After I came home Friday afternoon, following
Bob’s Celebration of Life event, I was bugged about there being no actual
marker to show specifically where Bob’s cremains urn-box WAS; so, this morning,
I set out to rectify that – the headstones are set quite a way back from the
actual location of placement; and I don’t want to lose sight of the actual
location when the grass growth comes in, blends well, and hides it:
My backpack purse is right above Bob's Urn Box location - quite a ways away from the headstones. I wanted to mark the exact location today.
But first, I had to figure out how to let the
back seats down. I went out and studied the seats … and could only set them
down half way. I came back in the house and researched the Highlander “quick
reference” books – NO GO; not helpful at all. Finally, in desperation, I drove
across town and crossed the border into Kelso, driving into the Toyota Dealership
service kiosk, and ASKED if someone could please show me how to set the back
seats down: someone could :-D I paid attention, and now I know how to do it
too. LOL
I also found out that there is a 3rd
row of seats behind the back-passenger seats; this Highlander is more like a
minivan than a car – that was a surprise! But, that’s good to know, in case I
ever need extra seats. I had the tires checked too; I noticed at the cemetery
on Friday, that there was broken glass in the gravel – if my tire had been
compromised, I wanted to know: they hadn’t. Thank you, Yeshua.
After leaving Toyota, I drove further into
Kelso, to Wilco, to find a windchime I thought would please Bob: he always
liked windchimes, and I thought that would add a nice touch to the marker I had
in mind to set up on our plot block. On my way back to the car, I saw a dime;
so, I picked it up and felt very blessed thinking about the 10 pennies that
make up that dime: it almost felt like Bob was approving of what I was about to
do later on ;-)
When I thought about doing this, I had intended
to be on the road by 9 a.m. … instead, with the drive into Kelso and back
home; where I then loaded the wrought iron marker I wanted to use; hunted for
the tape measure, pliers, needle nose pliers, ball-peen hammer; grabbed a solar
light; shovel; and my little ladder … it was 10:19 a.m. Still pretty early,
so I took my time: if cars riding my bumper wanted to pass me – I let them …
I settled in for a leisurely drive, and enjoyed
the ride :-D
Ocean Beach Highway doesn't scare me, at all ...
There was a little bit of weather disturbance happening
at Nasa Point, but it played itself out by the time I got past Cathlamet:
When I got to Eden Valley Cemetery, the ground
was still soft enough to be worked, so I didn’t need the shovel at all – I just
used the ball-peen hammer to set the wrought iron hanger in place (I used an
old citronella lantern cup holder I had on hand): I set it alongside the
placement. It went in easily – but the setting was solidly in place because I
hammered it in well below the surface; and as the ground settles and wettens
with the season, it will be set fairly hard, helping to keep the wrought iron
hanger in place. And I noticed, that when I stood up, I could easily reach the
cup to set the ivy in (silk foliage, so I won’t have to worry about it
drying and dying: I brought this from home): it is over my head, but I can
reach it with a stretch that doesn’t make me stand on my toes. I was able too,
to hang the windchimes easily – this I did with the aid of the needle-nose
pliers to securely fasten the added chimes holder to the cup’s open-work design.
I figured the added sturdy chime holder, which I bought with the chimes, would be better than trying to fasten the chimes
with baling wire (which I always have trouble tightening significantly – Bob
did it perfectly. But, I am not Bob). I also pounded a metal pipe into the
ground at the right-side front corner, to highlight the length and width of the
placement. Then, I placed the solar light atop the pipe – the pipe does stick
up quite a length out of the ground, but that’s okay with me: at least it won’t
get sucked under when the ground begins to settle. I am happy with the result …
I used Bob’s tape measure to measure the
accurate location from the top of the headstones, so if the groundskeepers move
the things I set in place today – I will KNOW where the placement IS to
reset everything. Sometimes the groundskeepers lift things to make mowing
the grass easier ... and they don't reset them; they just leave them on the headstones. That can be a problem with Bob's placement location if it isn't properly marked, or noted.
