every time I stopped by, I bought Brown Cow yogurt. One day, there was no Brown Cow in the cooler, nor was there the next time. I asked Tom, the proprietor, if he was still stocking Brown Cow. He told me, “No, because most customers who took the top off the eight ounce containers while still in his store, wanted to know what that stuff was on top.” More accurately, he said they would say, “Oooooooh! What is THAT!!?”

Sadly, I acknowledged that in a lot of ways, the old way was passing. The good end to this story; however, is eventually, I did find Brown Cow yogurt again – in another store that still carries it. So, to this day, a bit of the farm is still with me!

Seven vocabulary words; a cow poem for children by Robert Louis Stevenson; and a so true to life cow poem by Robert William Service will end today’s post.

placid – undisturbed, tranquill, calm, quiet

stanchion – a restraining device fitted loosely around the neck of a cow to confine it to its stall.

docile – easy to manage

bovine – pertaining to oxen and cows, or the quadrupeds of the bovine genus

skimmer – any utensil used in skimming liquids

feline –any animal of the cat family

lieu – in place of, instead

THE COW

The friendly cow all red and white,

I love with all my heart:

She gives me cream with all her might,

To eat with apple-tart.

She wanders lowing here and there,

And yet she cannot stray,

All in the pleasant open air,

The pleasant light of day.

And blown by all the winds that pass

And wet with all the showers,

She walks among the meadow grass

And eats the meadow flowers.

Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850 – 1894

COWS

I love to watch my seven cows

In meads of buttercups abrowse,

With guilded knees;

But even more I love to see

Them chew the cud so tranquilly

In twilight ease.

Each is the image of content

From fragrant hours in clover spent,

‘Mid leaf and bud;

As up and down without a pause

Mechanically move their jaws

To chew the cud.

Friend, there’s a hope for me and you:

Let us resolve to chew and chew

With molars strong;

The man who learns to masticate,

With patience may control his fate

His life prolong.

In salivation is salvation:

So if some silly little nation

Should bathe in blood,

Let’s take a lesson from the cow,

And learn in life’s long gloaming how

To chew the cud.

Robert William Service (1874-1958)

They say that man is mighty,

He governs land and sea,

He wields a mighty scepter

O’er lesser powers that be;

But a mightier power and stronger

Man from his throne has hurled

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world

William Ross Wallace, 1819-1881, American poet

“If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do matters very much.” Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

“When I had my baby it was quite an event, although not an entirely blessed one. I had a twenty-two hour labor, a near cesarean, a doctor who had an allergy attack from my perfume, and a big, big baby. They don’t call it labor for nothing.” Pia Zadora – movie actress

“I never thought you should be rewarded for the greatest privilege of life.” Mary Roper Cohen, after being crowned 1958 mother of the year

“Spoil your husband, but don’t spoil your children.”      Louise Sevier Giddings-Currey ─ 1961 mother of the year

“My mother usually somehow managed, at eleven, to sit down in the red rocking chair by the window to read aloud to us. Here was the very doorsill to complete enchantment for she was as seemingly as lost as we—in whatever she was reading.  Smells of our approaching dinner filled our noses from stew pans or baking dishes; while my mother’s voice brought trooping into our kitchen all those with whom we rejoiced or suffered, admired or feared, loved or hated.”   Mary Ellen Chase, 1887-1973, American educator, teacher and writer

There was a place in childhood, that I remember well,

And there a voice of sweetest tone, bright fairy tales did tell,

And gentle words, and fond embrace, were given with joy to me,

When I was in that happy place upon my mother’s knee.

Samuel Lover, 1797-1868, Irish songwriter, novelist, painter of portraits

The Reading Mother

I had a Mother who read me things

That wholesome life to a child’s heart brings –

Stories that stir with an upward touch.

Oh that every Mother were such!

You may have tangible wealth untold,

Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.

Richer than I you can never be—

I had a mother who read to me.

Strickland Gillian, 1869-1954, journalist, humorist, writer, poet

“As is the mother, so is her daughter.”   (Ezekiel 16:44)

“Mothers of daughters are daughters of mothers and have remained so, in circles joined in circles, since time began.”   Signe Hammer, born early 1940’s.  Daughters and Mothers/Mothers and Daughters

And now so well I know her that I know

The graciousness of her will always grow

Like daybreak in my spirit, and will be

Through all my life a radiant mystery.

Amelia Josephine Burr, 1878-1968, American poet

“Mother—that was the bank where we deposited all our hurts and worries.” T. Dewitt Talmage, 1832-1902, Presbyterian Minister

“Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children.” Charles R. Swindoll, 1934, Evangelical Christian pastor, author, educator, radio preacher

Before a day was over,

Home comes the rover,

For mother’s kiss – sweeter this

Than any other thing!

William Allingham, 1826-1889, Irish poet

“The mother’s heart is the child’s schoolroom.” Henry Ward Beecher, 1813-1887, Congregationalist clergyman, social reformer, abolitionist, speaker

“Mothers hold their children’s hands a short while, but their hearts forever.” Author Unknown

Who ran to help me when I fell

And would some pretty story tell,

Or kiss the place to make it well?

My mother.

