I spent the last three months scanning, enhancing, resizing, and creating the web pages for over 660 letter images for the Public Domain Images section of my web site. Nearly every letter had to be redrawn, since the quality of the scans from these old books and magazines, when resized to large dimensions, were not very good. It was a big job, but I enjoyed the process.

One thing that helped to make this an enjoyable experience for me was my discovery of Librivox, where I was able to listen to classic literature online. Being an English major and teacher, I have always felt a little guilty about not reading some of the books from those “must read” classic literature lists. So I found this to be the perfect opportunity to read/listen to these great novels. I could redraw the alphabets while listening to volunteers from around the world read public domain books. I listened to The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton and Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen both narrated by the wonderful Elizabeth Klett. I listened to Pride and Prejudice, another Jane Austen classic, read by Annie Coleman, as well as another Wharton favorite, The Age of Innocence read by Brenda Dayne. I also managed to listen to the 49 hour reading of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, and then Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, both read by a variety of different readers. I discovered that I enjoyed readings by single narrators rather than a variety of different readers because single readers often use distinct voices for the various characters, which helped me to keep the characters straight in my head.

What an amazing resource Librivox is. I am so grateful to the wonderful readers who took the time to volunteer to read these stories. I’m half way through Great Expectations and am looking forward to finishing it when I start working on my next round of images!

What an intense, busy year this has been for me. My art took a back seat to my goal for the year, which was to get my master’s degree in educational technology. I had to take six classes, write a huge paper and create a field project, so that’s what I’ve been working on for the last twelve months. I finished a little over a week ago. It was a great experience for me; I learned so much! But it was hard work and left no time for making art or writing.

I’m starting my twenty-fourth year of teaching in a little more than a week. I’m excited to use what I learned this past year with my students. There are so many new things I want to try with them that I feel a little nervous and overwhelmed about it. I have to remind myself to start small and focus on adding new ideas and content in little steps so I don’t lose my mind.

Even though I feel like I spent all my waking hours working on my master’s project this summer, I did take time to do a few fun things. Michael and I went to Monterey to watch the motorcycle races at Laguna Seca. I didn’t think I would like it very much, and was basically going to keep him company. When he was a young boy in Greece, he would read the motorcycle magazines and dream about going to Laguna Seca to watch the races. After 24 years of living in the U.S., we finally made his dream come true! And it was a blast! I had a great time and would definitely go again without hesitation. I’ll write some more about that trip in another post.

I also took the kids to see the Coldplay concert at the Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View. What a great concert they put on. They played for two solid hours. A highlight for me was an acoustic version of Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean,” which was just amazing. The only downside was the traffic getting there, which was horrendous. I like the Shoreline because it’s a medium sized venue and you don’t feel like you’re watching ants on a stage. However, our seats were awful. I bought the tickets online and when I got them I noticed tiny print that said “Possible Obstructed View.” Huh?? Believe me, if I had known that, I wouldn’t have bought the tickets, especially not for the price they charged. Or I would have tried for different seats. Live Nation said that we could return them, but the show was sold out and I really wanted to go, so we took our chances. Good thing everyone stood up for the entire concert. We were two rows up from a huge projector that totally blocked our view of the stage when we were sitting down. Shame on Live Nation for selling us those tickets in the first place. The traffic and the crappy seats were disappointing, but ultimately Coldplay’s fantastic performance and music made up for it.

My family also got to spend four days at Bass Lake near Yosemite. My sister’s family invited us to join them. The water in the lake was warm and beautiful and we rented a party boat and took the kids tubing. My sister, Kris, eventually talked me into going tubing, too. Boy am I glad she did! It was so much fun; I haven’t laughed that hard in I don’t know how long. We also took a drive to Yosemite Valley for the day. That place is so incredible. I’ve been there at least six times in my life and it never ceases to amaze me.