I thanked Elohim for blessing my endeavors with
decent weather and ease; and I spent a few moments at Bob's urn-box location – just remembering
his handsome face and his infectious laughter, then I did a walk through.
Cemeteries don't bother me; and this cemetery is full of Bob's relatives, so I felt right at 'home'; maybe it's the Hungarian blood in my DNA ;-)
Old headstone - gothic in design.
Bob’s mother’s grandfather, Frank Smalley
married Mary Matilda Olmstead – whose father was Allen Olmstead. Frank Smalley
was Bob’s great-grandfather; his grandfather, Henry Smalley’s father …
Bob's relative, and a Civil War Vet. Family records have it that Allen’s real name was Oris Olmstead. He had enlisted in the confederate army – but got disillusioned, deserted & enlisted in the Union Army: he changed his name so that the confederate army could not trace him; his new name, Allen Olmstead is listed on the Civil War Union Army records; Company “A”, Seventeenth Infantry. The Olmsteads were Seventh Day Adventists. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kentucky_in_the_American_Civil_War)
I am GLAD to KNOW I did not marry
into a confederate family! It did worry me when I found
out his family came from Kentucky – I am dead-set against ANYTHING that smacks
of confederate leanings or connections: I am Yankee, born and bred … and so
was Bob’s grandmother, Myrtle Smalley.
JAMES SMALLEY. Frank Smalley’s father – Bob’s mother’s great-grandfather. Born in Mason County, Kentucky; married Martha A. McCann in Feather River, California; settled in Crooked Creek (Eden Valley), Washington
Henry Smalley’s father – Bob’s mother’s grandfather. Born in Tigard, Oregon; married Mary Matilda Olmstead – daughter of Oris Olmstead (Allen Olmstead) – in Crooked Creek (Eden Valley), Washington. Frank Smalley’s homestead on Crooked Creek, Eden Valley is recorded in Wahkiakum County book A099, Cert# 3364, Appl# 7331, July 1896. Bob’s Grandfather, Henry Smalley was born in the house on that homestead, October 13th, 1900. Henry married Bob’s grandmother, Myrtle Goodrich, September 1st, 1925. Henry was 81 years old when he died; I loved Bob’s grandparents: they welcomed me into the family with open arms when Bob & I were dating.
Frank’s Smalley’s mother – Bob’s mother’s great-grandmother.
Bob's great-uncle, and great-aunt; his grandfather Henry's brother, and his wife. I knew of Vivian before I knew Bob's name ... Vivian baked cakes for everyone in Wahkiakum County - and those cakes were artistic creations. My mother bought birthday cakes and graduation cakes from Vivian. They also raised exotic meats, such as ostrich's - and we would drive out with our children to look at them.
I don’t believe there are any Bell’s in the
Smalley or Olmstead lineage, so I am not sure where these folks figure in the
cemetery; possibly community folk who lived in the Valley:
I wonder if I am related to these people. There are Bells in my mother's family lineage.
Coming off the KM, headed towards home coming
into Skamokawa, I decided to take a turn out West Valley Road, just to stroll
down another memory lane – I walked all over the Skamokawa valleys as a teen:
the valleys hold a lot of memories for me. First off, I saw the Quigley House
and memories of Mike Quigley made me smile and laugh – Mike had been sparking
me before my family moved to Cathlamet (I liked Mike, but he wasn’t “the face”),
and I laughed out loud when I thought of the time he came calling and I made
him donuts that were hard as rocks … he teased me by bouncing them off the
blacktop – we laughed about that for years; until he died much too young in a horrific
work related accident.
