Far from Home: Memories of World War II and Afterward

21. Changes

21 Changes 209 The laugh-with-me-its-funny things And it’s the jolly, joking things The “never mind the trouble” things That make the world seem bright. Author unknown, “The Friendly Things” SOMETIMES when I look back and think about the many changes in my life, it seems that no matter how many changes took place, one thing never did—I always managed to get into some kind of adventure, whether here at home as a child, off at school in Raleigh, in Washington and Arlington, then back home again. My life now was so very different from what it used to be that sometimes I found it hard to believe this was really me. Every night before going to bed, I’d stand at the window facing down home, looking at the light in the windows and remembering my family. I’d see Mama most of all, then the rest of my family and remember the warm, safe, cozy feeling I’d had going to sleep, knowing all of the people I loved best were right there around me. Now it was very different. Mama was no longer there, and it was hard thinking of someone else in the home that had been 210 FAR FROM HOME hers. At the same time, I knew Papa needed somebody. The rest of us had moved away. I saw more of Frank and Papa than the others did. They stopped by or passed by often. Eunice came by when she could find time, and sometimes I rode to Wallace with her and Lattice. Sam and Sylvia were both still teaching at Bland Elementary. My new life was full. I was enjoying being a housewife with a school-age child, and after the mishap with the apple pie, I made sure I stayed on top of school and class doings. Red loved school. They now had a lunchroom, and the children could get a free breakfast of oatmeal and milk. Lunch was fifteen cents with a small box of milk, and ten cents without. I sent Red’s teacher seventy-five cents every Monday morning to pay for her lunch for the week. One evening she came home with a very upset stomach and had to stay home the next day. I wasn’t sure what it was, but she didn’t have a fever, so I didn’t think it was a virus. James said it was the food and went to Wallace in a snowstorm to see the druggist and get medicine for her. After that, I bought her a lunchbox, and she carried lunch and milk from home. Most mornings after everybody had gone, I’d be cleaning the kitchen and I’d see Edna coming down the road with her two little girls. I’d stir the fire in my wood kitchen stove and set the coffeepot back on. I was always glad to see her. After getting the kids put down to play, we’d sit by the stove with the coffeepot between us. She’d light a cigarette to go with hers. I never could see what good that would do, so we argued over it. She was a heavy smoker, as was James, and I tried hard to get both of them to quit. I lost the battle, so she smoked, talked, and sipped coffee . Edna had a unique way of talking to me. She’d use her voice and fingerspell at the same time. Every time she’d make a letter, she made it like she was throwing it at me. This amused the children , and they’d laugh. I understood her though and enjoyed her Changes 211 visits. When she would have to go, I’d gather up my kids and walk back with her. There we’d sit in her kitchen while she started dinner for Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom. They always seemed pleased to see me come in with Edna. That became our daily routine. We made a path across the woods so it was quicker to get to and from each other’s houses. Sometimes we ventured out and visited the people we didn’t often see because they lived beside the highway—Mrs. Annie Hayes, who was Edna’s aunt, Cousin Mary Frank, Cousin Bert Lane, and others. Mostly, we enjoyed each other’s company and our children. These years, too, were slipping by, so...