Another fun thing I did this summer was go to the Italian Street Painting Festival in San Rafael. It’s a fund raiser for the Youth in Arts program. The city closes off several streets and uses blue tape to mark off huge squares on the asphalt for artists to use as their canvas. It’s a two day thing, and I have to say that I like going Saturday to see the work-in-progress. The half-finished faces look like they’re rising out of the pavement. I don’t know how the artists do it. They must be so sore the next day. They do all their drawing with chalk while on their knees or crouched over the art. There were lots of hats, and kneepads, and I bet lots of Motrin the next day . . . at least I know there would have been for me. The art work is amazing. I took lots of pictures and used Animoto to make a little video to share with you. If you’ve read this far, hopefully the movie has loaded into the page by now. I hope you enjoy it.

Friday I got it into my head to go to the beach. The weather had been luscious all week long – sunny and in the mid-sixties. My niece is here visiting us from Greece and my husband hasn’t been to the beach in forever, so we decide to just do it. I invite my sister and her husband to join us and they agree. We meet in Mill Valley and traverse over Mount Tamalpias to one of my favorite places in the world—Stinson Beach.

After we get all our stuff settled, we take the obligatory “long walk on the beach” with the dogs, of course. One of the great parts about Stinson Beach is that there’s a dog section and a non-dog section. I’m always amazed by how well all the dogs get along. They seem to be as happy to be there as the people are. Jodie, my sister’s shaggy black lab, runs after balls, birds, and sticks until she drops from exhaustion. Toby, (breed unknown) won’t come to us when we call, so he’s relegated to leash status, and Fritzi, our mini-dachshund, tootles along right next to us, barking at anyone or anything that happens to come near us.

Afterwards, we head to the Parkside Cafe for lunch. The line for the snack shack seems endless, so we go to the dining area and eat a great meal in the warmth of the patio. All day long, we talk about how we can’t believe how warm it is in January. And although we love it, we feel a tad guilty because we know what we really need is rain – and lots of it. Sadly, water rationing looms in our future.

Back to our chairs again, and I lie down for a little nappy. The air is beginning to have a slight chill to it, so I cover up with a towel. That’s my big bootie on the blanket. I listen to the waves booming along the surf line and the call of the crows and gulls as they scavenge for leftovers.

Before you know it, around 5:30 p.m., the sun starts its slow descent into the sea. People line the beach facing the ocean, cuddling with loved ones or watching through the lens of their cameras. How many sunset pictures do I have from this very beach? I feel like I’m part of a California love-fest; here we all are, drawn to this beautiful spot on this beautiful day. I can’t help but think that probably all of us are feeling the awe and mystery of the moment as we watch the sun slip behind the water.

The temperature drops dramatically, and it’s time to go home. But not before stopping at Maria, Maria for some wonderful Mexican appetizers and margaritas. Live music from a guitarist with a lovely voice plays in the background. My lone margarita goes quickly to my head. Soon we’re saying our good-byes.

A perfect day in paradise!

One of my favorite things about Barcelona is the art and architecture, which through the work of Antonio Gaudi, become inextricably connected. I’m just going to share a few photographs from one of my favorite Gaudi designs – Park Guell.

Porter’s House – Park Guell

My dad and I took a subway ride and made a steep climb to the top of Carmel Hill to get there. As you can see in the picture above, the view is amazing from the top, even on this hazy day.

Park Guell was built between 1900 and 1914. It was originally supposed to be a community of luxury homes, but the development failed, and the land was purchased by the local government and turned into a park. Lucky us!

There are winding paths, terraces, gardens, vaulted ceilings, and colonnades. Many of the surfaces are covered with colorful ceramic tiles. Apparently, they were made from plates and pottery that Gaudi and his workers smashed into small pieces and then used to create intricate mosaics atop many of the park’s structures.

One of my favorite parts of Park Gruell is the undulating bench on the upper terrace. You can really get a close up look at the beautiful ceramic tile work, as shown in the images below. One can only imagine the amount of time and patience it took to create the bench alone. Unfortunately, I was so focused on the details, I didn’t take a single long-shot view of the bench, so I’ve included a couple here from Wikipedia Commons so you can get an idea of what it’s like.

