There is a time for everything. We never know when our time is up or what reason we are here. I have come to believe that everything falls into place, with or without our intervention. It has been awhile since I have written, but it is because I was very busy preparing with my siblings a party for our parents on their 50th wedding anniversary. It was perhaps the most important event we have planned in our lives. My siblings did an exceptional job. I have also been working to maintain good health since June 1st, working with a trainer three times per week. In the meantime, I have been busy doing craft fairs, ornament parties and staying with my parents since our kitchen is in the process of being remodeled. I guess I am a gypsy of sorts.
                     I have missed writing so I will share a few things that have happened. Recently I went up to visit Saccarappa Cemetery and found some stones which were completely vandalized. One stone belonging to Elmer Mitchell which is made of tin, was seemingly vandalized with a sledgehammer. It nauseates me that people could spend their time smashing the memorials of people who are long gone. The stones of many of Westbrook, Maine’s earliest residents are mostly shattered. Of course one cannot hurt the dead, but it sure casts sadness upon the survivors of the dead. 
                     I have been thinking about connections in my life. Recently I told my son, Mike, that he should check out www.winheldsworld.blogspot.com , a site written by a man with Muscular Dystrophy. Coincidently, later that afternoon I saw a post on my Face book page, that he had passed away. Previously, I had only checked his website maybe four or five times. Josh Winheld was an inspiration to many who knew him. If you check the comments after his brother posted the news of Josh’s death, it will break your heart to read a post written by a woman whom was very close to him. It made me cry to read her thoughts. Josh taught me that as parents, we sometimes place limitations on our kids… and that is not good. He taught me that my son could get a college education, could get work, and could find love. You have to admire people for just living their lives despite whatever obstacles they may face. I am thankful I knew about his blog. I am not sure he knew how valuable he was to his readers.
                     I wish you all good health, less stress, and the good fortune to still have a job and a roof over your head. Times are tough. It is time to get back to basics such as learning some new things.  This year I learned to make my own butter, plant a garden, and can jam and jelly. Sundays may be a good time to start getting together with family and friends to start a tradition. My own sisters and I have talked about working on crafts, or bake bread, or work on scrapbooking. It is always good to learn new skills.
 For several years, I have taken the day after Thanksgiving off from work, so that I could take part in the Bonny Eagle Craft Fair to make hand-lettered ornaments while people wait. Part of me was afraid I could not keep up with the orders, so I never acted upon my desire to be in the fair until this year. I sold my ornaments at three craft fairs and did pretty well. I was even asked if I could do an ornament party which I agreed to try, though it was something I had never done. So next year will be more exciting because I have new avenues I want to explore.
                     Today, it is snowing heavily in South Portland, Maine where I am located. It is beautiful outside and soon it will be time to get outside and snowshoe. Enjoy your day.

                    All weekend I have been thinking about Shiloh’s parents. She recently passed away at the tender age of ten. She was one of only three known worldwide who lived with sirenomelia, commonly referred to as mermaid syndrome. She was a true spirit, full of life and determination. As a parent of a child with a disability, I have learned a few things. Some things in life may seem unfair, but life was never fair. I also had a cousin with severe limitations and when she passed, I grieved over what she had been through in her life, but I was grateful that she was part of our lives, in the sixties; a time before inclusion.
                    In my experience, I believe most parents who have children with disabilities sometimes experience chronic sorrow because their children will lead dramatically different lives than their peers. It seems much of the child’s energy, is sometimes spent making others comfortable with them. Parents also feel compelled to have their children accepted by their peers as well as adults. There were times, I had to step back and not put those burdens on my shoulders because I needed to save my strength just to be a mom. I also wanted my son to see that I was dealing with things the best way I knew. When parents finally stop fighting the disability and gain acceptance, then the children gain self acceptance, which is most important.
                     Disabled kids teach their parents just how strong they are as human beings. The strength of the human spirit is remarkable. Inside each and every one of us is that need to live our lives. Sometimes we are not tested early on, like children with illness and disability, until we are older. Then we find that we have great strength when we need it. We will experience denial, fear, anger and sadness but that will take the back burner to acceptance and happiness in the life that we have today. Our children do not want to be made to feel they are a burden, or they are special, or they are fragile. They want people to talk to them not at them. My experience as a mother is not that different from any other mother. I want my children to accept themselves and be the best they can be. My experiences have been intense at times. It was not always easy trying to juggle meeting the needs of my able-bodied son as I was care-giving for my other son. There were times when I had nightmares over my inability to do both. For the most part, I believe I am a better person for having the experiences I have had as a mother. It may be difficult to believe but I would never trade the experience of raising a child with a disability. Of course, in my heart it has been difficult to watch my son experience his losses. It has been difficult for our whole family, especially my youngest son who watched his brother gradually stop walking and lose abilities. They have a very tight bond, which is just what a mother wants with her kids. 
                    When I think of all the people I have met whose children have been sick or living with disability during our many hospital stays and also families I have known with disabled children, I am humbled to be part of this circle of friends. I have several memories of parents who have lost their children and they still reach out to me in my time of need or they are there to offer me their wisdom. So today, as I think of Shiloh’s family, I am sure they feel very blessed to have had such a beautiful daughter and I am willing to bet they too would not have traded their experience as parents to such a determined young girl. This story is dedicated to the strength of the human spirit, the love we have for life, and the courage to carry on with the burdens that we all sometimes carry. To LIfe!

