An American Life

[boedicca]

I didn't write this - but find it to be very touching.

As my mother lay dying, 4th of July fireworks were exploding beyond her hospital window. That seemed appropriate, as hers was a quintessential American life, the likes of which, in our very different world, we are unlikely to ever see again.

My mother was born on November 15th, 1920, on her grandfather Collin’s farm, near Marshall, Oklahoma. But her heart always lived at the adjoining farm, owned by grandfather Hasbrook, where she and her three sisters and brother spent many happy summers playing in the creek, sleeping under the firefly-lit night, and hiding in the dugout cave that had been her mother’s first home during the Oklahoma Land Rush.

My mother grew up in the nearby city of Enid. A child of the Great Depression, she learned to do without, especially when her father was seriously injured, and the family might have starved had it not been for food brought in from the farm. My mother vividly remembered being sent home from school one day as the horizon darkened and one of the great Dust Bowl storms poured over their community, leaving piles of talcum-fine dust in the corner of every sealed window....

Edgelings.com An American Life

 

[Douger]

Sure is. Born during war. Die during war.
That's as murkin as you can get !

 

[midcan5]

I was reading Quentin Skinner this morning and his discussion on Berlin's essays on liberty and freedom and it occurred to me - as it often does - how our lives are often distinct from our political ideas and even from the very society we exist in. Berlin once wrote that what astounded him was he had a wonderful life during a period of extreme turmoil.

My mom often told us stories of the great depression and when we only had stale bread and coffee to dunk it in, she would remind us that they had nothing so stop your bitching. But oddly maybe it is dopamine but I have always felt life was good and work would eventually bring us some of the good things. But does it matter that we live in America, could a savage be just as happy or a Iranian or an Iraqi? When people claim some particular ideology is best, they forget people do not live in ideology, they live in communities.

repost

Uniquely American - In no particular order

The Amish living peacefully in their way
A smoke filled diner on a busy street filled with calloused hands
A tractor trailer passing a Chevy at 75 in the middle of the night along 95
A USO bus in a hot Florida city windows open
A bicycle all decked out in red white and blue on the fourth with a girl’s large smile
A bum helped in from cold by a child who noticed
Volunteers signing up to help
The patience of visitors to our national treasures hot with child hanging on them in awe of it all
The Salvation Army taking a family lost for a moment and helping them along
A tall church steeple on a dirt road with little sign of anything else
A V8 engine with four barrel and no muffler filled with a bunch of kids looking cool going too fast
A worker staying late to tutor another
Stuckey’s surprise packages promised to the kids to keep them quiet till the next destination
A big MAC, KFC, Dunkin donuts, drive throughs
Cruising a Bob’s Big Boy
The open road riding shotgun enjoying the view
Barbecue and beer and softball
Sweating / freezing at the edge of your seat screaming 'defense'
Friday dances where you only stood and the girls danced
Revving the engine and racing off the line as the light changes
Corn fields upon corn fields upon corn fields
Commencements and jobs and getting up at five
April 15th

It seems to me that the uniquely American things are the small things that sometimes go unnoticed.

 

[editec]

A lifetime is mostly made up of small things.

To GET MARRIED is a big event.

To BE MARRIED is mostly a collection of small events summing up to two people learning to put up with the foibles of another person.

Cherish the small things, folks.

Those are the things you'll most miss when they're gone.

 

[LadyGunSlinger]

Great read, thank you. Eloquent and heartfelt. I thoroughly enjoyed the walk of woven magic the author was able to weave. What a wonderful tribute to a great mother.

 

[Douger]

I didn't write this - but find it to be very touching.

As my mother lay dying, 4th of July fireworks were exploding beyond her hospital window. That seemed appropriate, as hers was a quintessential American life, the likes of which, in our very different world, we are unlikely to ever see again.

My mother was born on November 15th, 1920, on her grandfather Collin’s farm, near Marshall, Oklahoma. But her heart always lived at the adjoining farm, owned by grandfather Hasbrook, where she and her three sisters and brother spent many happy summers playing in the creek, sleeping under the firefly-lit night, and hiding in the dugout cave that had been her mother’s first home during the Oklahoma Land Rush.

My mother grew up in the nearby city of Enid. A child of the Great Depression, she learned to do without, especially when her father was seriously injured, and the family might have starved had it not been for food brought in from the farm. My mother vividly remembered being sent home from school one day as the horizon darkened and one of the great Dust Bowl storms poured over their community, leaving piles of talcum-fine dust in the corner of every sealed window....

Edgelings.com An American Life

Do some research. My bet is that the authors "great"-grand-dad was busy burying " savages" and having ******* do all the work while he sat on the porch.
Huck Finn said it so I can repeat it.
OH. Your brainwashed offspring will never know that fact. Hmmmmmmmmmmm. Unless you teach them ! Nevermind.
That'll get you the title of " DumBestick Terrah-riss"

huck finn ******* - Búsqueda de Google

 

[westwall]

I didn't write this - but find it to be very touching.

As my mother lay dying, 4th of July fireworks were exploding beyond her hospital window. That seemed appropriate, as hers was a quintessential American life, the likes of which, in our very different world, we are unlikely to ever see again.

My mother was born on November 15th, 1920, on her grandfather Collin’s farm, near Marshall, Oklahoma. But her heart always lived at the adjoining farm, owned by grandfather Hasbrook, where she and her three sisters and brother spent many happy summers playing in the creek, sleeping under the firefly-lit night, and hiding in the dugout cave that had been her mother’s first home during the Oklahoma Land Rush.

My mother grew up in the nearby city of Enid. A child of the Great Depression, she learned to do without, especially when her father was seriously injured, and the family might have starved had it not been for food brought in from the farm. My mother vividly remembered being sent home from school one day as the horizon darkened and one of the great Dust Bowl storms poured over their community, leaving piles of talcum-fine dust in the corner of every sealed window....

Edgelings.com An American Life

Do some research. My bet is that the authors "great"-grand-dad was busy burying " savages" and having ******* do all the work while he sat on the porch.
Huck Finn said it so I can repeat it.
OH. Your brainwashed offspring will never know that fact. Hmmmmmmmmmmm. Unless you teach them ! Nevermind.
That'll get you the title of " DumBestick Terrah-riss"

huck finn ******* - Búsqueda de Google

Will you kindly just go away?

 

[Dabs]

I didn't write this - but find it to be very touching.

As my mother lay dying, 4th of July fireworks were exploding beyond her hospital window. That seemed appropriate, as hers was a quintessential American life, the likes of which, in our very different world, we are unlikely to ever see again.

My mother was born on November 15th, 1920, on her grandfather Collin’s farm, near Marshall, Oklahoma. But her heart always lived at the adjoining farm, owned by grandfather Hasbrook, where she and her three sisters and brother spent many happy summers playing in the creek, sleeping under the firefly-lit night, and hiding in the dugout cave that had been her mother’s first home during the Oklahoma Land Rush.

My mother grew up in the nearby city of Enid. A child of the Great Depression, she learned to do without, especially when her father was seriously injured, and the family might have starved had it not been for food brought in from the farm. My mother vividly remembered being sent home from school one day as the horizon darkened and one of the great Dust Bowl storms poured over their community, leaving piles of talcum-fine dust in the corner of every sealed window....

Edgelings.com An American Life

I'm a tad late on this one, but this is indeed touching
I enjoyed reading it.........