Once upon a time, not so long ago, a family of 10 lived on and survived the adventures of a midwest farm. They were a lively tribe sharing daily chores with inventive shenanigans. Momma tended her forces of home and family while Poppa kept his farm in tip top working order. All in all, it was a happy place, filled with endless giggles, hard work, and love.  Happy chaos, 1960s style.

When not working the fields or in the throes of barn chores, Pops was likely delivering assorted goods and services to neighbors and townspeople. His blacksmithing skills came in handy as he shoed horses, clipped hooves, and forged metal machine parts for those in need. Weekly, he delivered dozens and dozens of farm-fresh eggs to restaurants and loyal patrons. Multi-tasking came easy as he provided the talented odds and ends of his varied trades. 

As was usual, Poppa often bartered his goods and services. “I’ll get that straw baled if you can bring in my wheat with your combine.” Neighborly kindness. Neighborly respect. Cooperative treaties agreed with a handshake. 

In addition to his enduring work ethic, Pops was the mastermind to all things fun. A ride through the countryside to witness fresh corn, oats, and wheat thriving. A stop at a friend’s home to drop off fresh butchered meats. Ice cream trips to town. All the while, one, three, or all kiddos would load in the car, seatbelts amiss, windows down and breezes to bless our faces. Priceless fun for us. Priceless quiet time for Momma! 

Pops also guaranteed his kidlets hours of outdoor activity and adventure. A new sandbox and swing set allowed for hours of delight. Old, worn tire swings provided hours of sway under the large sugar maples that shaded the house. Bikes, trikes, and go-cart contraptions insured our summer escapes up and down the driveway. As Daddy invented fun outside for his kiddos, Momma was provided much needed quiet in the house while she enjoyed respite to bake, stitch, and rock her babies. 

Poppa also frequented the stockyards. Selling a cow, calf, or truckload of young piglets, Pops found ways to bring quick cash into the home. Oftentimes, however, profits dwindled as he sometimes brought home more than he had sold. Ducks, geese, rabbits and such were welcome surprises, as we kidlets imagined new-found adventures. 

Likely one of Daddy’s surprises to the family farm was Tony. “PandePonyum” Tony! Without warning or pleas with Momma, Pops had bartered a small pony for money owed him. In total, I recall the trade was in the range of about five dollars. 

Family calm took another back seat to pandemonium. We could not contain our excited banter. “Daddy, Daddy, what’d ya get us? Is it a real pony? Ya, a pony Daddy, did you get us a real live pony?” We were on fire as Daddy’s bright eyes and energy guaranteed us another playmate. Out the door and screaming with joy, we took to the pickup bed. Tony would be our adopted forever.

The summer of Tony became a life-long memory of experiments. Could he be ridden without a saddle? Yes. Small enough, mounting him was doable. The same could be said of falling. Tony trotted rather than galloped. Sliding into soft grasses was a short slip and tumble. Tony did not seem to like riders, but preferred to toss us lightly as he stood and munched. 

Yes, stood. He did not move with fervor or youth; there was none. With seven young cheerleaders promoting enthusiasm, Tony often disappointed. Younger brother Jojo, however,  hatched an idea to turn him into our version of a circus star. Tony would take to a harness, ropes, and a dilapidated Radio Flyer in an effort to provide us short rides on farm paths! 

As sister Kathy brushed and combed, a few of us stroked Tony with peaceful, loving words, Tony stood with unemotional patience.  All the while, Jojo readied Tony for his entertaining debut. 

We tugged lightly at the ropes. We pulled ever so gently. We forced Tony down the farm lane to the backwoods, feeding him fresh carrots all the way. Slowly, with lazy unwillingness, Tony heeded our efforts. 

As a few of us squeezed in the wagon, Jojo skillfully turned Tony to face the barn. Eying his paradise of rest, Tony took off with a quick gallop! Hanging on for our lives, PandePonyum Tony became real. A roar of giggles and premature upending landed us in soft grasses as Tony surged homeward. “Headin for the barn” took meaning!

That ride was the one and only Tony performed. He could not be coaxed, carrot baited, or petted ever again to parade or star in our circus. But alas, Pops had one more treat in store. 

By summer’s end, with Daddy’s goading, Momma took her turn at riding Tony. Excitedly, we led him to the front porch. Momma hesitated briefly as she mounted to Tony’s bare back. Facing the barn, we knew he was destined to move forward. With a gentle nudge, Momma hung tightly to the reins. Eight pairs of eyes crowded the kitchen window to see.