            Please excuse my long absence as I had a longtime visitor at my home and enjoyed the visit. This is not to say I was empty of thought as each day I would write notes to myself about topics with which I was concerned. The following gives testament to some of my mind wanderings. Oh the places I have traveled……
            Each day, we are updated with blurbs and headlines regarding current news across the Globe. How much news do we really need? When 9/11 occurred, I became obsessed with news 24/7 and in fact found my sleep interrupted as I would awaken several times during the night to keep updated, as if I might miss an important piece of news. Some would call this phenomenon a little crazy. I must agree now, that it probably was crazy, and I was not the only person in the Nation watching CNN Headline News at all hours of the night. I continued watching the CNN Headline News for over a year. Then I realized that this was not the norm.
             Once I read an article which mentioned a concept that we reserve the right ‘Not to Know.’ I believe over one hundred years ago, an idea that one day we would become over saturated with so much news that we could actually go crazy. Today, I can be watching something on television and it will be interrupted with a sensational crime story, with no warning of graphic material. This is total disregard for any children who may be watching. It is as if sensationalism has replaced decency. I am not really sure that what I see portrayed as news is really news. What I sometimes see and read is more information than my brain can handle. Sometimes, I do not know what to do with disturbing graphics and information and I am not good at processing it. I wished I had never even heard the story, because it continues to haunt me Surely, I cannot be the only one who feels this way. My belief is that we will never have the ability to keep up with the fast pace of technological advancement. We purchase our computers and they are obsolete before we bring them home. The news feeds which bombard us minute by minute are similar in the way that it is unfiltered, out of control information and media.         
            Everyone has a cell phone with a camera, a digital camera, spy novelties, or a video camera. At any time, you can be filmed and never know it. I saw quite by accident a piece of footage showing a young man’s death on his motorcycle doing a stunt he had probably done hundreds of times. It had been posted You Tube and unfortunately, I never intended to see it but caught the gruesome scene. I wonder how anyone tcould take footage like that and post it with no regard to the grieving family. Although I live in a country which has alternative media, uncensored this and that, I would fight to keep it this way. I would prefer to filter out the nonsense myself, by avoiding horrific headlines and turning off the TV and radio when I am feeling bombarded. Who really needs news 24/7? Long gone are the days when my ancestors read a weekly rag which covered topics around the Globe. I think there were fewer crazier people back then too.
             The media has a way of pushing our buttons and even if we enjoy a certain program, sometimes we need to control our response to the material… and turn off the radio. I am not sure our media is doing a good job covering important issues. It seems the local town rags do an excellent job of covering the responses of everyday citizens to the news media. I was not interested in the antics of Britney Spears or the death of Michael Jackson or the OJ Simpson trial. Why do we hold these Hollywood types in high esteem? Do we wish to be like them? I think if we all took an interest in what is happening in our own four walls, the world might just be a little more interesting and healthier.
               Another topic of interest is our dependence on China. We owe them a great debt, because we think we need all this crap made in China. How much junk do we really all need? The proof is in the hundreds of yard sales in my own vicinity. If we were not obsessed with stuff, there would be no yard sales. It reminds me of an old newspaper article I read about the American South while sitting in my doctor office. The South was very angry with the North shortly after the Civil War. The wounds were very deep. One Northerner wrote, “You can’t blame them because they wake each day from their Yankee made beds, which are covered with their Yankee made sheets and pillows. The slip into their Yankee made clothes, and groom themselves with their Yankee made brushes, combs and razors. They sit down at their Yankee made table and chairs and eat from their Yankee made dishes and silverware”….You get the point. Look around your home to see all the items made elsewhere, usually China. Today, we are like the Southerners of long ago in comparison with our dependency on China. The Chinese said that America spends tomorrow’s money today and the Chinese do not do that. 
             Even the media cannot keep up with the pace of the wonders of the Internet like Twitter, You Tube etc. One has to research so much to gather stories of interest and to investigate. I do not see much of that going on in too many newspapers. You would think that the newspapers would complement their news stories with the likes of alternative media sources. I would think in the news business, one would have to search and search for newsworthy items in all types of available internet media. Perhaps this is why the newspapers are failing. Soon they will all be similar to the Tabloids which are commonplace in England. News as it is delivered will be over, if that is what we will be reduced to for our news. It is not unusual for me to read a story and leave with the feeling that the story was unfinished. I always look for what is unwritten, much like in conversation, the unspoken is sometimes more important than what was spoken. Maybe too many choices are just as bad as not enough choices. That is why I believe the online comments are a fine addition to the online newspaper editions. Sometimes the comments are disturbing, but usually they give a sense of closure to the story and commenters even  question pieces of the story.
             On another matter; a short time ago that there were no supermarkets, only corner markets. As a child, I seldom recall going to McDonald’s Restaurant. We went to Old Orchard Beach for rides once. As a big family we did things together, and went places which cost little to nothing. There was not this urgent sense of consumerism. Why do so many feel like they cannot ever wait for any purchase? They want it all now. Supposedly ATM card users spend more than people who carry cash spend.  We are still in control….turn off the TV, throw out the sale flyers, stop shopping on the internet, and don’t allow yourself to be told what you need. Most of all on a humorous note, don’t look at those magazines at the checkout, always reminding us of what a man needs. No wonder we feel inadequate… and to think we even pay for it at the checkout! Come to think of it, I have not seen many magazines about what a woman wants… unless of course a woman is writing it for another woman. You can make that choice not to buy everything in sight and put a few dollars in your pocket.

