Weis Crackers

By Rosemary Weis

Weis Crackers is a collection of stories that the authors family told and retold to each other every time the family gathered for any
occasion. The stories were memorized by their frequent retelling, and became a part of the folklore of generation after generation. In order
that future generations wouldnt miss out on the stories, Rosemary wrote them down, and now wishes to share them publicly. From her
grandfathers memories of having balls of lightning bounce around the posts of his brass bed without injuring him, to her personal accounts of incidents throughout her life across her college years, marriage, and move to Florida, her stories capture life in America for an average middle class family living in a small town before the turn of the century. It is her wish that you will share the warm feelings of security and love that she acquired from these moments of her life, and catch her vision for sharing your own personal stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 4, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462838417

Rosemary Weis

Rosemary G. Weis was born in a small town in rural northern Illinois. Even as a child she showed interest in writing, as she often rewrote fairy tales. Her high school English teacher encouraged her to improve the “mechanics” of her writing, as the content was good. She earned a B.A. with her major in English at Greenville College (IL) and joined their “Scriblerus” Writer’s club. She later received an M.A. in Special Education from the University of South Florida. This is her collection of poems written over the years about her experiences in life.

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Copyright © 2008 by Rosemary Weis.

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Contents

INTRODUCTION

MATERNAL SIDE STORIES

Uncle Jasper

Great Balls of Fire

Pennsylvania Dutch Farmers

Mom’s Birthplace

First Steps

Sarah’s Birth

Family Split and Reuniting

Rockin’ Wedding Gifts

Tornado!

Ginger

School Vacations

Salutatorian

Construction and Produce

Time At My Grandparents’

County Fair

Picnics

Arm Chair Traveler

Mystery Outhouse

Grandpa’s Death

Grandma

Volunteer

PATERNAL SIDE STORIES

Arkansas Peanut Farm

Cornell College

Methodist Church Choir

World War II Stories

Stubborn Before Birth

Winner

Downstairs

Snowball and Frosty Establish Rank

Vitamin Hoard

Speed Demon

Jim’s Boy

Running Away

Under the Porch

Birthday Party

Our Facilities

Spooks!

Fall Festival Parades

Band Concerts

Potato Chip Cure

Scar of the Hill

May Day

Tabernacle Days

Driver Training Legend

Driver’s License Test

First Car Accident

Dead Piggie

Low Tank

First TV Set

Brother Bobby

Seventeenth Summer

Mom’s New Spinet

Surprise Silver Anniversary

Big Jerk

Night Skydiving

Kansas

Mountain Eyewitness

Unshopping

SILLY SONGS MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME

Lover Boy Ballad

BINGO

The Boarding House

The Church Fire

Little Skunk’s Hole

THE COLLEGE YEARS

Which Witch Do You Wish?

Jelly Keys

Leaves

Dr. Towne

Lilac Raid

Garbage Man

Rainy Days

Back Alley Bust

Gym Class Revelation

Ball Gymnastics, Trampoline & Fencing

Mystery Meat for Dinner

Semester Break Adventure

Guest Trio Hayride

Choir Goes to Prison

Criminology Class Returns

My Most Embarrassing Moment

Indigo Buntings

Graveyard Escapades

DQ

Flu Clinic Floozy

Sadie Hawkins and Computer Dating Opportunities

Final Week: White Socks and Water Fights

Ivy Cutting Ceremony

THE BIG CITY YEARS

VISTA Arrival

Vistas

Light My Fire

Establishing My Reputation

The Wild Years

Missions Interview

Avenue Chapel

Christians: 1 Druggies: 0

FLUG

Brinkley and Owner

A Plain Jane and Failure

Our Meeting

Courtship

Splish Splash

Duaino

The Viper Skit

Bill’s Bottomless Van

Seminar

Awkward Son

Dog Pee Leg

My First Christmas Gift to Duaine

Answered Prayer

The Wedding

Candy Painting

Independent Movers

Marge’s Wedding

Lawyer Free!

Aromatic Mornings

Cactuses

Elbow Grease

David the Go-Fer

Acid Beard

Daniel Jayson’s Birthday

Edel Weis

Gas Syphoning

Hunter

Jammit

Troy and Dee’s Doberman

A Tomato is Coming!