Photo by Deror Avi from Wikipedia



Photo by Baikonur from Wikipedia

Last Sunday my sister, Kris, and I took the ferry into San Francisco to catch the last day of the Frida Kahlo show at the SF Moma. Nothing like waiting until the last minute. The show was there all summer, but for some reason, we never could get out act together to go see it. When I went to get tickets online a few days before, it was sold out, and I thought we’d missed our chance. But when I checked again on Saturday, they had released tickets, so I bought a pair for 5:30. We really didn’t want to go that late, but we figured it would be better than not going at all. Then, Sunday morning, I checked for tickets again, and they had released a lot more. I bought tix for the 3:00 viewing, and then we sold the 5:30 ones when we got to the museum. By then it was sold out again, and the couple who bought them seemed pretty grateful to get the tickets.

Henry Ford Hospital
from Art Archive

The whole point of buying advance tickets at half hour intervals was for crowd control. We were still crammed inside the gallery rooms; not recommended for claustrophobes. I can’t imagine what the experience would have been like if they had just allowed unlimited access. Some of Kahlo’s paintings are very small and detailed, such as Henry Ford Hospital. Everyone, myself included, wants to get right in there and look at all the amazing details. This painting was done with oil on metal. It was the first significant painting in the collection and we formed a line along the wall behind it, patiently waiting our turns. Okay, some people weren’t so patient. I was behind a lady with a stroller and an adorable crying baby. I felt like I’d been waiting a long time and still we weren’t making any progress. Then I notice, people behind us are deciding to walk around us and squeeze in front of us to see the painting. It reminded me of that aggravation you feel when you know your lane is going to merge on the freeway and so you pull over only to have a hundred cars zip by and squish themselves in at the last minute which can alternately make you feel like a sucker and a fool. Those of you who take Highway 37 from Marin to Vallejo and have to make that merge just after Lakeville Road on a busy Friday afternoon will know exactly what I’m talking about. But who am I to say what correct etiquette is in the museum? After all, no one said we had to walk through the exhibit like people waiting for a Disney ride. Okay, so I digress. I continually had to remind myself to take deep breaths and relax so as not to be engulfed with road rage, I mean museum-goer rage.

A Few Small Nips
from Art Archive

But I guess if you’re going to let your emotions get the best of you, a Frida Kahlo exhibit would be a good place to do it. Her paintings overflow with raw passion, and most of it is pretty dark. A Few Small Nips was painted after she found out that her sister had been having an affair with Frida’s philandering husband, Diego Rivera, for over a year. Our little tour brochure said, “Kahlo later confided to a friend that she had decided to paint this scene because she sympathized with the dead woman, since she herself [Frida] had come close to being ‘murdered by life.’” There’s so much pain in this picture that the murdered woman’s bloodstains can not be contained on the canvas and spill over onto the simple wooden frame.

The Broken Column
from Zoe Brigley’s Blog

In fact, Frida never really lets you turn away from her pain, and I think that’s why so many people are drawn to her art. Her paintings are very narrative. When I see them, I feel like I’m being allowed into the soul of her life. I almost want to avert my eyes, but not quite. Through her art, she allows me to be a voyeur to her personal struggles and suffering. She once said, “They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.” I love The Broken Column because she paints her strength and her vulnerabilities. Tears stream from onto her cheeks and the background is bleak and barren, but she still shows her sense of determination as well as her sexual power.

Self Portrait – 1930
from The New York Times

Frida said that she painted herself because she was always alone and because she knew herself the best. This self portrait is my favorite among the many that she did. I think that it is in this painting that she allows her real beauty to shine through. Her delicate features, her rosy cheeks and lips, the intricate jeweled orb earrings and the simple hairstyle and dress, seem to depict her at a time when she was healthy and happy. In 1930, one year after marrying Rivera, she moved with him to San Francisco where Rivera had been commissioned to paint two murals. But it was also in 1930, that Frida was forced to have an abortion because of a pelvic abnormality resulting from the bus crash she experienced in 1925.

Frida said in 1938, “I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any consideration.” How fortunate I am to have been able to see her amazing art work here, and how fortunate we are all that she painted what was in her head as well as in her heart.

For a nice slide show of photographs and paintings, take a look at The Life and Times of Frida Kahlo.