 

                    Looking back, I suppose we have all wasted time. When I was a young woman, it was all about my friends. I had the love and security of the family I grew up with, but we all struggle to break free of our family, only later to come back and realize they are the best support we have in our lives. I had so much fun growing up with all my many friends, each one a friend for a different reason. I have friends from my neighborhood, friends from school, friends from the night club scene, friends of friends, college friends, friends in the sign trade, friends from work etc. There are friends I have known since kindergarten that I am still great friends with today. I have my mom friends who have kids with disabilities. They keep me going and give me inspiration. 
                     As I grow older, I am careful how I spend my time because time is a limited commodity. Last week I talked to a friend who is a mother of boys with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. It was unusual for me to talk so long but our conversation was important to both of us. So this was not a waste of time. I have friends I touch base with on occasion because they are very important to me. My family time is of utmost importance to me because they are the investment of my husband and me. Outside my immediate family, it is my sisters with whom I wish to spend time. We have our differences occasionally but we have only admiration nd respect for each other. 
                     I was conversing with a fellow employee this week and he mentioned a childhood memory. It was a sad memory about his young brother’s death. He was in fifth grade and his brother was in the first grade. His family was very large. Since he and his brother attended the same school, he was asked by his mother to tell the brother’s teacher that his brother would not be back to school because he has passed away. It was perhaps the strongest memory of my fellow employee as a child. He told me that he went to see the teacher who was conversing with a few other teachers when he interrupted them. They all stayed to hear his message, “My brother won’t be back to school because he passed away last night” He remembered bursting into tears. 
                     I have thought of this fellow employee for the past few days and am humbled that he shared that story with me. I am not sure why he was comfortable with sharing it, but am glad he shared it with me. We all have stories. That was certainly no waste of my time. It reminds me of the book, “The Five People you Meet in Heaven” It is also in movie form. In life, we never know who affects us and who we affect. 
                     I also read a story about a local doctor who has ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig ’s disease. I was immediately struck by his wife’s comments, that the first year after diagnosis was very terrible. I felt the exact same way after I found my son to have a serious illness. I cried every day and night for what seemed like months. It had a profound effect on my marriage, and my parenting to my other child as well as my affected son. I was devastated for a very long time. After some time was I able to find some peace and learn to live life. Then I could teach my children to live their lives. 
                    A diagnosis is not a death sentence and nobody can take away your hopes and dreams. There is no person on Earth who holds the crystal ball and by no means do we all fit inside a nice box, with all diagnoses having the same exact reactions. We are all very different. Choose your time wisely and surround yourself with positive people. My best to all my friends because I am truly blessed.

           

 

            There is something about the allure of the sea and growing up on the coast of Maine that there are certain pleasures not to be taken for granted. The smell of the salt air and the sounds of bell buoys and foghorns on a foggy night are good memories of living along the coast. Having lived on Peaks Island for a short time, my ties are strong to the sea. Painting mussel shells with designs and combing the beach are among my favorite things to do along an ocean beach.
             The sea creatures seen in the tidal pools and the sight of seals as they feast along the jagged rocks were truly a pleasure to witness on a recent excursion to Monhegan Island. A gem in Muscongus Bay, Monhegan Island is nearly ten miles out to sea. We saw a lone fisherman out there in the middle of the bay, and I realized that it must be a lonely job for hardworking fishermen. I am sure that the catch can be plentiful but their livelihood is tied to the sea. With regulations and the current low cost of lobster [current prices are about 3.99 lb]; it must be very hard to make a good living at times. I am reminded of my last trip to Damariscotta, when I purchased native artist Dahlov Ipcar’s children’s book, The Lobsterman, filled with delightful night scenes of the lobsterman at work. Matinicus Island has been in the headlines regarding fishing territory disputes. I wish their island community the best to come together as a community again.
             Prior to the boat ride to Monhegan Island, I went on a trip to downtown Damariscotta, on our yearly visit to Reny’s. I met Mr. Robert Reny years ago in his store here and was impressed with his strong work ethic and dedication. He passed away this year and I am sure many people here will miss him as we saw a large banner “Thank you R.H. Reny” upon our arrival to the area this week. We spent a lot of time and money downtown. As always, I highly recommend Reny’s for the fashions, bargains, jewelry, souvenirs, stemware, and all things that could be considered necessities. Everyone on the street was either talking about going to Reny’s or carrying Reny’s bags like we did. Afterward I found a nice boutique named Darling and Delisle filled with beautiful jewelry, whimsical and classic designed hats, scarves and lovely hair pieces made with rhinestones and materials similar to Bakelite and tortoiseshell. While there I purchased a mermaid pendant with three natural pearls on the strand. Later on, I purchased some hairpieces for my sisters because they are my best friends.
             During the week, we had a karaoke night with a sing-a-long with our Canadian Cousins, “We Are Family”- a night of insanity and reminiscing and before the night was over, we were saying, eh?” Another old neighbor from Redbank Village came up the same week and we had a grand get-together.  My brother came by with his family a few times and music was the central force. We had wonderful times playing music and singing by the campfire.
             My husband planned an evening lobster feast, chicken, steak, corn, margaritas, potato, and salad, along with many extras, to feed some twenty-five people. It was an evening to remember. The week was filled with horseshoes, skateboarding and basketball, canoeing and fishing, for all the teens-as well as plenty of teen action down by the pavilion with lots of socializing.
             Hot tubs, Jacuzzis and ice cream, slushies and snacks from the general store made our evenings worthwhile. Camping at Lake Pemaquid was a blast, so I am told. Family is what it is all about… I love them all and they make the trip worthwhile.
             The weather was perfect, except for the visibility of the annual meteor shower [August 12th]. The visibility was not good. In Weld , Maine back in 1970, on a camping trip, we witnessed at Dummers Beach, the most spectacular meteor shower ever, with hundreds of shooting stars. Never again have we witnessed anything as spectacular. 
             Lake Pemaquid camping is really about all the kids getting together and making memories for them. Our family has been camping since 1967, so this is our forty second year of making memories. My father built his trailer in 1968 specifically for camping. This past year he used the same frame but rebuilt the whole trailer body for the third time. 
             We learned to play dominoes on our last evening together making Dad happy. It also made us happy as we maneuvered the crazy game of Mexican Train Dominoes and laughed hysterically all evening. All in all, it was an excellent staycation, as I think that I prefer to keep my money in Maine whenever possible. I especially choose to shop in lovely Damariscotta and not in Wiscasset because the long traffic delays have made me realize I will never spend a dime there. Our vehicle moved five miles in forty minutes. On the way back we sailed through Wiscasset with no delays and I did not stop to spend any money either. As usual, it is always nice to be back home. Next year will be a grand trip to Vinalhaven or maybe even Matinicus.

