Boy was she little. She was not 5 foot tall. She wore a size 2 shoe. Can you imagine? I don’t think she ever weighed 100 pounds – when she wasn’t pregnant with one of us kids. Her hair was long – hung way down her back practically to her knees – she could sit on it. She’d pile it like a big cow pile -you know, cow shit- on top of her head to make her look taller.
(So what made her so wise?)
Oh, I don’t know. Common sense I guess.
She was a school teacher. She taught school for 6 years before she and Daddy got married. She didn’t like that I’d tell my teachers that she was a teacher. The teacher wrote a note home to Mama that I could not learn my long division. She wrote a note back saying if I had a teacher that could teach long division that I’d learn it. Boy, did I learn my long division! She said it wasn’t her job to teach us, that was what the teacher was getting paid for. Mama was a wise little lady.
When I’d get on a laughing streak, Mama would say, “Stop it right now. You’ll be bawling before bed time.” And I usually was. Mama was a wise little lady.
Mama was born with her pelvis bone at an angle that made one leg shorter than the other and she walked with a decided limp. She had rheumatism really bad. She could tell if a storm was coming. She’d rub her shoulder or her arm or another part of her anatomy and say, “I think it’s going to storm.” And it would. Mama was a wise little lady.
I always thought Rosemary was such a pretty name and Hilda… wasn’t. When I told Mama, she said, “One name is as good as another.” I don’t mind it anymore. I think I’ve gotten used to it. Mama was a wise little lady.
Rosemary was a good hearted soul. She was always telling someone she’d do something for them. Then when it came time she’d tell me, “I promised we’d do that. Now you have to do it.” Well Mama said I didn’t have to do it. If SHE promised SHE could do it. Mama said, “You don’t have to do what she says. You have a mind of your own. Use it.” Mama was a wise little lady.
Lucile Ott was a cousin of the Weir kids and she would come out from Baker. One day when we were about 14 she and I decided to walk from Sparta to the Weir place. It might have been 5 miles. Mama didn’t think it was a good idea. Lucile didn’t have the right kind of shoes on and got big blisters on her feet before we had gone very far. We stopped to soak our feet in the stream along side the road. The stage came along and picked us up. We never would have made it other wise. Mama was a wise little lady.
(If any of you DON’T know why GG is blind, we can send you that story in a separate e-mail. Otherwise suffice it to know that Great-grandma Jones was “a wise little lady”.)
(So what made her so wise?)
Oh, I don’t know. Common sense I guess.
She was a school teacher. She taught school for 6 years before she and Daddy got married. She didn’t like that I’d tell my teachers that she was a teacher. The teacher wrote a note home to Mama that I could not learn my long division. She wrote a note back saying if I had a teacher that could teach long division that I’d learn it. Boy, did I learn my long division! She said it wasn’t her job to teach us, that was what the teacher was getting paid for. Mama was a wise little lady.
When I’d get on a laughing streak, Mama would say, “Stop it right now. You’ll be bawling before bed time.” And I usually was. Mama was a wise little lady.
Mama was born with her pelvis bone at an angle that made one leg shorter than the other and she walked with a decided limp. She had rheumatism really bad. She could tell if a storm was coming. She’d rub her shoulder or her arm or another part of her anatomy and say, “I think it’s going to storm.” And it would. Mama was a wise little lady.
I always thought Rosemary was such a pretty name and Hilda… wasn’t. When I told Mama, she said, “One name is as good as another.” I don’t mind it anymore. I think I’ve gotten used to it. Mama was a wise little lady.
Rosemary was a good hearted soul. She was always telling someone she’d do something for them. Then when it came time she’d tell me, “I promised we’d do that. Now you have to do it.” Well Mama said I didn’t have to do it. If SHE promised SHE could do it. Mama said, “You don’t have to do what she says. You have a mind of your own. Use it.” Mama was a wise little lady.
Lucile Ott was a cousin of the Weir kids and she would come out from Baker. One day when we were about 14 she and I decided to walk from Sparta to the Weir place. It might have been 5 miles. Mama didn’t think it was a good idea. Lucile didn’t have the right kind of shoes on and got big blisters on her feet before we had gone very far. We stopped to soak our feet in the stream along side the road. The stage came along and picked us up. We never would have made it other wise. Mama was a wise little lady.
(If any of you DON’T know why GG is blind, we can send you that story in a separate e-mail. Otherwise suffice it to know that Great-grandma Jones was “a wise little lady”.)
5 comments:
cute!!!
was she still around when you got married to Dad?
Aunt Millie doesn't have a computer but wants to share her story about her Grandma Jones:
Grandma & I were doing supper dishes. Grandma was washing the dishes and I was drying them. I kept putting them back in her dish water because she was not getting them clean. Now remember Grandma wore a size 2 shoe and it wasn’t easy for her to stomp her foot with her being crippled. But all of a sudden she looked at me and she stomped her foot and she said, “Well, damn. You’re supposed to get half of it off.” And it tickled me half to death because that’s the only time I ever heard my grandmother swear. Yes, my grandma was a wise little lady.
Grandma Jones passed away in Oct. 1955.
Oh, that's a good one, thank Aunt Millie for her's too. That was extra cool.
This was great to read. I am glad to learn things like this about her. Especially the details. I remember the picture of her on Grandma's shelf with her long hair all coiled up in a bun. She was very petite and lovely, I always thought.
Post a Comment