I had a chance to visit the Olema Cemetery in August. It’s a place I’d driven by countless times, but never noticed until last summer. After a two night stay in Stinson Beach, I decided to stop at the cemetery on my drive home, since I was alone and in no hurry to be anywhere. Camera in hand, I walked past the No Trespassing sign and the ugly cyclone fence and ventured inside. Although it was only about 11 a.m., it was already hot and the sun was beating down through a flat blue sky. There was not a single cool, shady spot although the whole place is surrounded and nicely hidden behind a ring of aged cypress trees. Old tin garbage cans overflowed with discarded grave decorations. It was quiet and bright and filled with beautiful statues and stones.

Some of the graves were overgrown and untended. The little angel pictured above was totally hidden behind a clump of vines. I just caught a glimpse of white beneath the green and got down on my belly to investigate. Pulling back the vines I found her hiding there.

Other graves were better tended, like Fred’s. I love all the knick-knacks strewn around his stone. I can imagine family and friends coming by and dropping off little things that remind them of Fred and the things he enjoyed when he was living. Fred was born the same year as me, and it looks like he died in 19- something. I wonder how long its been since someone came by to visit Fred.

I recently found this poem in the back of a Holton-Curry Seventh Grade Reader from 1914. It’s by Max Ehrman, the same guy who wrote The Desiderata. That poem has always seemed a little overwrought to me, but I really love The Prayer, so here it is.

The Prayer

Let me do my work each day; and if the darkened hours of despair overcome me, may I not forget the strength that comforted me in the desolation of other times. May I still remember the bright hours that found me walking over the silent hills of my childhood, or dreaming on the margin of the quiet river, when a light glowed within me, and I promised my early God to have courage amid the tempests of the changing years. Spare me from bitterness and from the sharp passions of unguarded moments. May I not forget that poverty and riches are of the spirit. Though the world know me not, may my thoughts and actions be such as shall keep me friendly with myself. Lift my eyes from the earth, and let me not forget the uses of the stars. Forbid that I should judge others, lest I condemn myself. Let me not follow the clamor of the world, but walk calmly in my path. Give me a few friends who will love me for what I am; and keep ever burning before my vagrant steps the kindly light of hope. And though age and infirmity overtake me, and I come not within sight of the castle of my dreams, teach me still to be thankful for life, and for time’s olden memories that are good and sweet; and may the evening’s twilight find me gentle still.

May I not forget that poverty and riches are of the spirit.

My summer vacation is winding down. I’m trying to squeeze every last drop out of it. My to-do list has been fairly well completed, but my want-to-do list never ends—it just gets pushed around.

Yesterday I went to school to interview a woman who has applied to teach a history/English combo for 6th, 7th, and 8th grade. It’s a challenging schedule, but her enthusiasm, cheerfulness, and positive attitude about teaching were awe-inspiring. I’m hoping she gets the job and some of her exuberance rubs off on me. After twenty-five years of teaching, I am always looking for new ideas and renewed inspiration.

After the interview, I got my keys and went into my classroom. All the student desks are piled up on one side of the room. I think (hope) they’re getting ready to clean my carpet. I look around, just to get my bearings, and pick up my “First Weeks of School” folder. Time to update my parent/student letter.

The first weeks of school are always exciting. I never fail to get butterflies in my stomach as I begin the first day and see 150 new faces anxiously looking up at me, wondering if my class will be fun and if I will be nice to them. A few years ago I began starting the first day by waiting at the door, shaking hands, and introducing myself to each student. I want them to know that I do care about them and am going to try to make their 7th grade year in English a positive one. When they get into class, I start by reading them the picture book The Teacher from the Black Lagoon. It’s about a boy who dreams that his teacher is a horrible monster, but at the end he wakes up and finds a lovely young teacher there welcoming him. I read it very dramatically (I almost have it memorized!) and I move around the room. I watch to see who laughs and smiles, and who resolves to wear a stony grimace throughout the tale. I know that they are the ones who I will have to work especially hard to win over.

