MY FIRST DOLL

My Mother died in 1975 and a few years later, Dad was no longer able to live in his home. We children gathered to empty their home so it could be sold. I found my doll that I had shortly after I was born in 1922. As time passed, I had five brothers and two sisters. I remember little brothers playing with little wheel barrows and hauling my dolly to the cemetery. The head and a breast plate were metal and the body was cloth stuffed with cotton. Shortly after World War I, Germany made a few of these kinds of dolls.

The cotton was bulging out of legs, a lot of the paint was scraped off of the head and she looked to me like she was at the end of her life. My sister, Elaine, said, “I’ll take it home and fix her for you.”

It wasn’t long before she had made a new body, pantaloons, a slip, a green print dress with a cameo necklace and had totally removed the paint from the head! She did not know to repair the head. I was taking lesson in ceramics from a lady who made porcelain doll heads. She said she never worked with metal but would make suggestions to me, if I wanted to try to repair it. Then it would be “my work.” She had me put a skin color on first Then she had me put on an acrylic spray as she did with every color I used until it was completed. When I wanted to give the doll green eyes, she did not think much of my idea. Then I showed her the green dress and she agreed. When I put the hair color on, it seemed to take on a “light and dark look” because of the uneven surface of the hair area. I am delighted to have it to display on an easel next to a painting in my living room. She is back in the “living world.”

E. Joyce Reid

My First Train Ride

THE FIRST TRAIN RIDE I remember

In 1927, I was five years old. I lived in Neenah, WI. Mother’s eleven year old brother, Vernon Andersen died on June 14, 1927. He was driving a team of horses on the hilly, curvy roads along Lake Superior in northern Minnesota when the horses got spooked and ran away. The boards of the empty wagon piled up on him and killed him. It was imperative that family go to Grand Maris, MN for the funeral. The winter before, when I was three, I went up there on the train but I do not remember that part. I remember Uncle Vernon carrying us kids down a hall and throwing us on a bed which we thought was great fun. As I was only 4 years old, I thought he was a grown up.
My great Grandma “Jane” Pryse, her daughter (my great aunt) and several of great grandma’s sisters plus my mother, me and brother, Sheldon, 3 years old, went on a train to Grand Maris, MN for the funeral. It was about 400 miles. At three and five, it was great fun to be on the train and fairly bounce up and down the aisle from one “old lady” to the other. There was a water faucet and a paper “pocket” that squeezed into a paper cup at the end of the railroad car and we seemed to be very thirsty as we got one person after another to help us get water. Little kids get lots of attention from “old” ladies when there is nothing else to do.
I do not remember any more of the train ride. When we arrived at Grandma and Grandpa Andersen’s home, I found they had a country store which also was the Post Office. There was a big curtain along the side of the store and opened up into the living room of their home. The store was closed for business for the funeral. The casket was in front of the counter. The curtain was open and the people who attended the funeral were seated in the living room. Within a couple days, great Grandma Pryse and aunts went home and we stayed a few days.
I remember Uncle Vernon had a neat little wagon and I asked Mother if I could play with it. She told me “no”, thinking it might make Grandma feel bad and she interrupted with, “Let them play with it.” We did. My mother, my brother, Sheldon and I visited for some time and Grandpa and Grandma Andersen drove us back home to Neenah, WI. The car was Aunt Sylvia’s Model T sedan. Grandpa was concerned the whole trip that the Graham crackers Mother gave us would leave crumbs in Aunt Sylvia’s car!
Soon after we arrived in Neenah, Grandpa and Grandma Andersen got word that their home-store burned to the ground! The next year on, June 2, 1928 Grandma Margaret Andersen’s father, Edward John Pryse died. Grandma Margaret “Jane” Pryse at 68 years old, thought she was too old to live alone and her daughter Margaret and husband Harvey Andersen moved down to Neenah, WI to live with her mother. He got a job to run the Filter Plant for Neenah Paper Company. Margaret Andersen died Oct. 15,1936 at 50 years old. Her mother “Jane” Pryse lived until 1956 and died at 96 years old!

E. Joyce Reid

First time I hung laundry

The air was brisk and golden treasures draped the ground it was a normal October day. I awoke unaware of what the day had in stored for me. I lived with a large family in a green cape cod and my neighborhood was filled with kids. We had a clothes line in our backyard that I have never seen my mother use, in fact the lines were gone but the hooks still remained. It was a Tuesday evening, the night my mother and grandmother would bowl in league, which left my father in control. My father loved to watch the Milwaukee Bucks, so he would kick us outside to play, that left him in peace. Which brings us back to the brisk air and the golden treasures the draped the ground. Fall and leaves, leaves everywhere. The full neighborhood gang got together and made the worlds larges pile of leaves from a two block radius. The pile got higher and higher with every bag or can full of leaves. We stationed the pile right in front of the empty clothes line pole. The pile was finally finished with the joy of us all. I climbed the step ladder we took from the garage and climbed to the top of the pole and jumped. Arms stretch out in front of me and eyes closed waiting for the soft crunchy landing. But no there I hung, suspended by the waist line of my pants. Laughter filled the air! What a fine mess I was in! My brother Gary ran to get help from my Father. My Dad came out with a huge grin on his face and said, “Who hung this laundry out to dry?” He carefully lifted me back up onto the pole and called it an end to our leave pile jumping for the night.