VACATION ADVENTURES

Spring Break

Prison Tour

Axle Rods

Crucifixion, Gators and Museums

Scenic Off Ramps of I-75

Revenge on Thumbs

Gale’s Dance

THE FLORIDA YEARS

Florida Arrival

Smokey the Hero Cat

Dee Dee

Dear John Deere

Mangos

Ace

Catcher

Peabody Peacock

Raining BB’s

Popsicle Trees

Snake Hunt

Too Tired

Bell Ringer

First Days of School

Bribery

New Name

Petrified Potatoes

Too Many Cooks

Dana

Almost Smacked!

Not In MY Tub!

Rabbit?

The Great Rat Hunt

Meat Grinder

The Eddie Tree

Tree House

Two A Penny Clowns

Clown Plant

Asking Permission to Run Away

Cool Headed Deej

Where, Oh Where?

Artist Extraordinaire"

Big Splash at Sea World

STORIES OF FAITH

My Parents’ Story

My Story

Duaine’s Story

David’s Story

DJ’s Story

I dedicate this book to all the men and women in my life, who have begat me, taught me, interacted with me, and most of all have encouraged me to write my thoughts to share them with others. Thank you all for your loving touch on my life! But even more, I dedicate it to the God who became flesh and lived amongst us, to show us how He wants us to live. He created me with the talent and desire to write down these thoughts. To HIM goes all the credit for anything you admire in these pages!

INTRODUCTION

Stories with oral traditions are harder to pass on with our modern separation across miles of country. It limits our time to share memories together. It becomes more important that these stories are written down, so that those who don’t hear them often can at least have the advantage of knowing the stories. In them we find commonalities. We also find our uniqueness.

Eugene Peterson said, We live in narrative, we live in story. Existence has a story shape to it. We have a beginning and an end, we have a plot, we have characters. Elie Weisel suggests that God created man because he loves stories.

These are the stories of one family. It is a combination of what was told to us, and what we ourselves have told in the process of living.

May you identify with these stories, as well as learn and laugh. May they touch you, and inspire you to tell YOUR unique stories!

MATERNAL SIDE STORIES

Uncle Jasper

My mother was 2 ½ years older than her brother, Jasper. When he was a little boy, their mother would tell him to introduce himself to visitors.

"I is Jasper Aaron Greeley, he would say.

No, tell them you ARE Jasper Aaron Greeley, she would correct.

Then he would say, I are Jasper Aaron Greeley!

Now, if you think his mother and sister wouldn’t retell this story the rest of your life, you are badly mistaken!!!

Great Balls of Fire

My grandfather told a story about a lightning storm he experienced. It was a warm summer night, and he was sleeping in a 4-post brass bed next to an open window.

Lightning hit a tree outside that window, he would tell. He lay there, and watched, terrified, as a ball of lightening bounced from the tip of a branch on the tree onto his window sill. From there, it bounced onto one of the brass posts of his bed frame, on which he was lying.

It bounced on each of the four posts of my bed, he’d explain, and then bounced back out the window.

I have always thought that was a sacred moment in my life, he admitted. I saw that kind of power up so close, and yet lived to tell about it, he explained in awe!

Pennsylvania Dutch Farmers

During the years of depression, my Grandfather worked for farmers, since he couldn’t afford his own farm. As the 13th child in his family, his parent’s farm had gone to an older sibling. He had inherited a disability, though no one knew what to call it, which affected his shoulders, so he could not perform any work that required lifting or reaching things overhead. I have later discovered the disability is called FascioScapularHumeral Muscular Dystrophy. When a farmer would learn he couldn’t do every task they expected him to do, they would simply tell him he could no longer work for them. They knew there were a lot of other men seeking work, so they would find someone who could perform those tasks. It created a lot of change in my grandfather’s life!

Some of the farmers who briefly employed him were of Pennsylvania Dutch heritage. Their language patterns sounded strange in English. There were two statements I remember him telling us. (His voice would rise in pitch as he quoted them.}

One farmer had instructed him: Throw the cows over the fence once a day some hay. Another example was a farmer who told his child, Throw mama out the window a kiss!

His amusement with the strange phrasing of sentences by that group of farmers was something he enjoyed sharing with us.

