Maybe Tomorrow

By Anna Lee Blaha

Maybe Tomorrow is a descriptive illustration about the life of a young girl born near Pushmataha County, Oklahoma who lived through hardships, poverty, and the Great Depression, with numerous other challenging and catastrophic events. This is a true life story of the necessities of family sticking together and then being separated during times when there was no other way to survive. It was a way to live without the many conveniences and good times we enjoy today. Places and events taking place include Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas where the author lived most of her ninety-seven plus years living in a South Texas community called Cedar Lane and an east Texas country town named Elkhart.

After moving to Elkhart, Texas, about 1965 and the passing of her husband in 1983, in her sixties, the author relocated to a senior living apartment complex in Palestine, Texas. There she enjoyed participating, along with many other residents, in writing classes along with many other activities. Through active participation, she found a descriptive way to relate her thoughts, feelings, prayers, emotions, and life experiences to a level many of us never achieve. This book gives a vivid picture of mortality and immortality, if you so believe, as the author did.

All the events in this book are true, to the best of my knowledge, and have been carefully researched. The people are real, some of which you may encounter today or find in some of the places mentioned. Included are some of the author's poems and short stories along with some of my brother's collective writings. I hope you enjoy these writings as I hope to see you someday, maybe at some of the places mentioned. If not, I'll see you...maybe tomorrow.

John Jay Blaha

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885407106

Book preview

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Maybe Tomorrow

Anna Lee Blaha

ISBN 979-8-88540-709-0 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88685-971-3 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88540-710-6 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Anna Lee Blaha

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Special thanks to Bob Carney for photo enhancements

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Maybe Tomorrow

Epilogue

Grandma

Grandpa

My Parents Said

Friends and Neighbors

Dreams

It Happens

Twitchy

A Typical Day

The Tramp

Spring

Poem

Two Boxes

Downwind Side

War or Peace

To Brother Rick

Doin' Fine

Paradoxes

My Dream

Traveling

The List

Cousin Neil

The Reason

The Mask

Grape Juice and Roses

There Is a Man

Four Line Poems

Preacher Boy

Envy

Broken Dreams

Bunny Rabbits

Farmer Brown's Old Hoss

My Opinion

Home

WinterWonderland

Lipogram

Afflictions

Flying High

A Great Man

Rejection

A Retired Housewife Runs for Office

The Collective Writings

(Plus a Little)

of

Joe Maurice Blaha

As I Recall

I've Worshipped

The Gift Giver

Fifth Sunday Singing

The Power of One

Personal Testimony

Korean War

A Peek at My Missions Philosophy

About the Author

Anna Lee Blaha

Left to right: Karson, Kooper, Jaci, Anna, Anna Lee

Left to right: Joe, A, J., Karen, Johnny, Lucy, Anna Lee

Maybe Tomorrow

Anna Lee Blaha

I was the fourth child born to devout Christian parents, Joseph Elsberry Emerson and Pearl Ataline Weldon Emerson. I entered the world January twenty-fifth, nineteen hundred and twenty-two in some place near the county line of Latimar and Pushmataha Counties, Oklahoma. I've been told that it was snowing and that it was around four o'clock, but I'm not sure if it was a.m. or p.m. My mother's fourth-oldest brother, Ben Weldon, went for the doctor.

Mother had a very difficult time, and the doctor feared that neither of us would live, but my father would not give up hope. My family at that time were my parents, my eight-year-old sister, Marie, and my twenty-one-month-old brother, J.D. (James David). My sister had brown hair and blue eyes. My brother had brown eyes and ash-blond hair. My second sister, Jewel, was a golden-haired, blue-eyed baby who was born when Marie was nearly three. She had lived only ten months and died of whooping cough and pneumonia. At birth, my jet-black hair was long and thick, and my eyes were destined to be brown.

My mother had a stroke before J.D. was born, resulting in her carrying him for eleven months before birth. The doctor had thought that she nor the baby would live then.

I have no recollection of those first two years of my life, but March 27, 1924 stands out in my memory. We had moved to Arkansas and were living in the house with my father's widowed mother and her youngest son. I don't remember them at that age, but I do recall on that memorable day my brother and I were kept outside on the sunny side of the house much longer than we would usually have been allowed to stay outside. When we were allowed to go back inside, we had a baby brother. I had such a strange feeling, but Edgar, for so he was named, became an important part of my life. I was taught that I was not to hurt him nor put anything over his face.