May the peace of Christmas

May the peace of Christmas

Renew your soul and your days be filled with

True friends, close family and

. Precious memories

Christmas 2011

Written by : Joyce Reid (close friend of my mothers)

You know all the news so I’d like to share with you how my Christmases have changed in my lifetime.

When I was about six years old, it was a most exciting time. The live tree was so important and it had to be a tall one. It was amazing how Santa Clause would come in the night with a tree, trim it and leave all those things he made. The doll had new clothes, there were new wooden toys to play with, there were candy canes on the tree and how did he know just what we wanted?

As I started to catch on to the help he was getting, I was able to help keep the secret for someone younger and make things in school that I thought my folks would be thrilled with! The Christmas Eve service at church was always so exciting to present our songs and we got a bag of candy or a popcorn ball. I had no idea I couldn’t carry a tune.


When I started to work, I could buy presents and when brother, Sheldon was working we joined “forces”. I bought presents and he paid for half and he would tell people “I can’t wait for Christmas to see what I bought everyone!” Soon he joined the Navy and that ended.

In 1956, I bought my house and my dining room would be piled with presents to deliver the week or two before Christmas when I made a trip to deliver them to my siblings, nieces and nephews. That was really a fun time for me.


In Rockford , I kept making 14 kinds of cookies to make up plates for friends like I did for the 25 men in the Shop at work. That too, was most enjoyable. The year my husband Bill and I went to the Orient, we visited nephew, Jim in CA. He had a big world map in his library. Bill wished he had one. I got a map from the Defense Dept. and when Christmas came I papered it on one wall of the office the week before Christmas. I put a sign on the door: DO NOT ENTER. When we finished opening our presents, I said, “there is something in the office that I can’t bring in by the tree.” Bill was sure he knew what it was and he saw some tracks in the snow across the lawn that looked like someone carried something heavy. He never told me what he thought it was, but he was thrilled with the map and we enjoyed it. For many years, I subconsciously, felt there really was a Santa.


My nieces and nephews all grew up, and I did not know what they wanted, my friends

became diabetic or got high blood pressure so couldn’t eat the cookies any more, I ran out of energy for shopping and baking.


When I got older and am not involved in the excitement of playing Santa Claus, my energy seems to have left me and I am so thankful to have all those wonderful memories. I am also so thankful to “all the Santa’s” who have enriched my life!


A letter or message of any kind is the most precious thing I can get! I enjoy hearing what my friends and family are doing and how they are.


Have a wonderful holiday and make a lot of precious memories next year!



Love, Joyce

First stitches: Please enjoy my story and feel free to add your story below under comments. I will be looking forward to reading your story.

A Stitch of Time
I remember the winters of my youth as being mountains of white powder that rose above my head. With each snow storm the cliffs just got larger. Due to the height of the snow banks some parents immediately attached bike flags to the back of their children’s parkas, just so cars could see them when they approached an intersection. It was the winter of my eleventh year; snow didn’t stop my parents little soldiers to getting our driveway cleared along with every other elderly person’s driveway in a three block radius. This particular morning, school was canceled and my father was working the grave yard shift. My mother instantaneously woke us gently with her large forceful bellow. “Kids get the shoveling done, so your dad will be able to get into the driveway when he gets home”. Begrudgingly make it out side. My brother who was two years younger took inventory of the snow. “Yep, about another twenty inches, and heavy wet stuff too.” We knew how my Dad liked to be able to see the cement after the snow was removed, so we made a plan. Each of us took our assigned shovels, Kelly was placed with the duty of the backdoor, front door, and front porch. I stood directly behind Gary, we worked our way down the driveway. He took the top ten inches, I took the bottom. We giggled happily after seeing the progress we were making. Until, one time I looked up, and I saw a shovel flying towards my face. Gary on his back-swing accidentally struck me with his shovel. It did not hurt, but I thought to myself right away, “this is a great way to get out of this undertaking.” I then grabbed my face and darted towards the house. Kelly already was at the threshold yelling for mom, Gary was pleading for forgiveness, and inside I chuckled thinking I was fine. my mother’s response for us was, “shut up you’ll wake up the baby!” as I lie in a puddle of blood, writhing like a baby seal swatted at by a polar bear. My disposition changed quickly from laughter to fear. My mother took one look at me and said, “my lord kids what have you done now? Also don’t come any further in this house, now wait while I go get a rag”. I then figured I was at the alone mercy of my father, so that he would arrive home in the car so we could go to get my stitches. To this day, I still wear my scar with honor, it on the left-hand corner of my face between my nose and eye.

p.s. it was three stitches.

My first memory

Click, click, and click... the sound of high heels on a tile floor. along with a strong pungent smell and tears burning my eyes. “MOM, mom, mom”. I had this memory but didn’t know what it was all about. The story goes like this. I was two years old and I was put in the hospital to get my tonsils out. My mother was told to leave me, because visiting hours were over and they wanted me to rest before my surgery the next day. My mother tells the story of how I climbed out of the crib and chased after her down the hall. The nurses grab me and put me back into the crib. They told her to keep going everything was going to be okay. After my third time of climbing out trying to get to my mom, they put a net over the top of the crib. The net was not going to stop me, so they tied my down. All I wanted was my mom! So my night mare of my mom leaving me was a true memory. Now, I know why I have separation anxiety.