 
 

                    





 

Nathaniel Hatch and Elizabeth (Hatch) Hatch had several children including Betsy born 1778 [married William Roberts], Hannah born 1780[married Jeremiah Johnson], Sally born 1783 [married Reuben Cobb], Nathaniel born 1789 (who died in Virginia), Harriet born 1794,died 1811, George born 1797[married Mary Staples]
                     It seemed at one time, many of the families on Saco Street were related. The Johnson, Roberts and Hatch families were all intertwined .The Johnson family had a sawmill and the original home still stands today. When traveling up Saco Street, there is a store on the right before traveling up the hill. The original house is a large box type home very near that store, but across the street. It is one of the last homes, near the bridge. James Johnson, from Scotland (but of Irish descent), was a weaver by trade. According to Fabius Ray’s book, he had 100 acres of land near Stroudwater bought from General Waldo. He had a son named George who then had a son named Jeremiah. This Jeremiah married the above named Hannah Hatch, daughter of Nathaniel Hatch. Jeremiah and Hannah had three known sons, Gardner, Rufus and Nathaniel. Rufus was a farmer like most men of his time, however interestingly enough, he was skilled at making fine organs by hand. He made the organ for an early church on Saco Street. Today the Maine State Museum has one of his fine handcrafted organs in their collection. He was known to have made three in his lifetime.
                     Of interest, one of Nathaniel Hatch’s sons, also Nathaniel was born in Gorham but went to Virginia. A diary entry, by William Roberts [1843-1923] written in the 1860’s mentions a visit to the Hatch home at 477 Saco Street by two young officers who had probably served during the Civil War, Nathaniel Hatch and his brother John Hatch who were up from Richmond ,Virginia.. They could have been the sons of this Nathaniel Hatch. 
                     George Hatch, son of the Reverend Nathaniel Hatch, was born in 1797 and died in 1870. He married Mary Staples. His second wife was listed as Emily Higgins born in 1810 and died in 1862.From the census of 1850 Westbrook, Maine, the children of George Hatch are listed as John , age 22, Mary, age 20, Sarah E., age 17, Adeline, age 15, Harriet , age 14, Emily H., age 12, Josephine, age 9, Sylvanus, age 7, Martha J. age 5, Melvina, age 3, and lastly Abigail, age 78 (grandmother-2nd wife of Rev. Nathaniel Hatch)
                     I read a great deal about this particular Hatch family in the diary of Martha Roberts and the diaries of William Roberts. Martha’s diary of 1863 mentions frequent visits by the Hatch girls, usually for tea, or bringing slips of flowers to plant. Quite often they would walk in the woods to gather cones to make crafts, sometimes picture frames from pine cones. All four Hatch girls: Emily, Harriet , Josephine and Melvina would visit Martha often, who lived at 341 Saco Street in another brick home. 
                    Another story of Interest is regarding Sylvanus Hatch, who was born the same year as William Roberts, of the diaries, in 1843. William lived at 547 Saco Street, home of his granddaughter today. William and Sylvanus put in long hours at their farms over the years, but were very competitive with each other. After a long days work, they would play a great deal of croquet. They even went camping with each other and some neighbors out to Higgins Beach. When they were both very young men at the age of 24, perhaps feeling restless as so many young people do… they headed West one April Day in 1867. William Roberts had a cousin visit from Australia named Charles Sefton Roberts. Charles and Sylvanus headed West together and William left one week after they had left. West for them was not as far as California. Sylvanus headed to Ohio, where he must have met his future wife[Nancy] as she was listed in the 1880 census as being from Ohio. Together they had one child that died very young at 3 months, a solemn sentence in a diary entry by William, the best friend of Sylvanus. I do not know where Sylvanus died but it was in 1914 and he is buried at Saccarappa. I have not found an obituary yet. Willaim Roberts went to Waterloo, Iowa for six months. A year or so later, he went back but this time for a year. Letters from his mother at that time, spoke of wanting him to come home if he was not using his time well. They wanted him home, and being a dutiful son to family, he did come back home to run the farm. They had hoped that he may have gotten some of that restlessness out of his system.
                    I hoped someday to connect with any descendants of this family as I would love to see what all these Hatch people looked like. There was mention of Sylvanus as being fat and jolly, which is difficult to imagine in those days. The Hatch and Johnson family are all buried in one lot at Saccarappa.
 