Tony would have nothing to do with giving Momma a brief thrill. Once again, he stood. Stoically at rest, he lowered his head to nibble on the grass. Unbalanced and fearful, Momma tumbled to the ground! Frightened, Tony took to the barn and in doing so, christened Momma’s head with a hoof! Momma was had and mad!

“That horse has been nothing but trouble. You need to get it back to the stockyards where it belongs. And I don’t care if you get two pounds of hamburger for him or nothing! He’s got to go!” The Queen had spoken.

With that said, Tony became a summer of hapless disappointment. Youthfulness had left his body and soul. He often appeared weary, disheveled, and pathetic. In the short few months of his residence with the farm, our prized pet had grown into a short, stocky, dusty-brown hairball of complacency. 

Minimal circus, maximum crazy! Pops entertained, however, Momma reigned!

Lessons Learned

“Winner, winner, Chicken dinner.” One of Daddy’s favorite lines as he often gifted us with odd treasures and finds.  Tony was one of his myriad of surprises and adventure.  Although short lived, Tony was a brief winner.

Farm + Family + Fun = PandePonyum!  Homemade chaos and never regretted. 

Thanks for reading!

NONE OF US. NO ONE. WE ARE NOT ALONE. Hearing, reading, and saying these phrases has become all too common in the last few weeks. Not your home. Not your community. Not your state, nor nation. Mother Earth has suddenly, with little warning, taken our carefree, mundane lifestyles and turned them literally inside out.

Employers, government officials, and even our inner voices are asking questions that possibly have never been posed in our lifetimes. Why can’t we? Where will we? How are we supposed to? When can we ? Who’s responsible for? Staying put in our homes has sidelined jobs, entertainment, social, and religious activities. Recently, a friend emphatically stated, “This pandemic has got us all by the _____!”  You fill in the blank.

COVID-19 has virtually touched every life on this planet. Some more personally than others. Sudden unemployment, unexpected illness and untimely deaths have knocked at our doors. Where are we in this misfortune and mayhem? How does one make sense of this “new normal”?  WE JUST DO.

Continuing to hunker down, I have grown to accept what is. It seems rather odd that so many activities that have been stashed into closets and future dates are now ever present. A spiritual tune-up seems to be in order. TIME is available. Time to think and time to do. There are no other excuses but to tackle, enjoy, and appreciate. 

TACKLE. Photos are finally in their frames and pose where they should have been years ago. Cupboards and drawers have been purged and organized. Wow, the new-found space is awesome! A lovely, nearly completed, cross-stitch destined for Mr. and Mrs. Newlywed, is now prepared for gifting as they celebrate their upcoming fifth anniversary! Renewing with a quick note or phone call has given shine to long ago friendships. A sense of relief and accomplishment are entertaining my soul! 

ENJOY. While working and raising a family, my life consisted of shortcuts and multi-tasking. Busy, busy, busy, as there was little time for deep breathing. Of late, however, I have opened those dog-earred recipe books and taken to cooking with renewed time, energy, and interest. I’m creating fresh dishes and deserts. The flavors of “Oink, oink” have joined me at the table and I’m not sorry.

Reading. I’m absorbing coveted, long-held, novels and the like. I’m feasting on WHOLE books! Preface, Acknowledgements, and Epilogues! Cover to cover has taken on a whole new meaning. 

Meditation and mindfulness have made new in my mind and body. Time to breathe, absorb sermons, and appreciate the beauty of a clear sky at night.  All have taken to soothing my blood pressure and soul. A spiritual tune-up has commenced. 

APPRECIATE. I have had time to listen, to rearrange my focus, and appreciate what my life has become. Happy, satisfied, and spiritual. 

Opportunities to connect daily to friends and family has given me a greater appreciation for our differences and our deep love. Although hundreds of miles away, I can perform one simple connection to see and laugh with my beloved grands, two beautiful daughters and never-forgotten friends.

Added to this, I have been able to connect via texting threads with all seven siblings. Almost daily, someone poses a thought to ponder. Throughout the day, we all add this and that. Miles away, it’s a connection I so appreciate and love. 

Exercise has become a daily routine. I have learned to work with this older body and know that I CAN stretch, walk, and move forward, for the betterment of me. Yes, it hurts, however, it has yet to prove harm. Time and Ibuprofen have provided that!  My physical and spiritual tune-up continues to renew my gratefulness. 

