A Festival of Postcards

Here's my submission for the Blog Carnival: A Festival of Postcards.




This is one of my favorite post cards. This is a "Happy New Year" card from Denmark. The coins are embossed with gold.

We found this in a trunk in my grandmother, Bessie Mabel Mathena Johnson's, basement when she died 12 Aug 1976. The trunk held the belongings of Alfred Amfield Johnson's first wife, Minnie (Wilhelmina Christina) Rose. Alfred and Minnie were married on 2 Feb 1912 and Minnie died 3 June 1912.

This post card, and the translation from Danish, led me to identify Minnie's family and filled in some of the questions about Minnie. Until we found the trunk, we did not know that Grandpa Johnson had been married before.

Why?

It just never came up.

Saturday Night Genealogy Fun - Trading Card

Randy Seaver posts a weekly Saturday Night Genealogy Fun activity. Here is my effort for tonight ... a genealogy trading card. What a great idea from that oh-so-creative Genie, Sheri Benfort.

I couldn't make up my mind which one I liked better. You pick your favorite.

July 4th: When Dad Turned to Crime

Independence Day was my dad's favorite holiday. He LOVED his fireworks. We grew up on the stories he'd tell of legendary trips with his best friend, Wayne, to buy fireworks "When $100 would really buy something," back in the late 40's and 50's. His gaze would turn a bit wistful when he related antics with Cherry Bombs and tin cans.

We lived in Sioux City, Iowa, which is located in that little sticky-out part of northwestern Iowa that borders South Dakota and Nebraska. We could jump in the car and drive about 10 minutes into South Dakota, where firework sales were legal. My brother Steve and I would spend time shooting off Black Cats in the field behind the fireworks stand while dad carefully chose the elements for the neighborhood display.

While purchasing fireworks in South Dakota was legal, transporting them across state lines into Iowa definitely was not. The old blanket that lived in the trunk of Dad's car was used to cover the box of contraband, and we always warned that "Dad could get into a lot of trouble if he gets stopped." I think that meant we were not supposed to hold up signs that read "Help we're being kidnapped" if we saw someone in uniform.

We were always closely supervised when it came to the fireworks. We were allowed to play with those awful smelly snakes that left black marks on the sidewalk; they were legal in Iowa. Sparklers became a family activity when the sun went down. We'd get tiny stings when a stray sparkle would hit our arm. We were taught to be careful with the hot metal wire and never, ever, dropped a wire on the ground. Dad would get a variety of sparkle colors--silver, gold, red, green, blue, and it was fun to see how the wire would bend when we would do whoop-de-dos and circles with the sparklers.

The area fireworks show was at Atokad Park, a greyhound racetrack just over the river into South Dakota. Mom's duty would be to pop a paper grocery sack full of popcorn and pack the mosquito repellent. Dad had a favorite spot bordering a cornfield just outside of the park, and that was our vantage point every year. He'd park the car, take the blanket out of the trunk and put it on the hood of the car. We'd take off our shoes and climb up to claim our spot on the blanket, feeling naughty because car-climbing was on the verboten list any other day of the year. We would lean back against the windshield, munch popcorn and wait impatiently for the first big BOOM that marked the start of the fireworks display.

One....
by....
one....
by....
one....
Each display would be propelled into the night sky. Ooohs and Ahhhs would bubble forth at all the appropriate times. After 20 or 25 minutes, the big finale of multiple displays would fill the sky overhead and a volley of booms would mark the end of the legal fireworks display.

The neighborhood fireworks display was another matter. We lived on a corner that saw very little traffic, so the intersection became Fireworks Central. Beer-wielding adults would pull up lawn chairs to watch the spectacle and thereby became co-conspirators in the crime. Fortunately, we had a friendly group of neighbors and there was little risk of some grouch calling the police.

The bottle rockets, firecrackers, Roman candles, aerial displays would be planned in detail. Spinners were nailed to the telephone pole and showered sparks in the darkness.

The display didn't last long, because in the Sixties, $100 didn't go as far as it used to. Plus Dad wanted to move quickly just in case the police drove by.

Dad's neighborhood fireworks display was something he gave to his friends and family every year but I think he enjoyed it even more than we did. It's a cherished part of growing up and I'll be thinking of him tonight when I hear the first BOOM to mark the 2009 fireworks display.

Father's Day

I had long suspected that Father’s Day was something of an afterthought, created in response to Mother’s Day. A quick check of Wikipedia supports that. Sonora Smart Dodd, a young mother from Washington, formed the idea for the celebration in 1909 while listening to a Mother’s Day sermon at the Central Methodist Church in Spokane. She felt her father, a widower, deserved recognition for the sacrifices he had made in raising the family of six following her mother’s death.