One evening, after I married Bob, Mike came with David Almer
to visit after work; and was asked to stay for Supper (Bob was
never jealous of my guy pals – he knew I wouldn’t jump the fence): I
made Spaghetti Dinner. It was a DISASTER … but my fellas ate it without
complaint: their eyes laughed though as they ate the ice-cold noodles
smothered in hot sauce (I followed the recipe exactly; but didn’t know to
rinse the noodles again with warm water). My mother never taught me to cook
– she thought I was too homely to ever catch a man’s attention, so she focused
all her attention on teaching the show-pony daughter, Ramona, how to cook: I
was taught to clean house and care for everyone – my mother figured I’d be the
family spinster. She didn't know that Ramona was a party girl - guys would date her, but no one wanted to marry her. When she did get narried ... it was a shot-gun affair, And still miserable.
My mother never saw Bob coming ;-) Bob loved me for who I was – not for what my mother saw. Bob told me I was beautiful: imperfections included. And because HE BELIEVED IT, I believe it. We had 44 happy years together.
Bea NEVER imagined I would ever be loved, let alone happily and passionately loved by a man who treated me like a queen.
My mother never saw Bob coming ;-) Bob loved me for who I was – not for what my mother saw. Bob told me I was beautiful: imperfections included. And because HE BELIEVED IT, I believe it. We had 44 happy years together.
Bea NEVER imagined I would ever be loved, let alone happily and passionately loved by a man who treated me like a queen.
Anyway, back to the cold-noodle Supper …
When Supper was finished and I was embarrassed –
Mike lightened the mood by telling Bob about the rock-hard donuts; and Mike and
I started laughing so hard at that memory that we had tears rolling down our
faces: my mind was off the disastrous Supper and set at ease. The cold
Spaghetti paled in comparison to the rock-hard donuts, and Bob joined in the laughter.
I eventually learned to cook real good – no more donut rocks, and no more cold
noodles :-D
IT FELT GOOD TO LAUGH AGAIN.
A bit further up the road, I saw the field - to the left of the road - where
Bob and I were driving one Spring afternoon; and at that time, the field was FULL of daffodils
as far as our eyes could see. There had, at one time been a homestead there and
field mice had, over time, carried the bulbs all over the field where they
naturally naturalized. Bob knew I like daffodils, and waited every Spring for
them to appear; so, on this day we were out for a drive, he stopped the truck and walked into the field to gather an
ARMFUL of the daffodils for me: that is the kind of man my husband was. He loved me.
I wanted to push on towards Brookfield … but a
truck is really needed for that; no telling what the road looked like past the “primitive
road” warning: it’s been a while since we’ve been out that way. So, I turned
around at the end of the blacktop, and headed back to the main highway. Towards
home.
My mind was at ease when I pulled into the
carport.
And then, I noticed that the clapper on the windchimes
Bob & I had bought 2 decades ago had broken off. I figured I could fix it,
so I did:
I am not going to throw these chimes away! They are really starting to show their age after decades of windy abuse, but I am tired of losing and/or replacing things Bob & I enjoyed together - I will keep this thing together!
I’m pretty confident the ‘fisherman’s tie’ Bob showed me how to do, will hold.
My mind was at ease ;-)
And I decided to pull the Summer porch décor too,
and set the stage for Fall’s arrival …
Raven Wreath hung on the front door. Bob & I were at a Bazaar in Gobel, OR, one year where I was selling my handcrafts; and I saw this wreath ... and just had to have it ;-)
Scarecrow Rug laid at the front door entrance.
The Fall ‘Welcome’ Wall Plaque was hung by the front door entrance.
I hung a decorative Scarecrow Broom on the windowed carport door.
And laid the Owl Rug at the carport entrance - this will have to be replaced, since there is only me here now: and I am no longer a 'night-owl'; I seem to have taken on Bob's slepping pattern ... early to bed/early to rise. It's weird for me!
It feels good to get back into the swing of
things. Doing these simple things, mundane as they are, set my mind at
ease.
It was a good day today.
I felt Bob's spirit all around me - all day long.
I love you, Babe.
Always.
OX