 

 

There is nothing more I have missed these past few weeks than writing. Well, I miss my sons who are growing up and really act as if they no longer want me in their lives. Maybe I was the same way when I was their age. Whatever the situation, it is bittersweet. I miss having conversation with anyone in my house. I think my son Mike is the one who talks the most with me… and that’s because he doesn’t have much choice at times. He can’t just hop in his car and take off to escape the wrath of the “older generation”-parents. I suppose that is why I do so much apart from my family because I need conversation and the exchange of ideas with people.
 I am looking forward to vacation very soon, so I can finish a few projects. This weekend was the Rededication of Rudy Vallée Square in Westbrook, Maine which took a great deal of preparation. My main project was to decorate the stage which was much fun. We had a fabulous exhibit where a reception was held for Eleanor Vallée, Rudy’s wife for forty years, and Rudy’s nephew, Bill Vallée. Prior to the reception, downtown at Main and Bridge, Eleanor unveiled a bronze bust of Rudy which she had commissioned a Maine sculptor to create. The event drew a good sized crowd, much more than seventy five which the Portland Press Herald had reported. The reception was very busy with a steady stream of people, perhaps one hundred and fifty visitors that day. It was a grand day.
 The same day, I interviewed someone who had witnessed the Redbank Plane crash as a kid. Then I came home to ‘crash’ on my sofa. I was exhausted. When I woke up, I picked raspberries in my yard. Later I visited with my artist friend, Virginia Fleck who was on vacation from Austin TX. Her website is www.virginiafleck.com which will allow you to view her incredible work. After this very long day, I felt bad I had missed so much time from home, so I vowed to stay home all day on Sunday.
Sunday arrived. I made twenty jars of raspberry jam, got Mike out of bed and showered, went grocery shopping, had visits from both sisters and families, and even tried my onion blossom maker without much success. I never got my car cleaned out, but I guess I have all week. I know the day is only twenty four hours long and sure wish it was a little longer.
 Tomorrow it is off to see my trainer which I have been so enthusiastic about for the past eight weeks, three times per week. I feel stronger and I have lost some weight.
The best part is that I feel like I have my life back. I run up and down stairs and have more energy. Hopefully after I achieve some goals, I may write more about the whole process. I have learned so much from my trainer. I apologize for not writing sooner because I know some of you were concerned. Thank you all for staying tuned. I have some good stories in the works. The next one will be about the Hatch Family of Saco Street, Westbrook, Maine.

                    I have been away emotionally the past couple of weeks. Now I am feeling better. While I have been very busy with workouts three times per week with a personal trainer, it does not come easy to carve out time for myself. This is going to be the year I vow to commit to myself to be in better health. I am fortunate I have this option because many do not, through no fault of their own.
                    My oldest son, for example, despite the muscular dystrophy he lives with day to day, is otherwise healthy in comparison to others we know who are affected with muscular dystrophy. Recently, he was with my other son and they were in NH when I received a call around dinnertime. My youngest son asked what medicines his brother took each day. Immediately, though he remained very calm, I realized something was wrong. He had called an ambulance for his brother because he was having difficulty breathing, This happened before and he passed out because neuromuscular patients cannot expel enough air from their lungs causing CO2 to remain in their lungs which makes them sleepy, enough to pass out. Both occurrences, my sons were together and my youngest son handled the situations with grace and courage. By the way, oxygen is like poison to these people as well because it causes the same phenomenon. My youngest son was very upset because the emergency room staff would not listen to him and use the inexsuffolater (cough assist machine) to retrieve mucus from his brother’s lungs and instead performed invasive treatment which was a ventilator (intubation). This does not allow the person to communicate. I went home and was planning to go to Portsmouth Regional Hospital, when the doctor called me to say my youngest son had requested transport to MMC for his brother. Immediately, I called his doctor here to explain the situation and replied that I wanted him off the ventilator immediately knowing that neuromuscular patients can become forever dependent upon the ventilator. I called my mom and she joined me at the hospital for my son’s arrival a short time after midnight.
                     I spent the night there in the special care waiting room and told the nurse to let him know I was there. My son was angry he had been ventilated. There was fire shooting from his eyes. With his eye movements, my husband & I figured he wanted the bed sitting higher and wanted to have spit suctioned from his mouth caused from intubation. He was on intravenous, antibiotics and was catheterized. I brought my cough assist machine from home at the doctor’s advice in the event there was a shortage of that type of equipment. The respiratory therapist was able to get a machine for his room allowing me to take mine home. I fixed the settings like ours from home as I talked with the respiratory therapist. My family is all trained on the use of the machine.
                      The following morning, my son was taken off the ventilator and there was talk of getting him a Bipap machine for evening use to facilitate with breathing. We knew it was time from the results of his last sleep study but ultimately it would be his decision when to get the equipment. Because of this incident, the choice was made for him. It is always bittersweet when a new piece of equipment comes home because something is lost… and something is gained. As soon as tubes were taken from his throat, we used his cough assist machine a few times to clear his lungs. That evening my husband would stay the night.
                     I arrived the next morning around 10:30AM to see oxygen tubes in my son’s nose and he did not look good. My husband wasn’t aware of oxygen danger but I was because of a friend whose son nearly died from being given oxygen. I realized I had not shared that info with my husband. The nurse came in and I asked about it. She said his oxygen saturation levels were falling. My son could not keep his eyes open. I told her that the oxygen tubes would be coming out and she advised me to consult with the doctor. As soon as she left the room, I took them out of his nose and started with his cough assist machine. I took out a lot of mucus and he seemed to be responding. The machine on the wall  kept beeping because the oxygen levels were low but I kept working with the cough assist. I put ithe oxygen tube back in fhis nostrils for a short while and then repeated the procedure. After almost two hours of using the cough assist machine, he was alert, and responded by having his oxygen saturations at 100 percent. He then maintained those oxygen levels. The nurses were astounded, but it did not take a rocket scientist. From what I have researched, most medical personnel are not trained on the non invasive approach to pulmonary care, much less even aware of how it works. There are some medical personnel who know. There is also no protocol for the standard of care for these patients.         
                    Achieving optimum health can even be as simple as which masks the patient uses. For my son, we chose to use nasal pillows for his Bipap, as using a full face mask can also cause complications with weight loss due to distension of the stomach as it receives too much air. There is so much to learn beginning with me and also the medical personnel. I have learned two things over the years. Whatever ‘sentence’ the doctors give you… take it lightly as everyone responds differently and most importantly LIVE your life. They only know from some of their experiences and most likely schooling. We are the ones who live with our loved one’s diagnoses. We have learned to achieve emotional health as well. Don’t let them take away any hope you have to keep you going. The next most important thing I have learned is that I will not accept NO for an answer in my care or anyone else’s care in my family. Many times, you will be butting heads with medical personnel, but remember, you don’t have to take those folks back home with you. I must say that I was most impressed with the people at the hospital, especially the Special Care Unit.
 