Mom’s Birthplace

Just west of the small town where I grew up, on what has now been designated a historical trail, is an intersection known as Five Corners. The main road terminates at the border of another state. It is the only paved one. The other roads that converge at the Five Corners are gravel. There is a small family cemetery on one corner, open fields on two, and houses on the remaining two corners.

Just a tenth of a mile down a spur is a small house where my mother was born. Back then. home was the normal place to deliver a baby.

I have been tempted to stop and knock on the door when I passed by, just to try to absorb some of the atmosphere of the home. I should have done that while my grandmother was still living, so she could perhaps have pointed out the very spot where the bed stood that she was lying on when my mother was born. She probably would have been too embarrassed to ask the current residents for that opportunity.

Births are a very routine part of life to some. But to me, it is a very individual and special story, significant to the one who was born there. Though it bears no historical marker for others to see, that house is one of my historical places.

First Steps

Each year on Decoration Day, which I knew better as Memorial Day, Grandma carefully cut flowers and gently placed them in metal buckets or cans with water, to transport them to local cemeteries where loved ones were buried. One of those places was on the top of a quiet, wind swept hill, amid farmland. In order to reach it, one turns off the blacktop road into a driveway toward a farm, and then veers left to follow two wheel tracks thru the grass to the top of the hill. There, my grandfathers’ parents and a brother are buried.

Near the gate there was a special tree. From the trunk and limbs grew large thorns. The thorns changed from green to dry brown with age, and were easier to remove from the tree at that point. As a child, I often collected a few of those thorns, and believe they may be the kind used to make the crown of thorns for Jesus, as they are very long and hard. I was appalled that in recent years, the tree had been bulldozed down in the process of enlarging the cemetery. It’s loss felt to me like the loss of another family member!

The farmhouse at the entrance of that trail to the cemetery is another place on my list of personal historical monuments. Each year, as we drove past that house, Grandma would remind me that it was the house where my mother learned to walk. It is a house that appears to be significantly bigger than the one in which she was born. I imagined it must have been a much better place for a youngster to stretch her legs to move freely. Grandma said the large porch they had at the time had been removed. Another much smaller one had been built to replace it.

Places like that gave me a feeling of belonging. It gave me a new perspective that I belonged not only to my parents and grandparents, but also uniquely to that area of the world. The places where I grew up will always be special to me!

Sarah’s Birth

Grandma recited the story of Aunt Sarah’s birth: her second daughter. In those days, men were not expected to help deliver children unless they were doctors. Midwives were the only one attending the birth, in most cases, unless a doctor was called due to an extreme emergency. Yet circumstances sometimes seemed to demand involvement.

My grandfather was sitting across the room when she began giving birth to my aunt. Her cousin, who shared their home, had been sent to bring the midwife, but they had not returned. This was Grandma’s third delivery, so she had experienced the normal progression of events during the birth process. She could feel this baby crowning before the midwife arrived. But there was something that didn’t seem right. She knew the head was out, but she could not hear the thin, quivering cry of a newborn gasping for that first breath of air. She asked my grandfather for assistance, but he only told her to wait for the midwife to arrive.

Grandma felt a sense of urgency. She gathered her strength to sit up enough to see the baby. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the neck of the infant. The baby was turning blue!

Grandma reached down and gently unwrapped the cord from the baby’s neck, then lay back exhausted by the effort. She heard the first squeaky cry of her baby, and she knew she had saved the life of her newborn infant. She was just exasperated that my Grandfather hadn’t stepped in when needed.

The midwife rushed in, supported the baby as she slid the rest of her way out of the birth canal, and cut the umbilical cord. She wrapped the infant in a warm blanket, and placed her in the arms of her waiting father. Then she helped Grandma deliver the amniotic sac.

What do you want to name her, Mommie? asked my grandfather.

Sarah, like the woman in the Bible, Grandma replied. Sarah Mae.

That’s fine with me, replied Grandpa.

Sarah grew up to be the child who gave them the most grandchildren of all. If Grandma hadn’t removed that cord from her neck herself, she would never have known the joy of any of those grandchildren in her life. What a blessing that she was able to do that despite the lack of help she got from my grandfather!