Mother was not strong and much of the housework and childcare fell on Marie's shoulders. Many times, to keep me from going where I shouldn't, she would frighten me by telling me that a booger would catch me. When Edgar learned to crawl, he often crawled under the bed. My sleep was disturbed many times by nightmares, when a booger would catch him and do strange things to him.

His hair and eyes were much the same color as Marie's, but his skin didn't freckle as did hers, J.D.'s, and mine. He grew fast and soon there was little difference in his size and mine. Everyone in the family, except for J.D., seemed to favor him, and I often wished he would get bigger than me so that I would get the most attention.

When he was ten months old, we moved back to Oklahoma. Papa drove a wagon with all of our household goods, and my mother's brother, Tom Weldon, rode with us on the train. It was a miserable experience for me. Evidently, my uncle was overly concerned for our safety. He insisted that J.D. and I sit with our backs against the train seat and our feet straight out on the seat. Soon our legs ached so badly we cried. Someone on the train took pity on us and let us sit on the edge of the seat with our feet toward the floor but not for long. Soon we were back in our former positions.

We went to our mother's parent's home. My mother was the second of my grandparent's ten children. The oldest was a boy named Elmore Weldon. He never married, and except for time he spent in the army in World War I, he always lived at home. The next three oldest boys, Joe, Pet (Warren), and Ben were married. The other children at home at that time were Tom, twenty-one; Rindy, nineteen; Newt, seventeen; Frances, fifteen; and Vick, thirteen. They welcomed us into their home, and under Grandma's care, Mama's health improved.

Soon though, we moved several miles away. Papa was a sharecropper, and he had to work long, hard hours in the field. Sometimes he took J.D. to the field with him. Other times J.D. helped at home. He was only five, and I was three, but we had half a gallon of syrup buckets in which we carried water. Our house was on a hill, and the well where we got household water was below the hill.

Left to right: Elmore, Pet, Ben, Francis, Joe, Rindy, Tom, Newt, Vick

One day when Papa was at work and Mama was sick, we needed water. Marie, under my mother's direction, had mixed corn bread and put it in the oven to bake. Mother then told Marie to help her to a chair in the kitchen and for her to take J.D. and go bring some water. Edgar started to cry, so she took him too and told me to stay home and take care of Mama.

Before she returned, Mama got up to check on the bread. Another stroke hit her, causing her to fall and break the fingers on her left hand. She struggled to get up, and I tried to get her back into the chair. In spite of her pain and her helplessness, she began to laugh at my efforts and to tell me to let her lie there until Marie's return. Somehow, Marie helped her back to the bed. She remained an invalid for the next six years. She directed the household and taught us to do things we should and continued to function as a woman. She couldn't speak plainly, but we learned to understand her. She never complained and most always she had a spirit of cheerfulness about her.

We didn't go to church much when I was really small, but I can never remember a time when we didn't ask the blessing before meals.

Mama became more helpless, and Marie not only had the housework and the younger children to look after but had to feed Mother as well. Papa helped with the cooking and cared for Mama at night and on Sundays. Times were hard, but Papa was a good farmer and hard worker. Most of our food was grown at home. Cotton was our cash crop.

The next year, my mother's brother Pet, his wife, and three children moved in the house with us. Ida, his wife, was a compassionate, hardworking woman, and she took over much of the housework and helped Marie to take pride in her work. My uncle helped Papa farm. My cousins were near our ages, and we children spent many happy hours playing together.

After the crops were gathered, they moved out, and we moved back to Tuskahoma, just a mile from my grandparent's home. Grandma often sent my aunts to help Marie on wash day. They also did much sewing for the family and helped Marie to make quilts. I was now five and J.D. seven. He spent more time at Grandma's that year and went to school. The school truck didn't come to our place.

My dad's oldest sister lived just a quarter of a mile from us. Her daughter was Marie's age, and they were chums. My aunt also had three sons, and the youngest was my age. We depended on my aunt almost as much as we depended on Grandma's family. I hated to see them come to our house though. When they did, the two older girls would get together in the kitchen, working and giggling. J.D. and my aunt's boys would take their slingshots and roam the edge of the woods. I could sometimes get Edgar to play paper dolls with me, but when they came, all he would do was cry because he was too little to go with the boys. I had little chores around the house, and it was my job to do the errands for my mother. She would hardly let me out of her sight. I couldn't understand why my aunt wouldn't insist that her youngest boy stay around the house and play with Edgar and me.