 
Eddie Roberts 1853-1858 photo from P.Carmichael collection

Eddie's grave



My ancestors lie at Saccarappa Cemetery and I have been stopping by to visit maybe once a month. I go because I am checking on anything unusual especially damage to the stones. Recently, I was at a nursery and was looking for stone figures for gardens. I happened to find a small statue which appeared to be an angel. I bought it and delivered it to Saccarappa Cemetery to watch over my father’s brother’s grave. My grandparents and one of their sons are buried at the small circle near the entrance to the cemetery. A small footstone with the name DAVID is level with the ground. David lived from 1933-1943.
         The more I thought about this angel, it seemed to make me happy just knowing it would be there. I have even thought about if it were to be stolen one day. My thoughts are that the thief may need an angel more than we did. I hope this is not the case. Maybe if there was a sign that more people had family there and left flowers, then there would be less trouble there. I don’t know what the solution would be. I have decided to put up a few angels on my ancestors graves, even those which are all broken. Once I heard a story about Mother Theresa. She was asked if she would attend an anti war protest. She replied NO, but she would attend a peace rally. Maybe my approach will be the same. If there are angels present in the cemetery, maybe goodness will come from it.
         I am familiar with every stone there, and have over 400 pictures of the cemetery over the past few years, some from the seventies. When I was attending art school, I even took black and white photos of some of the gravestones. I hope to share many stories about the cemetery. It is full of fascinating people, all part of Westbrook’s history. Wandering around the cemetery today, I took photos of some of the children’s stones. One stone inscribed EDDIE was a brother to my gr. Gr. grandfather. Eddie Roberts lived from 1853-1858. I have a picture I think may be him, which came from a family album. I also saw some tiny stones of some Merrill children. The next story will be about the Hatch family of Saco Street. There are more stories to come.