The Art of Happiness – Page 46

The students are on especially good behavior those first two weeks. They’re well-mannered, quiet, attentive. It’s because they don’t know each other yet and are shy about talking. I do everything I can to get them to feel comfortable with each other, and that often becomes my undoing. The more at-ease they feel in my class, the less disciplined they become. They start to talk to each other more, and I find myself having to compete for their focus and attention. I have to start repeating myself and raising my voice to get them to settle down and listen to instructions. The more fun things we do, the more they expect—but we have a lot of serious work to do and I can’t be entertaining all the time. Before I know it, they feel comfortable enough with me to make little comments when something is “boring” (is there anything worse??) I’ve learned that I can’t please 150 twelve year olds all the time, but I do try.

I didn’t plan on writing about school today, I guess I just have some of that start-of-the-year anxiety. What I really wanted to talk about was the fact that I finished eight more pages in my Art of Happiness book.

I’ve been working on this book in spurts for the last four summers. Usually when I start working on it again, I re-read everything I’ve already done. It’s interesting to me to see how my choice of words for the poetry has changed from when I started writing it. I don’t have dates for when I completed the pages, but I can remember events that were occurring at different times while I was working on it. I can get a good idea of when I was feeling blue or when I was feeling more positive. It all comes through in my color and word choices as they unfold on the page.

The Art of Happiness – Page 49

Once school starts, my art has to go on the back-burner again. That’s one of the things that makes returning to work so difficult. I always have to remind myself that I’m lucky that I got so much time to myself in the first place, it’s just that it goes by so fast. Like the last four years working in this book. Four years! Where did they go?

Those of you who have been reading my blog over the past few years may remember that my mom died two years ago – May 22, 2006 from Alzheimer’s. The summer before she died she spent a lot of her time outside in the garden creating little portraits of nature. She would line up seed pods, pine needles, dried-up flower heads. She would organize twigs, dirt clods, and flower petals. Very little escaped her artistic eye. Two pieces of milky white glass became juxtaposed with a wood chip; a row of tiny rocks stretched for two and a half feet in the coarse red soil. Shriveling succulent leaves were lined-up like soldiers along the edge of the walkway.

Unfortunately, Mom’s seemingly endless organizing of objects annoyed us quite a bit. She would crouch in the hot Sacramento sun, refusing to eat, drink, go to the bathroom, wear a hat or do any of the sensible things that we asked of her. She would spread out her plant fragments across tables where we needed to sit and eat and become angry with us when we swept them into a box to clean up.

Thankfully, by chance or luck, I saw something beautiful in what she was doing, and I started to photograph her little designs whenever I could. I was at her house almost every weekend that summer, and I was always excited to see what she had created while I was gone. Sometimes her artwork was easily spotted near the front door or in the middle of a lawn chair. Other times I had to go a little further into the garden – beneath the peach tree, in the wet dirt, or near a favorite plant – to find them. I tried not to let her see me taking pictures; I’d wait until she went into the house or took a nap, and then I’d run around to all the spots I’d seen and take pictures as fast as I could before she came outside again.

I felt sneaky and excited about what I was capturing, but I never felt that it would end, that she would stop making them. Of course she eventually did, and I forgot about the pictures as her condition worsened and we had to concern ourselves with doing things to keep her alive, like coaxing her to take a few sips of water or a few bites of pudding.

She would sleep in the lounge chair in the dining room, and I, exhausted but afraid to leave her alone in case she woke up and needed me, would sleep on the carpeted floor with a balled-up sweatshirt as a pillow. Sometimes I would wake up and see her awake too, and watching me. And she would smile, and I would remind her of who I was.

Last Christmas I finally took all the pictures I had taken and organized them and made a movie of them using iMovie. There were over a hundred images, so the process was a bit daunting. But going through them made me feel close to her again. I worked on fade-ins and fade-outs and scan and pan settings. This was my first time using iMovie, so I made a lot of mistakes as I worked to get things just right. I added just the right music and burned the movie on cds for my sisters, dad, and aunts. We watched it together at Christmas on my dad’s super big TV.

I don’t know what kind of reaction I expected from my dad, but I didn’t anticipate how emotional he became. I felt bad that I had brought up all these feelings again and I hugged him and apologized. But he told me that he was grateful. He had never realized that I was photographing these things and he said that he never saw them as art, the way I had. It made him sad to realize that he hadn’t appreciated what my mom was doing that summer. But how could he? He was just trying to cope with her illness and keep her healthy for as long as he could.