Family Split and Reuniting

When Grandma became pregnant with her 4th baby, trouble began. Grandpa did NOT believe the child was his. He simply could not accept that possibility. He blamed everyone else who might have come into the vicinity of my grandmother. Finally, he told her to pack up, drove the buckboard to her parents home, where he dropped her off with all three small children, and waved goodbye. The result was a divorce.

My mother was the oldest of the tree. She was six. Her father’s sister and her husband were childless, and wanted a child. They agreed to adopt my mother to raise her as their own child. They lived on a dairy farm they owned.

My uncle was taken by a brother of my grandfather, and raised to help out on their farm as soon as he was old enough. My aunt ended up living with my Grandfather.

The child Grandma was carrying looked more like my Grandfather than any of the other three when she was born. She had long black curls, and was a very smart little girl. She stayed with Grandma. Sadly, when she was only eight years old, she came down with brain fever and died. Grandma worked in doctor’s offices, took in people’s laundry, or did wherever she could find as work to support herself.

The aunt and uncle who adopted my mother loved her very much. She always expressed total admiration for her Daddy. Two other relatives shared their home: a maiden sister of my Grandfather’s, and his alcoholic brother. This uncle’s drunken behaviors had a lasting impression on my mother, who later chose to remain sober all her life, and even marry a man, my father, who also abstained.

Her Daddy had a museum room in their home, which he delighted in showing off to visitors. His dream was to catalog the items he had collected, to authenticate their value to future generations. The problem was, the dairy farm kept him very busy.

Mom helped out by delivering milk with him after school. She also helped wash and sterilize the milk bottles customers would exchange for the new delivery.

She and Daddy had just begun the task of cataloging all the items in the museum after she graduated from high school. But he suddenly died of a heart attack, so the task could never be completed, since the origin of the items had been locked in his memory.

Two years later, my mother met my father, and after 2 years of courting and engagement, they were married. He moved into her family home. Around that time, her adopted mother was diagnosed with cancer, and was hospitalized. My mom’s birth mother had maintained a friendship with her sister-in-law, so took every opportunity she could to ride to the hospital to visit her friend, riding with others to do so. Often during that time, she ended up riding in the same vehicle with my grandfather. My birth grandparents began talking as a result, and began remembering why they had fallen in love all those years before. They had been divorced for 18 years. Their renewed love was so obvious that Rose saw it from her deathbed, and told my mother I am returning you to your real mom.

Shortly following Rose’s death, my original grandparents remarried. My parents inherited the home where she grew up with her adoptive parents, and lived there most of their lives.

Rockin’ Wedding Gifts

Mom’s adoptive parents had decided to give one another gifts when they married. Each wanted a rocking chair to sit in, so they decided that is what they would purchase for one another.

The one her Mother chose had an upholstered seat and carved back with curving arms on it. The rockers dove tailed slightly, producing a slim, trim, ornate look. The upholstery on the seat was rich brocade, with fringe along the edges.

The one her Daddy chose was entirely made of wood, with ample room to sit. It was simple, plain, and yet functional. It would fit with any décor, he reasoned to himself.

Each of them graciously accepted the chair they were given, and politely sat in them. But each secretly preferred the chair they had purchased, feeling it was superior to the one they had received.

One day they admitted their feelings to each other.

I don’t mean any disrespect, her daddy began, But I think the chair you are sitting in is more suited to me. I love the one you chose for me, but it may really be more suited to you!

Do you honestly feel that way? she probed. Watching him nod his head, she continued. I have been yearning to sit in that chair you occupy for some time now. Would it be inappropriate for us to switch?

I don’t see why not, he replied. I know you chose a gift for me that you, yourself, would like to have. I have done the same. That is the real essence of gift giving, isn’t it? It is what we did from the love in our heart for one another. But since that is true, would there be any harm in us using the gifts we really wanted, and feel are more suited to ourselves?

She giggled delightedly. I am so glad you feel that way! I do so love you, and would not want to hurt your feelings more by occupying the chair you prefer. That is equally wrong!

And I love you, Dear, he said, rising from the upholstered seat of the rocking chair, and offering his hands to her to pull her up out of her seat. They embraced tenderly for a moment, then each turned, grasped the arms of the chair they had left, and pulled the chair over to the other’s waiting hands. As they reseated themselves, each let out a contented sigh. Each had a big smile on their face. Each knew they had truly received a gift of love.