Merrill Children

                    This is a continuation of the the stories of people that Studs Terkel interviewed for his book Hard Times, stories of those who were witness to the Great Depression. There were several chapters by Coal mining families, who struggled, enslaved to the company store. It just wrenched my heart to read their stories as they were amongst some of the poorest and hardest worked. It was not uncommon for some of these miners in the late 1920’s early 1930’s to work until they earned 20 dollars. Then the mine might shut down for a few days until the guys spent their 20 earned dollars in the company store.” Every aspect of their lives was company food, housing, furniture etc. They paid higher prices for the convenience of having things close by. According to one miner, as far as Union Organization, the Ku Klux Klan was the only protection for the working man, both Black and White. Many young boys dropped out of school to work alongside their fathers, brothers and Uncles to help sustain the family. The miners were pretty much owned by the company.
                     Edward Sarteller told how his daddy was a coalminer in 1929. Edward chose the path of a schoolteacher and made thirty dollars per month. His early memories of his education were in a one room schoolhouse, with eight rows, one for each grade. There was a potbelly stove and there was a three- holer outhouse.  The author said that the greatest contribution of the WPA was to standardize outdoor toilets for the schools. He recalled a young girl with whom he went to school who suffered from Typhoid. She was completely bald and had no wig. Back then kids would get sick with diphtheria and other illnesses. His dad, Uncle and Grandfather, who was born in a log cabin, were all self educated men. 
                     In 1936 and 1937, the mine where his father worked saw much struggle. The widow of the mine owner was going to sell for 38,000 but she decided to sell to the workers for far less at 33,000. The men gathered together and made a decision to sell their stock and work for free to keep their jobs. In the beginning there were four hundred men. In then late 1950’s there was only eighteen of the original four hundred left to work. 
                     Sarteller thought rootless ness would destroy the country. Much like the 1920’s in Germany, there would be camps etc. The country would not survive.
                     Another interesting man interviewed was Jerome Zerbe. His family had money and he knew a lot of influential people. He began as a painter and lived in Europe on a three hundred dollar stipend, which his father afforded. When the Depression hit, his father could no longer send money so Jerome was forced to come back to the USA. He had this crazy idea to take pictures of his friends and their homes and send them all around the world to gain exposure. It landed him a job at Parade Magazine and people loved reading about the rich and elite. At one point in his career, he worked at a club. In this club, the celebrities wore their vanity when they sought him to take their portraits. 
                     Another chapter told of Joe Morrison, who proclaimed that even though ninety-two percent of the town was on relief, some people refused help. Many kids lost their teeth due to poor nutrition and no medical care and some fainted from hunger. He claimed, “There’s Apathy now.” People were talking about Revolution in the boxcars. There was such a hysteria that sometimes monitors were seeking information in these Hoovervilles to see if in fact there was a reason to worry about Revolution. It was like a police state. Today (1970’s), people are thinking but nobody’s talking.
                    Peggy Terry and her mother, Mrs. Owsley, were both interviewed. They were both considered to be Hillbilly women. Peggy tells how her father took them once to see a Hooverville. She was a kid and recalled being shocked as it was about ten miles wide by about ten miles long. People lived in orange crates, cardboard homes, rusted out cars and piano boxes. Her mother, Mrs. Owsley, told that her husband was a bonus marcher, very feisty. She said she met this family from Oklahoma once who had seven kids. They lived in a hole in the ground, like a cave. It was real nice inside she said, with chairs and table and clean too. At one time, all Peggy’s family had to eat was mustard. Her mother spoke of the Dust Bowl storms and how it ruined their clothes. Normally, one never wore anything like those clothes but they had no choice, all stained with oil. The people were “mentally ill” because they wondered if the tough times would ever end. There were many suicides during these years. Mrs. Owsley joked that her husband was a hell raiser, being gassed by the Germans in WW1 and then again by his own government because he was a bonus marcher. He came home empty handed, like all the rest of the marchers. 
                    Peggy married at fifteen and her husband was sixteen. She used to be quite prejudiced in her beliefs against the blacks until she was treated the same way. She remarked how it was odd that she never felt any common threads between her and her black workers in the field next to her. She thought they had nothing in common. Only later was she shown some kindness when she was pregnant and hitching rides with her husband, offered a place to lay her head on a wagon full of black workers who even had a chicken meal packed in a pail for her the next morning They were not allowed to eat in public restaurants, so they cooked all their own food on the wagon. She realized they were all fighting the same battle. There was one thing she had trouble understanding as a kid. She recalls observing Roosevelt’s fancy cufflinks, a childhood memory, and asking herself, “Why are we so hungry?”
                     The owner of a successful speakeasy, Tony Soma, referred to himself as a Capitalist. He came to America from Italy with nothing and quickly became a successful business owner. His circle of clients included several noteworthy people. Tony commented that to have noteworthy friends was better than any relationship you could have with a bank. He felt poverty was a result of laziness. Poverty and Depression were signs of mental illness, he claimed. In 1929, the year of the Crash, Tony boasted to have had his biggest year in American life. That was the year he sold three leases for 104,000. “Life is not to suffer”, he would say.
                     One story of interest was that the illegal activities of some people made them very prosperous, both good and bad people. There was a fine line between the good and the bad. Many made a fortune from Prohibition, gangsters and cops. 
                    Sally Rand was age six when she saw Pavlova perform and proclaimed she knew then she wanted to be a dancer. Sally worked for Cecil B. DeMille; a Hollywood Icon. She sold million dollar yachts which were sitting in marinas collecting barnacles because the rich had ceased some of their spending habits. Her clients were bootleggers who paid $10,000 for one of these yachts and she collected her 6 percent commission.
                     Another man, Caesar Chavez, missed a great deal of school as his family followed the crops to try to survive. His father had a corral which ended up getting bulldozed by the bank. The president of the bank was watching all the surrounding land and purchased all of it, near where the Chavez’ had a piece of land. Chavez recalls as a kid lots of hurtful memories such as seeing signs “White Trade Only”, when his family was refused from making purchases on the road. His father was at the mercy of people who would hire the family and later skip town, sometimes only able to feed the family on seven dollars per week. His father never gave up hope on trying to get a piece of land again.
                     One fellow who came from Cuba, Jose Yglesius, told about the cigar factories. The woman cigar factory workers made as much as the men. He realized the Depression was going on when his Aunt no longer charged them rent and there was no food in the house. Interestingly enough the illiterate cigar workers had a podium at work and the workers paid to have speakers come in and read classics like Tolstoy and Dickens. Once there was as a strike at the factory, the employer took away the podium and the readers never came again. It was a way to disempower the workers. His Cuban father despised Roosevelt. He compared Roosevelt to Mussolini.
                      One person in the book told that some of the common feelings were regarding thinking that your father was a failure. Some men who had been successful struggled with taking any old job. There was a great deal of resentment between father and son. Sometimes the sons left very early. The fathers sometimes left to go find work and would be gone for a long time. Another person told that it was good to see the father coming home on his bike smelling of sawdust. His father was a carpenter. When he came home carrying his toolbox, it meant the job was over. Some men committed suicide so their families could get money, according to one person interviewed.
