Gratitude Day #21
Today I am grateful for all of the teachers in my life.
My parents taught me to pay close attention when I was being taught, for the one who was teaching me had been put in my path for a reason.
From my earliest memories of my Primary teachers at church, to the ones I had last night, I have been taught by those who were masters at what they did. Many were professionals. Most were not.
I'm sure I wearied my Primary teachers. I was an only child, believing the world revolved around me. (I can spot an only child from a distance.) The thing that kept me in line was the fear of being hauled off to one of my parents. I was better off behaving in class.
My first day of school set my course of lifelong learning. Mrs. Boone swept me up into her soft and flabby arms, welcomed me, and told me we were going to learn some wonderful things that year. Years later, I wrote her and all of my school teachers letters expressing my gratitude for the time they spent in preparing lessons and teaching me.
And, I crossed paths with Mrs. Boone again! I had surgery in 1985. When they brought me back to my room and settled me in, I heard a familiar voice through the curtain saying, "Is that little Peggy?" My gosh. It was Mrs. Boone, still recognizing my voice after years of teaching hundreds of other children.
I cherish my piano teacher, Mrs. Isch. She was not a professional. She just played the organ at the downtown Methodist Church. But, her influence started the ball rolling for a lifetime of talent and service, as well as it rolling on to my children.
I have had countless good women at the church who filled in the gaps for my parents after they died. These good women taught valuable skills and spiritual strengths to me; and they still continue to. My mom died when I was only 29, and was sick the last seven years of her life. It was those Relief Society women that stood by my side and taught me about raising children, sewing and canning, and reliance on the Lord.
My genealogy colleagues continually teach me every single day. Through my association at conferences, on FB, during webinars, etc., they have taught me the finer art of research that I didn't possess years ago.
My parents...they were the cream of the crop. Of course, sometimes they drove me crazy. I drove them crazy. But, the knowledge they possessed was something I've never seen written in a book.
Mom went to 8th grade. Dad went to 6th grade, but spent four years in 4th grade. So, years of formal education with a string of postnomials was not part of their life or their future. Educated? No. Brilliant? Beyond measure.
They taught me without teaching me. Without realizing it, they were teaching me critical thinking. They had lived off the Kentucky land, and used their skills to take care of themselves, their family, and just about everybody else.
Mom would buy broken down, weary-looking flats of flowers. She planted them by the door and in our planters, and within a few days they perked up and thrived like they had been under the hand of a master gardener. People driving past our house would stop in our driveway to ask how she did it.
Mom and dad's garden was the envy of our neighborhood. We never once had a crop failure, no matter the heat or excess rain.
Dad was an excellent fisherman. He taught me how, and I have loved it ever since. He taught me that I could solve every problem in the world sitting on a dock or on the back of a tractor.
He would often go to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan during the smelt run. Throwing snow into the back of his van, it became a perfect cooler for the fish. Mom and I would be waiting at home to preserve and freeze the fish.
One year before the next run, we had some left over in the freezer. Mom set them aside to make room for the new ones. We later planted them in with the corn and beans and squash for fertilizer. Never again. Every doggone cat in the neighborhood found it's way to to the garden, and dug up those hills. Mom and dad were not deterred. They planted again, even with a late start.
As I mentioned before, I can remember counting just over 1,000 jars of preserved food every year. But, I didn't really learn to can food from mom. I helped with the drying and freezing and stringing the shuckeybeans. But, having me around when she was canning made her nervous.
Later on when I was getting married, several of my parents' friends pooled their money so they could buy nice things for us. I didn't quite know what to ask for, but mom whispered in my ear, "Pressure canner. Say pressure canner."
I did. I received it. Thanked them. And left it in a box for several years.
Then, one day I opened our freezer and saw that it was failing. The meat was soft, but still had crystals on it. I called my mom, crying.
She said, "Peggy, get out that pressure canner you got for your wedding, clean out all of those canning jars we've given you, and bring that meat upstairs and keep it in a cooler. We're on our way!"
I was frantic. There was a lot of meat in that freezer. But, she and dad and Kerry and I worked through the night and saved all of that meat, except for about three pieces that just didn't look right.
I learned how to can on meat. Most people learn on tomatoes, peaches, green beans. No. I learned on meat.
Dad was a master bread baker. I can still remember him taking huge slabs of dough and pounding them down onto the table. I thought he was mad. No, he said it pounded out the air, and relieved frustration.
Probably from raising me.
As a refrigeration/air conditioning repairman who ran his own business, I often accompanied dad on service calls. I would watch as he carefully took apart the pieces of a refrigerator, washer, or anything else, and lay them carefully on a towel while he examined the problem. Soon, he would identify it, reassemble everything, and the appliance would be up and running.
He told me the same thing applied to life. If something isn't working, don't be afraid to take it apart and figure out why. Don't lose the pieces that make it whole. Then, put it back together and watch things fall into place.
More words of wisdom.
Dad also sewed all of my maternity clothing. He was too embarrassed to put darts in them (men, look it up). But, nearly every maternity outfit I had came from dad's hand on his new sewing machine. Mom used her treadle for her quilt-making.
I have been most fortunate to have had so many good teachers and examples in my life. Many times I was learning from them when they had no idea they were teaching me something that I considered valuable, or that I would use later on in my life.
I must also say that as many times as I have had good examples and lessons taught to me, I have also had some not-so-good ones, too. It may be someone's behavior. It may be the way someone has presented a lesson. It could be anything that I don't want to make part of my own life.
So, I thank all of the wonderful people who have had an influence in shaping me. If left to my own self, I wouldn't be anything near what I am today.
And, I know that.
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| Dad loved to bake bread. I still have his bread pans. |
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| Not their food storage room, but my parents' looked similar to this. |
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| Dad made my maternity clothes. |
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