“Bits ‘n Pieces of Me: Memoirs to retain identity in the face of growing dementia” — unpublished page 03:
Put the words of your soul on to paper.
Try to do it in a fashion others will understand,
But DO IT in any way you can!
Right now, writing is necessary for my sanity.
This is a safe outlet for my emotions;
If the words are too destructive I can just rip up the paper.
But if they might be beneficial to someone
then I can go thru and rephrase, rewrite,
and give a helpful gift of a piece of my soul. (1989 Feb)
I was born as eldest child
into a loving, low income family with strong traditional values.
My Dad’s father emigrated from Sweden at 2 years old. His mother was born in Minnesota. RaMon was the eldest of three boys, and met my mom while milking cows in her rural town of Trout Lake, Washington. Dad was 21 years old, and already out of the Navy after the Korean War.
Excerpts from his “Poem of My Heart” Feb 1956:
I’ve never written poetry and don’t know how to start,
so I am just an amateur in this “Poem of My Heart” …
You seem to go for poetry about the earth and sky
but this one here is different, and Hon, I’ll tell you why. …
I love you, Little Darling, more than words can ever tell,
and hand to you this heart of mine
in which you’ll always dwell.
Mom was 17 years old when Dad wrote her the first of his many poems. Her father was a cattleman and her mother was a cook for the U.S. Forest Service. Mom was lead cheerleader all thru High School. She was then and continues to be vibrant, vivacious, and cute as a button.
Since Mom had three brothers she was also quick-moving and good at wrestling. One day when the boys were pulling her hair at school, she finally put the most recent culprit into a half-nelson. He wouldn’t promise not to pull her hair again so she intensified the pressure. She felt bad when his arm was broken. Mom and Dad were married a month after she graduated high school, and I was born 14 months later.
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