How have you used this time we have been given? Has the perfect storm of pity parties arrived? Have you made sense and begun to move forward? Are you beginning to turn tragedy into triumph? 

We could easily succumb to negativity and woe as we travel through this pandemic. This new normal. Take this time allowed to reassess when expectations did not materialize. Take this time to make sense and move forward. 

You’ve worked enough. You’ve cried enough. You’ve been generous, and kind enough. YOU are beautiful enough. You will get through…together, with everyone else. Be grateful. 

Lessons Learned

“We are strong, we will get through this…together.” Dr. Anthony Fauci, Governor Andrew Cuomo, Dr. Deborah Brix, and Almighty God. They have our backs. 

Physical and spiritual tune-ups will renew us. Yes, yes, and yes. I have found gratefulness in this new normal. Stay strong, stay safe, and stay sane. 

And thanks for reading! 

What makes this blog tick? What makes for good interest in reading? Oh, so much more than you might imagine. I liken this to a favorite recipe. Combine hours of thought, organization, word placement and a sprinkle of innocent embellishment.  Gently mix an appreciative and supportive readership. Fold in my valued family of siblings and daughters. Presto, Gumbo, and you’ve got a serving of, “From Farm to Table”!

In just over a year, I have entered your minds and thoughts through this weekly blog. I have a new found pleasure with my laptop as I serve up words for thought. Good for you and good for me.

For my most recent birthday, I was gifted with a most lovely addition to writing. Daughter Jennifer provided me a year’s subscription to “StoryWorth”.  Every week for one year I will be given a topic of which to write. At the end of the year, all my entries will be combined into a book of memories. I am honored and thrilled with such an endearing, loving, investment. 

This week’s question posed, What Was Your Childhood Bedroom Like? Although this may seem rather personal and/or violated, I chose to gently mix and prepare today’s piece. Enjoy a blend of truth and comfort in my Slumberland of Dreams. 

I grew up in a small two story farmhouse that included three bedrooms. For a family of 10, this was indeed, small! Two bedrooms downstairs and one large room upstairs. Momma and Daddy in one bedroom, brothers Jojo and Johnny in another. Upstairs, the whole room belonged to all sisters. Early introduction to dorm life on the farm. Who would have imagined? 

This slumber arrangement seemed so huge, as it consumed the length of our whole house! A large window at each end provided a comfortable flow-through breeze in the summer.  Plastered walls were pale, light green in color; nothing fancy or feminine. Two double beds and two single beds kept all six girls comfortable. I cannot remember who shared with who, or what, but we made do. One of my fondest memories included the feather ticks, also known as comforters; oversized and oh so warm.

All beds were covered with the puffy, brown flannel of a cozy tick. Nothing fancy or colorfully fun; utilitarian for the most part. Momma had sewn these bundles of warmth and love. Stitch, stitch, stitch, just like that!  Every spring they received a newness as they were taken outside to wave in the fresh, gentle breezes. Ahh, the smell of fresh air clothing and bedding!

Their puffy goodness consisted of an overstuff of feathers. Goose, chicken, duck?, I had no idea. Since they couldn’t be washed, Momma would sew up new outside coverings every few years. Trying to keep the feathers from flying all over the house, she would use the vacuum sweeper to suck out the feathers in the old comforter. In some odd way, she could then reverse the vacuum’s power and blow the feathers into the new coverlet! An all day affair, Momma urged us to stay away while she created. And that we did!

Momma expected her tribe to take daily naps. If nothing else, she likely wanted a short time of peacefulness away from her Crazy Eights! Us girls would take to our dorm-like haven and often “created”, rather than slept. We played church. We played hospital. We played school. Our quiet imaginations used pillow cases, blankets, and the few toys, crayons, and books we had.

The day we enjoyed Art Class was like no other. Having no paper or supplies to create, we relied on our crayons. Twins, Annie and Mary, along with myself, took to the walls with color. We drew large shapes. We wrote our names. We made a beautiful mess! Pleased with our masterpieces, we could not wait to share them with Momma.

Our pride was quickly dashed as Momma clearly was not pleased nor amused. As usual, her discipline was not harsh, but direct and enforced. In her calm but serious voice, she assured us that the art would remain on the walls. “You may as well enjoy what you’ve created because this is staying for a good long time. Wax will not come off these walls and will stay put until I decide to repaint.” And there it lingered for years; until I was a teenager! Our creation did not appreciate value. It grew to appreciate in hideous!