The idea did not gain instant approval. Whereas Mother’s Day was easily adopted, it took several years – over two decades - for Father’s Day to gain wide acceptance as a celebration. Articles ridiculed and satirized the idea of commemorating Father’s Day. After all, fathers didn’t need flowers, and they certainly didn’t need mushy greeting cards.

Spurred on by support from retailers, the idea eventually caught on and grew to be celebrated in countries around the world. Many countries observe Father’s Day on the third Sunday of June, while others celebrate on other days of the year.

As a native Iowan, I have always been partial to the Kevin Costner movie, “A Field of Dreams.” If you haven’t seen it, it’s the story of Ray Kinsella, an Iowa farmer by marriage who hears a voice murmuring through the darkness among the corn stalks, urging “If you build it, he will come.” He bulldozes his corn field to make a baseball diamond where old-time ballplayer ghosts appear to relive their past glory. Final moments reveal that one of the baseball players is Ray Kinsella’s father. Ray, who was estranged from his father, has the opportunity to meet his father as just another man. That part always makes me cry.

My father passed away in 1985. I’d like to have an opportunity to sit down with my dad and talk to him as just another person. It’s one of the recurring themes as I work on my family history and discover those things that just never came up. I learned too late that due to his 4-F draft status, my father spent World War II as a dance instructor. (Tough job but someone had to do it.) I never danced with him. And when I think of that, it always makes me cry, too.

As I learn more about the influences on the lives of my parents and grandparents, I have gained insight into the motives and reasons behind the actions they took, the beliefs they held, and the things they said.

Talk to your father this weekend. If you are lucky enough to be able to sit with him in the same room, or listen to his words over the telephone, celebrate and rejoice in that. If you can’t reach out and touch him, or can’t hear his words, you can still feel him in your heart.

Happy Father’s Day


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The photo? Taken at my wedding in 1972.

Just Like the Christmas Diary...

...every year I would start with the best of intentions, to faithfully record my most innermost thoughts and dreams on the pages of a carefully selected diary. The pages were white and crisp, smooth, creaseless, unsmudged. I couldn't wait to carefully date the first page and always started with "What I Got for Christmas."

And every year, beginning about January 5, the entries would start to dwindle, getting shorter, less insightful, less neatly written.

And eventually the pages on the diary remained pristine, untouched by pen or pencil.

So goes this blog.

I will do better.

So I promise, my faithful followers.

The Famous Easter Bunny Cake

It was an annual tradition with Grandma and Grandpa Johnson (Alfred Armfield Johnson and Bessie Mabel Mathena)-- the Easter bunny cake. White 7-minute frosting sprinkled with coconut. Under the frosting was one layer of a white cake, cut in half and stood up on the cut side. Jelly bean eggs scattered around the tin-foil-covered-cardboard-box base. Face made out of more jelly beans and ears cut from some heavy paper and painted white with pink in the middle.

Here's a picture, taken in 1961 in front of our house at 1913 George Street in Sioux City, Iowa. The dress was one of my favorites. It had different shades of orange and red-orange and orange sherbet.


This photo was taken in front of our house at 2127 West Fifth Street in Sioux City, Iowa. Judging by the brown "corral" fence in front of the house on which my brother Steve is perched, I am guessing that this was somewhere around 1963, give or take a year. That's Grandma and Grandpa Johnson (Bessie and A.A. Johnson).

We had bunny cakes every year. I wonder where photos for the other 16 or so years are?

Saturday Blogger Fun ... My Genealogy Space

Randy Seaver came up with another good Saturday Night Genealogy idea. He inspired me to do something I've meant to do for a while: to take photos of my office, where I do my genealogy work.


Here's my work area. Desk and mobile file cabinet from Ikea. Six-foot table from Office Depot. The shelf unit and printer stands are left over from a desk that I used for over 20 years.

The plastic drawyer units hold the genealogy filing that I need to do. I'll have more time to devote to that these days. There are two clocks on the wall -- Eastern time and Pacific time, from the days when I worked for a company in back east. Zack is perched on the table and Mr. Peavey is stationed on the floor, close to the towel that he snuggles when he sleeps.

The top drawer of the horizontal file cabinet holds my tax and personal files, and the bottom drawer is devoted to family genealogy files.

Here's the other part of my genealogy world. It's a 9-foot, double-sided library bookcase that I picked up in an auction in the mid 90's. It is one of my favorite pieces of furniture. The other side of the shelf holds our DVDs, software packages, and some of our fiction collection. I have several city directories in extra-tall shelves out in the living room.


The genealogy books are on the shelves in the rightmost section. My family notebooks and magazines are in the middle section. Pieter's stuff is in the left hand section.

In the background you'll see some of my '60's rock poster collection, including both original Woodstock posters and a few of my 9 Crosby, Stills and Nash posters.

And yes, that is a monkey wearing a tiara from New Year 2000, sitting on the rocking chair that I sat on when I was a little girl.