If you’d like to see the movie, just click on link below and it will open in a new window. The movie is just over fourteen minutes long and can take quite a while to load, so go get a cup of coffee or a glass of wine while you wait. The first time I tried to play it over the Internet I thought it wasn’t working and almost gave up. I started doing some drawing and suddenly I heard the first song start to play, and there was the movie, playing on my computer.

I hadn’t watched the film since December, and even though I watched it at least fifty times as I put it together, I still find it difficult to watch without hurting inside a little bit. Of course I still miss my mom a lot. But some days go by when I don’t, and I try not to let myself feel bad about that.

The reason why I wanted to share this movie I made with all of you is because so many of us have parents, brothers, sisters with this awful illness of Alzheimer’s. Maybe one of them is creating something beautiful and you can’t see it through your sadness and despair and the day to day struggle to survive. We get so busy taking care of this person we love who is disappearing before us, that we forget to see the little joys that might just be found in some tiny thing that person is doing and that we discount because of his or her illness.

In the little cd booklet I made to go along with this movie, I wrote: . . . Mom’s love of nature and her artistic impulses outlasted most of her other memories, even her memory of me. I believe that these portraits of small, fragile, often overlooked fragments of nature were her last great gifts to us. I want to share those gifts with whoever is willing to accept them.

Click here to see the movie.

Music:
“Dante’s Prayer” by Loreena McKennitt
“Watermark” by Enya
“Breathe Me” by Sia

For those of you who are not subscribed to my Yahoo Newsletter, I wanted to be sure and let you know about my new web site U.S. History Images. I started creating it last April. I decided that since I had so many books that focused on United States history, that I would create another site for just those images. It’s a big, long term commitment; it took me almost three months to get the last set of images online. So far I’ve included drawings and photographs from the discovery and conquest of North America and the Native Americans who were there when the Europeans arrived. I’m still deciding whether it’s appropriate to include South American indians on this site or not. I’d love to hear your thoughts on that. I am using a ten volume set on United States history as my outline for time periods and events. I plan on adding images in chronological order as I find time, while still adding images to the Public Domain Images on my other site. I know, I know – I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. That’s what summer vacation does to me; it makes me feel invincible!

It’s amazing how much information people could squeeze on the back of one half of a 3 X 5 inch postcard. And almost without an exception, they’re all written in cursive. In fact, if you think about it, postcards are really the handwritten equivalent to text messaging. There are little spelling shortcuts, the grammar is horrible but understandable, and getting to the point is of the utmost importance.

Below you’ll find scans of the postcard backs. If you click on the pictures, they’ll open up in a larger window. Beneath each thumbnail, I typed out the text to the best of my ability. If something was undecipherable, I put a question mark in its place.

I hope you’ll enjoy reading these as much as I do. They reveal a lot about the people and times, in some cases, of almost one hundred years ago.

To Mrs. BC. Bartlett
Melrose, Wisconsin

My Dear Sister,
Why don’t you write, all I’ve had is that short letter new years time. We are all pretty well now. Jared (?) has the rheumatism quiet (quite?) bad though.

Your loving Sis.
Shell Lake
April 13, 1911

To Miss M.N. Sullivan
Pacific Gas and Elec Co.
518 13th St.
Oakland, Cal

Dearest Auntie,
Here I am in De Sabla. Went fishing last night with Willis. He is a cute kid. He caught 5 and me 0. Listen dearie will you do something for me? I broke my little barette and my bob is awful. Can you get me one and send it to me as soon as possible. Any kind 50 cents at Maymonts (?) will be great. I’ll pay you when I get home or chg (charge?) to me. Will write today.
Love to all,
Mame

1922
Cal

To Irene Howlett
Parkville, Mich.
St. Joe Co.

Dear Cousin,
This in haste. We are marketing our Pears and Potatoes now. We had a fine fall. You remember the doily I was working on or finished when we was at your place. Well I have eight to make like six before xmas tow (two?) after. I will have to make my fingers go. Addie adress is 2098 E 93 St. Chevel and ? Sarah. Put our B.D. 33 on my mail. Will get it sooner as there are many Lorvers (?) in Barberton.