Not fancy. Not princess-like. Not exclusive. My bedroom was shared and served not only as a quiet place of rest, but entertainment in a myriad of adventures and pretend. Gossip, giggles, and secrets with my sisters will never be forgotten. The best of company and sharing.

I welcomed summer breezes as they encouraged wondrous slumber.  Always having a front row seat in a window sill, I gazed at spectacular constellations, the Milky Way and all phases of the moon. Newly sown fields, an orchard of fruit, and Fourth of July fireworks from a town far away provided the changing colors to satisfy my calm. My bedroom was a paradise of safety and peace. I was lulled into cozy with feathered ticks and a sister or five to keep me warm! My slumberland of dreams and rest. 

Lessons Learned

One’s bedroom is one’s palace. Peace, calm, sleep. Although my bedroom was a shared entity, I never lacked in good rest.

Thanks, many times over, for reading! 

As you may or may not know, I grew up with seven siblings. Seven brothers and sisters that in total, were nine years apart in age! It seemed I had playmates all the time. We lived on a farm and had gobs of activities along with acres of land to play. Did we always get along? I introduce you to my tribe of good chaos!

First of all was my oldest sister (by one year) Bernadette. Being the oldest, she knew EVERYTHING of course. She also was the first to get EVERYTHING! A new doll, a pretty coat, a two-wheel bike, and all the flu, chickenpox, and measles she would bring home from school! She was so pretty with her long, wavy, black hair. Her nickname was Berni.

When we played, she was the mother, doctor, teacher, and any other leader we could pretend. Berni was the director of all games and fun. Always helping Momma with chores in the house, I remember her cooking, baking, sewing, and clipping coupons from the Sunday newspapers. A planner and organizer, we trusted Berni’s word. She seemed more mature than the rest of us and enjoyed her position.

Berni always had a boyfriend and so often in love. In fact, she married her high school sweetheart, Jim. Together, they shared two children and a wonderful, rich marriage. Homemade everything and love earned her the title, Berni Crocker (after the heroine of General Mills).

I was the second oldest in the family. I grew up really skinny, had lots of curly hair and big brown eyes. Even though my full name was Josephine (named after my Daddy), I was called Joey, Josie, or Jo. I remember getting along with all of my siblings, but not always at the same time.

Next in line were twin sisters, Annie and Mary (nine months younger than me). The twins were born two months early and named after Momma’s two sisters, Aunt Ann and Aunt Mary. Because we were so close in age, we were probably the closest with each other. Momma raised us as triplets. We learned to crawl, walk, and talk at the same time. Momma was crazy busy!

Annie was quite funny and I loved keeping secrets and playing with her, however, she could be a little bossy. She had qualities I so admired; she was taller, cuter, and more assertive. Sometimes we double dated. I always thought she knew everything about boys. I wanted to have her courage, sass, and boyfriends.

Daddy nicknamed her “Punna”. We thought maybe it was the Hungarian translation for Anna, but never asked. No questions, Punna she was.

I so remember twin sister Mary as the patient, hard-working sister.  I saw her as one of Daddy’s favorites because she was always helping with chores inside and outside the house. I don’t remember Mary as mean, spiteful, or sassy. It was easy for me to get along with her. We used to share a bed and play a lot together. Daddy nicknamed her “Mudda-skush”. Not sure of this term, we agreed it was another Hungarian moniker. Not wanting to mispronounce her pet name, I have memories of calling her “Mud”. No surprises, she graciously accepted.

Without a doubt, “church” was one of our favorite pretends. We recited Latin learned at Mass and used goldfish food as our Communion wafers. When that ran out, Berni and I made hosts from flour, salt and water. Using pillow cases as head coverings, AKA, habits, Annie and Mary were nuns at St. Make Believe. I most remember this when we were supposed to be taking naps in our large upstairs bedroom!

The fifth child in my family was the first boy, Joe. Yes, we both were named after Daddy. We called him Jojo and he was always silly and often in trouble. Surviving in the midst of four older sisters likely contributed to his mischievous being.  Always planning and inventing, Jojo had lots of energy and ideas. His carefree spirit and incessant prattling often kept me in his company. 

Jojo loved being with Daddy. Together they did small jobs for the neighbors or small businesses in town. Patching roofs, fixing machinery, delivering seed corn, just to name a few. I got along with Jojo because he never seemed to get mad. He was always climbing, exploring, or inventing some contraption with Daddy’s collected junk. I loved his mindless sense of life! 