Ann Taylor

“Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is sweet as a flower, then my mother is that sweet flower of love.” Stevie Wonder, American musician

“My mother said to me, “If you become a soldier you’ll be a general; if you become a monk you’ll end up as the pope.” Instead, I became a painter and wound up as Picasso.”Pablo Picasso, 1881-1973, Spanish artist

“I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad.”   Harry Von Tilzer, 1872-1946, song writer, composed the tune in 1911

“Yesterday morning after our weekly visit to the library, my daughter, now two and a half, spotted a group of three-and-four year olds lining up outside the building across the street and asked to follow them. Kate has been talking of nothing but nursery school ever since. Already I miss her.” Barbara Hustedt Crook, former editor of Cosmopolitan Magazine, radio announcer, co-writer of a musical

Mother tells me “Happy Dreams!” and takes away the light,

An’ leaves me lying all alone an’ seeing’ things at night.

Eugene Field, 1850-1895, American poet, known as “The Children’s Poet”

Now in my memory comes my mother,

As she used to in years agone,

To regard the daring dreamers

Ere she left them till the dawn.

Coates Kinney, 1826-1904, American lawyer, journalist, poet

“My mother had a great deal of trouble with me but I think she enjoyed it.” Samuel Langhorne Clemens (Mark Twain), 1835-1910, American author and humorist

“People have asked me if I ever spanked Jack when he was a boy. I suppose it is part of the mystique surrounding the presidency that anyone who occupies the office is endowed with qualities that are extraordinary and he must have passed through childhood in a glow of virtue. I can state that this was not the case with Jack, nor was it with Bobby or Teddy or any of the others, and whenever they needed it they got a good old-fashioned spanking, which I believe is one of the most effective means of instruction.” Rose Kennedy, 1890-1995

“Mothers all want their sons to grow up to be president but they don’t want them to become politicians in the process!” John F. Kennedy, 1917-1963, 35th U. S. President

“It is better to bind your children to you by respect and gentleness, than by fear.” Author Unknown

“As Mother has said so often, “Remember, wherever you are and whatever you do, someone always sees you.” Marian Anderson, 1897-1993, African-American contralto, one of most celebrated 20th century singers.

“Train up a child in the way that he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6

“The bearing and training of a child is woman’s wisdom.” Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1809-1892, English Poet Laureate

“A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine, desert us when troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.”   Washington Irving, 1783—1859, American writer, historian, essayist

“My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. All I am I owe to my mother. I attribute all my success in life to the moral, intellectual and physical education I received from her.” George Washington, 1731/32—1799

“The mothers of brave men must themselves be brave.”  Mary Ball Washington, (1708—1789), mother of George Washington

“All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” Abraham Lincoln, 1809—1865, 16th U. S. President

“She was to me all that a mother could be, and I yield to none in admiration for her character, love of her virtues, and veneration for her memory.” Robert E. Lee, 1807—1870, on his mother-in-law, Mary Custis, 1788—1853; Mary Custis was  a great granddaughter of Martha Washington.

“As I approached the door about nine O’clock in the evening, I heard my mother engaged in prayer. During her prayer she referred to me, her son away God only knew where, and asked that he might be preserved in health to return and comfort her in her old age. At the conclusion of the prayer I quietly raised the latch and entered. I will not attempt to describe the scene that followed….” President James Garfield, describing his return from a youthful job as a canal bargeman. 1831—1881, 20th U. S. President

“Start over”.   Response of the mother in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, to daughter Francie’s question as the book ends.   Francie – in 1912 is age 11. She and her younger brother, are dutifully taking turns reading from the Bible each evening at the kitchen table – an on going activity throughout the book. In the last paragraph of the last page, Francie reads the last verse of the last book of the New Testament. She looks up at her mother and says; “we’ve finished, Mama. Now what shall we read?” Mama says, “start over!”

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is a wonderful book to read, especially to your children. Skip this book ─ gyp yourself and your kids. The movie of same title, made in 1945, surely must have pleased author, Jean Smith, for it was well done.  As usual, for a first book, Smith relied upon her experiences of growing up in Brooklyn, N. Y.  The book was a huge hit when published in 1943, especially in the Brooklyn neighborhood where many still lived who knew Smith during her growing up years.

This concludes other people’s quotes on mothers. It’s not hard for me to see that times have really changed a lot since prayer was banned in public school by the Supreme Court in 1962. Even though Godless public schools continue moving our country away from prayer ─ prayer will always be a POWERFUL way of making positive affirmations.  Prayer is the ultimate success principle for the subconscious, but that’s not something the secular mind wants us to know.  Doesn’t it makes better sense to form positive thoughts in our minds than to form the devil’s words of resentments and other negative thoughts?  Forming the habit to squelch bad thinking is a gift we give ourselves.

I could not end this Mother’s Day post without tacking on my own experiences of having a mother who read to her children. As farm children in the still great depression era, seldom were we further than a mile from home. Through her stories our mother took us around the world, at times, to ancient inhabitants like those in The Odyssey and The Illiad by Homer. With  help of  marvelous characters that marched out of those pages and into our lives, she made us want to be good.

Then, the country was in a long, slow recovery and like other farm families, we lived frugally. But mother’s stories made us feel rich as kings  ─ as so adroitly conveyed by Strickland Gillilan in, “richer than I you can never be, I had a mother who read to me”.

Princess Di and new bride Kate have been moved to later in the week.