Nov 3, 1914
Barberton, Ohio

To Miss Mary C. Lenig
Ickesburg, Pa.

Well Mary, was disiappointed again. This morning Harry was watching for you. Have you got the mumps yet? Wesley has them and Serilda. Thomas thinks he is getting them & he is ordering fish. Don’t know how he will distribute them. Your Pa & Ma was to Markleville yesterday. StellaNoll and her mother started for the west this morning. Aunt Harriet T. fell on Sat. & nearly broke her nose. You ought to see her . . her face is as black as a stove. Her nose is like a rainbarrel. Ha. Ha. Dont laught. Shell (?) said you diden’t get up in time to go along this morning. Harry is crying to go to Gammas(?).
From Mary

April 4, 1910
Wila, PA

To Mrs. Anna Smith
Woodland, Mich

Hellow anna
John & Clara B. hope you are all well. Marian is about the same not able to do any thing.
love to all.
Ruland

Feb. 19, 1917
Fort Recovery, Ohio

To Miss Florence Shafer
Sparta, Wis.
329 North L. St.
c/0 C. W. Hubbard

Dear Sister Florence:
I will send you an Easter card to remind you of next sunday. I don’t think I will come down saturday. I can’t stay down at nite. If I do come . but don’t think you will see me this saturday. You want to know how you are going to Catarrah(?). I just can’t wait until I can get down town to stay, but I won’t stay in this town very long. I got Mamies letters yesterday. I didn’t go over to help her wash this week. I guess it made her mad becasue I wouldn’t get out of the wash tub monday and go over and help her but I don’t care about scrubbing her old carpets and how so you see it dont hurt me. I couldn’t work around that mut any how. Answer Soon. I am same as B/4.
Your Loving Sister M.E. S.
I have sent 7 Easter cards and another one besides. Home (?) writing today.

April 19, ‘16
Sparta, Wis

To Mr. Chas Rice
Pontoosuc, Illinois

Now Charle Please don’t be so mad at me we got a man to work for us this morning we are all well will send Earl a card some of thse days have 25 Banties
Aunt May

June 4, 1908 (?)

To Mrs Ora Wickett
New Virginia, Iowa
R.F.D. #

Mrs Wickett,
I think the 26 is your birthday am I right about it? Just thot I’d remind you of it and wish you many more such days. how is baby Ashton our baby Raymond is doing fine. I haven’t any little chickens yet & only 6 hens setting, have some garden made come over & stay all day all of you. With best wishes your friend Ella Kimmer (?)

April 24, 1909
New Virginia, Iowa

To Oscar Rowlett
Kempton, Ind.
Tipton Co.

Did you read all of that long letter I wrote you?

Dear Papa: I was glad to hear from you and I think that card is real cute. I hope you are having a good time and you must have a good time. Thanks—giving for me too. We are all well.
Your loving daughter,
O. Irene R.
70 D.E. Smith
R.F.B. No. 2

Nov 22, 1910
Maysville, [Indiana]

To Mrs. Mae Thompson
Samoa, Cal

Dear Mae
How are you when you come out we will play you the song silver bell. Ruth got from Anita (?). It for the phonograph. It is a dandy.

Dec. 12, 1910
??tuna, Cal

To Mrs. Gustaf Asherooth
Milnor
Sargent Co (?)
R.R. #3
N. Dakota

Dear Laura.
At last I am going to write you a few lines to let you know we didn’t quite freeze up. for all we have (?) had such a long winter. I was sorry to hear Emma lost her little girl she surely must miss her. What ailed her. I suppose you have all your summer sewing all done. I am just in the middle of mine. I wish I could run away from it too. Now write soon.
With much love and Best wishes to you, Minnie

April 4, 1912
Fairview, Mont.

To Miss Cementine Meyers
1163 Turk St.
San Francisco, California

Can you decode it???

March 29, 1911
Bakersfield, Cal

To Ernest Patterson
[I can’t read the address]

Uncle Ernest
I will send you a card with the rest of them I would like to come down to give you a thrashing.
Walter

Dec. 16, 1908