A most vivid memory I have of Jojo was on one of the hottest days in summer. I was helping Momma bake several fresh peach pies in the steamy kitchen. Jojo was outside yelling for Momma to look out the window. 

He had climbed the 30+ foot silo and stood on its top. With a foolishly, courageous jump, he made a landing on the roof of the peaked barn! There was an unbelievable gap between these two structures, however, on the peak of the barn roof stood Jojo waving at Momma and me. His champion grin was quickly dashed as Momma screamed, “I don’t know how you got up there, but you better get yourself down without getting killed!”

No harm, no foul. Joe landed safely and another day of his adventures were in the memory books. Today, Joe continues to be inventive and oh so talkative. He is a friend to everyone he meets.

Miss Kathy Sue is number six in my family. Of all my sisters, she is the most compassionate and loving. Just three years younger,  I remember her always being in the mix of collecting flowers and leaves in the woods, “fishing” in the county ditch, playing church, and riding bikes up and down the driveway. Daddy used to call her “Kukuts”. It supposedly meant “little worm” in Hungarian.

I don’t know why, but it seemed that Kukuts was the one who got hurt during our many outdoor adventures. She was younger, very small in stature, and so wanted to be included with us older ones. It became obvious that she was the “chosen” one to play along. 

I still remember the day we played Doctor. It was summer and we were in an empty corn crib. Whomever the “doctor” was, he/she had “prescribed” a corn kernel as medicine. At the age of two, Kathy had no choice but to be the “sick” patient and was administered the corn, UP HER NOSE! She couldn’t breathe, Momma couldn’t retrieve the swollen kernel, thus, a trip to the hospital! 

Little Worm was also the only sibling that ever broke a bone (her arm, falling off a horse), and chipping a front tooth (being shoved into a metal corn wagon). Minus the injuries, I so wanted to have her cuteness and gentle charm.  Kukuts was easy to love!

Number seven in our family was my second brother, John. Johnny, as we called him, was a favorite of Momma’s. He had a gentle spirit and the biggest brown eyes! He was five years younger than me and somewhat sickly. I remember very little about Johnny as a small boy. He was a great play pal, and I don’t recall any bickering or bad feelings between us.

I will never forget the day little J. was rushed to the hospital because he had quit breathing. He was about two years old and had been crawling on the floor. Fuel oil that had been leaking from a room heater and Johnny found it. Immediately he turned purplish-blue and was rushed to the hospital. Given last rites, no one believed he would survive. 

Johnny bounced back fine. He is by far, the tallest, most able, and kind-hearted brother anyone could want. He is a true giver, committed, and a wonderful husband, father and friend. I live closest to him and spend a good time giggling, reminiscing, and sharing a barley pop or two.

Last, but not least of The Crazy Eight is Baby Theresa. We are eight years apart in age and close siblings today. My memories include that she was the most spoiled. She always had someone feeding or holding her. Baby T. received all the swing, wagon, and yes, piggy-back rides! We’d all take turns dressing her pretty, combing and braiding her hair, and treating her like a princess. We lovingly called her Theressy (with a long “e”).

I recall one unforgettable incident with baby sissy. Momma had scheduled a photo session for her princess. A few of us decided to add the sweet smell of baby oil to her already dark locks. We used so much oil that her cuteness was quickly replaced with the likes of a rain-soaked duckling! Momma did not have the time or patience to get the excess oil from baby T’s hair! Cuteness had gone awry!

I remember little about Theresa growing up as I had various part time jobs as a teenager. When I graduated, she was about ten. Off to college I went as T. played sports in high school and then to work after graduation. She had lots of friends and independence. I know for a fact, she and Johnny were the best of pals and siblings.

Today, Baby Theressy seems to be a go-to for advice and knowledge. She has a strong commitment to her family and work. Always a giver, she is loved by so many.

Lessons Learned All in all, there were more happy, joyful, and playful times in my childhood than not. I rarely recall any long-lasting arguments of significance. It seemed if someone was on the outs with another, there was ALWAYS another sibling that would pity and side with you! Trivial spats and bickerings were reshaped and molded into a huge love connection of respect and companionship. Momma and Daddy kept their brood consistently appreciative of each other and cemented together with Godly faith and goodness. A loud, “YES!”. Yes, I DID get along with my siblings! Love lived! 

Thanks for reading and sharing the love!