                    Another woman told of the time she rode a train with her brother during World War 1 and witnessed a dying soldier on the train. She said the impact was huge. She never felt that way again until she was motoring under the Michigan Avenue Bridge and saw thousands of men rolled up in their overcoats sleeping on the pavement. She was shocked. She thought that whatever it was that brought on Nazism could now happen anywhere and she feared this.
                    Edward Ryerson, who came from a family of boilermakers and steel men, told of his attempts at getting Federal funds, particularly Chicago. He received twelve million dollars in 1932 which lasted three months in Chicago. Hoover lost the election because people wanted ‘change’. So much of this sounds familiar to what is taking place today.
Diane Morgan, a southern belle, told how her world fell apart when she realized the Depression had affected her family. She came home and there was no telephone, no cook, no maid, and dust under her bed. She had no ice for drinks to serve her visitors. She eventually landed a job with the New Deal program and she recruited people. She tried to hire people she knew who were struggling. She told of meeting her previous maid and feeling so happy to see her. She was able to help her. An early memory she had as a kid was visiting this maid and seeing her walls papered with newspapers. They had different lives but felt the maid was part of her extended family.
                    Mike Widman worked for the Ford factory. He showed up at work his first day at the factory and was in charge of sanding the fenders. He did not know the gates were locked at 8am daily and had no commissary there. He was hungry the first day as he had no lunch. He said he wished he had known he needed to bring his own gloves as his hands were all blistered that first day. If he needed to use the bathroom, he was supposed to check with a foreman first and find a replacement so the assembly line did not suffer while he was gone. There was surveillance at the factory as Ford hired ex cons for this. Once when Widman told a foreman that he had been going to school, he was told that Mr.Ford did not pay for employees to go to school and was fired. Later because he was a friend of the union leader John Lewis, he was instrumental in helping protect some of the black workers who had been afraid of losing their jobs during the big strike when Ford had shut the plant per the governor. 
                    Frank Czerwonka told how everyone was in on cheating the utilities during Prohibition. The gas and electric companies would put a meter up and the folks in the neighborhood would put a jumper on the meter to give it false readings. During the height of Prohibition booze was 40 dollars per gallon and when it was lifted, it was 5 dollars per gallon.
                    Clyde Ellis said the whole country had lost many young boys in WW2. Clyde told how he became a schoolteacher and worked hard to get power in Arkansas so folks could have electricity. He served as a Congressman and was affiliated with the National Rural Electric. Electricity finally came to Arkansas and he recalled his mother crying when she flicked the light switch. He lost his own younger brother who quit school and volunteered for money in the military as there was no work. 
                    The farmers saw great struggle, so much that many lost their farms for cents on the dollar. The price of corn was more than the price of hogs. In an effort to raise the price of hogs, many sows were slaughtered to merely raise the price and the farmers were paid to slaughter their pregnant female pigs. The farmer could not afford to feed his cattle grain. This eventually led to slaughtering cattle to raise the price of beef. Riots were not uncommon and farmers blocked the roads so their produce wouldn’t go to market. One story tells how approximately 1500 farmers came out of the woods angry, and sometimes violence erupted. There was a fleet of trucks sent to Sioux Falls to get food for market and thirteen roads were blocked. The stockyards were emptied and the farmers were not going to allow anything to get to market. It was comparable to the American Revolution. There were farm auctions where local town folk bought things for pennies on the dollar, only to return everything to the farmer in the end. Judge Bradley, who facilitated foreclosure on many farms, was nearly lynched by a group of angry farmers. It was not his fault as these were the times; however he was not quite right after that. Many people interviewed remembered the incident.
                    Farmers in Kansas had different experiences. They had the black blizzards when visibility was no more than three or four feet and they had droughts. They also had Alf Landon who appointed three men to each county to try to assist the farmers. These men called the bankers and insurance companies to beg for more time so the farmers could try to meet their mortgage payments. Landon established farm moratoriums. He even called the bankers at times also. There were no riots in Kansas he claimed.
                    One man told how FDR was hated by the people that he helped and loved by the people he harmed. When Hoover was in office, it was said there were Federal Funds to feed the animals but no Federal money to feed people. You had to rely on your neighbor for help. When cotton was four cents a pound and it cost ten cents to produce it, the fields would be plowed over to drive up the cost. The Secretary of Agriculture, Col. C.B. Baldwin, told of these troubles. He stated that tobacco went down to four cents per pound and could not be produced for that price. At this time, unemployment was sixteen million; WPA offices were set up quickly so people could get work. This only lasted about six months, as Congress would not support it. Interestingly enough, a program was established like a farmer’s cooperative. It included fifty farming families, similar to Russian Collectivism. They all did fairly well and split the profits, however…this fascinated me. Even though they did not go hungry and did fairly well… in the end they all still had a desire to own their own little piece of land, something that was not part of this original plan. The human spirit is to try to be a better person and to try to get ahead in life. It shocked those who had set up this little experiment, that the farmers still wanted a piece of their own land.
                    The stories are numerous and every one a different experience from a different piece of American Fabric. I will end with two short stories of interest. Sumio Nichi was a very prosperous farmer. He was a man of integrity I think because he paid for everything as he went. At times when inflation was bad, he struggled but he paid everything in full for his farm equipment and his mortgage. He ended up losing nearly everything because of the policy to send the Japanese to Interment camps. He had 80,000 worth of farm equipment which went up for auction and received 6,000 for it. He lost everything because of the war experience of the interment camps.
                    Another story is that of Emma Tiller. She was a black woman from Texas who recalled 1914 when the worms ate all the cotton. She claimed she could hear the crops being destroyed by the pests. Her memories of the Depression were waiting in long lines with all the other sharecroppers for food at the Relief Station. Sometimes they waited two or three days. Some people ahead of her were given rotten meat. One particular instance, she remembered a three men coming one day who were hungry. They brought their guns and one of the fellows was very angry he had received rotten meat. They said they were not leaving until everyone had been fed. They said they were not going to harm anyone. The man running the relief station was reaching for a phone when one of the gunmen grabbed him by the tie and told him he would kill the man. Emma Tiller said that day everyone got fed. Those fellows with the guns went to the penitentiary. Later it was found that the man running the relief station was storing food in his own warehouse and depriving those he was supposed to be helping. This was not uncommon. 
                    I suppose my reason for telling you about some of the people in this book was mainly to help us all realize that this indeed happened in America. If anything can be taken from these stories, I think it is that we need to be more self sufficient and rely less on the government. As you can see by these stories, the government did not do a very good job helping anyone, except themselves. Those who worked for the government did not go without the necessities.
 

 http://blog.likes2write.com/2009/04/21/interviews-from-the-great-depression.aspx (PART 1)