Tornado!

Mom was a young adult when the weather became threatening one day. I think this happened after the dairy farm had been disbanded following the death of her daddy. The sky turned a funny pastel color, and a dark cloud hovered over the entire area. The wind whipped up suddenly, and the trees began dancing crazily in various directions.

Mom watched anxiously from inside the house. The doors of the house had large windows in them, and as she watched the sky darken, she noticed the funnel shaped cloud swinging lower and heading toward the house. The inside basement door was next to the door where she was observing the storm’s progress. She finally dashed down the steps to the safety of the basement until it was over.

Relieved that the house wasn’t touched, mom emerged from the basement. The old barn is still standing! she remarked. The old barn was still standing, despite missing boards and apparent dilapidation. Then she gasped! But the huge oak tree that was next to the barn was yanked out by its roots!

That selectiveness of the storm amazed mom over and over again, whenever she retold the story of that experience!

Ginger

Ginger, mom’s pet rabbit, was paper-trained. This means, he was trained to go to the toilet on newspaper in a designated corner of the room. He was allowed to run free in the house, just like a pet cat or dog is today. One of the disadvantages of this freedom is that rabbits tend to shred the bottoms of the drapery with their claws.

One day, mom was playing some of her 78 rpm record albums on her Victrola phonograph. The records were kept free of dust by enclosing them in paper envelopes, but the centers had large round holes in them, to expose the label in the center of the record, so the owner could easily see the contents on that record listed on the label.

Ginger was hopping around, curiously sniffing those paper envelopes when he accidentally got his head stuck in the center hole of an album envelope. He began to run around excitedly, kicking up his heels, trying to shake this thing off his neck. Mom thought he looked really silly with his head framed by the album envelope, and began laughing at him.

The more I laughed, the more Ginger kicked up his heels and showed off! she remembered. Her voice sounded gleeful even recalling his antics. Eventually, though, Ginger began to get exhausted, so mom gently removed the record cover from his neck. That was her favorite memory of her pet bunny!

School Vacations

My mother cherished time spent with her brother and sister. They were invited to visit her during the summer when school was out. It was a special time for them to be together, if only briefly.

Perhaps that experience encouraged her to invite my cousins to spend time with me during the summer as well. I enjoyed their company, and they enjoyed the change of pace it represented for them. It was a special time of bonding with cousins who I couldn’t see often because of the distance between our homes.

Salutatorian

Mom learned the discipline of good scholarship early, and was always a top student. Her grades were the best of her high school class. The only problem was her best friend, whose grades matched hers. They were identical! So when it was time to name the class Valedictorian, a distinction had to be made.

Nowadays, they would simply honor both as co-Valedictorians, but then, only one could be declared tops. When two students’ grades were identical, the officials looked at their extra curricular participation to make the determination. Mom’s friend had been active in clubs and participated on teams. My mom, by contrast, needed to rush home after school to help deliver milk for their dairy farm. She had no opportunity to participate in extra curricular opportunities, no matter how much she may have wished she could. Therefore, she was determined Salutatorian, and her friend had the highest honor of being declared Valedictorian.

I always felt mom was cheated of the honor she deserved, so I am happy that now co-Valedictorians can be declared. It was important for her to help her family, and could have been considered on the job training, in our present times. But times were different then, and she was unable to receive the credit she deserved!

Construction and Produce

My grandfather was a gardener, primarily, but he also used whatever he could to construct things, and seemed to enjoy it. His main material for building was something he got free from grocery stores: orange crates. One of the things he built was a two-story dollhouse, with five or six rooms. Each floor and the roof stacked on separately. It was painted white, with a red roof, about three feet tall from floor to peak. Mom furnished it with carpet and wallpaper samples, and purchased plastic furniture and figures for it.

He also constructed and sold windmills. They served to help keep birds away from gardens due to their sudden and unpredictable movement when the wind blew.

He built a model church that he displayed every year at Christmas, with colored cellophane stained glass windows, and a light inside to glow out through them. It sat on a small table on which a mirror ice pond scene included tiny evergreen trees and plastic figures. I was enchanted with it every year at that holiday.

My grandparents sold garden produce, and my grandfather constructed a permanent stand next to their front walk with its archway entrance. The doors were all hinged, so it could easily be closed up