As time went on, Edgar gained permission to roam with the other boys, and I came to love and admire my aunt. She always complimented my work, and I tried extra hard to please her. Anytime any of the family was sick, we would send for her, and she always came. She was always Aunt Mollie to us, and it was forty years later that I learned her name was Mary Ann. She was an immaculate housekeeper. She was slow of movement, and so was I. I felt flattered when told that I was like her. She never seemed to run out of patience, and I wished that I could be kind, neat, and patient like her.

The year I was five marked another milestone in my life. It was the year I started to go to Sunday school. Three miles from us in the opposite direction of Tuskahoma was a little one-room school called Nine Pine. There weren't many people living in the community, and those there who were interested in Sunday school belonged to different churches. One day, two of the women came to our house to see if our family would be interested in helping to form a union Sunday school. My parents were missionary Baptists, Aunt Mollie was Church of Christ, and Grandma and Grandpa were Presbyterian turned Baptists. They all agreed to support the Sunday school. There were also people of the Holiness faith that agreed to meet with us.

Sunday became a very special day to us. It was seldom that Mama was able to go, but Marie, J.D., and I would walk the three miles there and the three miles back with others who were going to Sunday school. Sometimes Grandpa or Uncle Jerome (Aunt Mollie's husband) would take a wagon and team, and we would have a ride there and back.

During open assembly, we would sit in the school seats with the desks in front of us. Our Sunday school superintendent was also the superintendent of the little school. I could sit in the seat with one of the other children only if I was very still. I wonder how Marie ever found time to join in the singing or listen to the devotional. If I made a wrong move, she reported to our parents. I thought it was near the unpardonable sin to not bow my head during a prayer, either at home or at Sunday school.

After assembly, we went to our classes. The adults met in the front of the room, and the young people met in the back. The children met in the cloak rooms where benches were provided for us to sit on. Those under ten met in the cloak room left of the door and those ten to fourteen met in the cloak room to the right. We didn't have Bible stories but rather a card with a Bible picture and some verses of scripture on the back which our teacher read to us. We were expected to memorize the golden Text, the key verse from the scripture we studied. Sometimes if we were really good, our teacher would read or tell us a child-experience story. We were taught also to bring an offering, and we put this on a stiff piece of paper our teacher passed around. I was so glad when I had a penny for the offering. If some child reached for the pennies on the paper, I knew I was not to laugh because some children don't know better. I loved everything about Sunday school.

During pretty weather, Papa and some of the other men would help Mama to a cot and then lift her, cot and all, into the wagon. Usually they would take her near the window and leave her in the wagon, but sometimes they carried her inside. In later years, Uncle Jerome bought a model T flatbed truck and Mama was able to go more often.

That fall it was decided that I should go to school. Pet's family had moved to a house under the hill from Grandpa's. Their oldest girl, Juanita, had started to go to school and was pretty excited about it. She had turned six in June, and I would be six in January. I went one day. I cried all day long! I was supposed to tell the teacher I was six and I was only five. I didn't want to go to school. I liked school for J.D. and Juanita, but I didn't like it for me!

Since Grandpa lived closer to Tuskahoma and we were the only school-age children past his place, the bus only came that far. I liked staying with Grandma, so it was thought that if I stayed with her, I would like going to school. I stayed one night. The next morning, my aunt Rindy took me to Pet's so I could catch the bus with Juanita. Everything went fine until that school truck came in sight. Then, I announced that I wasn't going. Rindy took me by one hand and Juanita took the other and pulled and dragged and pushed till they got me inside the bus. When the driver started the bus, I jumped out. It was farther to the ground than I had expected! Rindy let the bus go on without me. She didn't know what to do, so with some difficulty, she took me back to Grandma's. I thought she was very unreasonable not to let me stay at Pet's and play with four-year-old Lloyd.

When Grandma learned what had happened, she decided to send me straight home. She called Vick Weldon, who for some reason hadn't gone to school that day and told him to take me. She instructed him to take a small switch and switch my legs if I refused to go. I was docile enough until we got out of sight and then I started stopping and he would have to drag me or switch my legs. I don't know how we ever made that mile, but I was still managing a few tears when he took me into Mama's bed. I was hoping she would take my side, but when he told her what had happened, she told him she was glad he had brought me home. I didn't have to go back to school that year and instead of it turning me against Vick, I learned to like him. He was only fifteen, but I thought he was grown and deep in my heart I admired him for obeying Grandma.

The next fall, I really started to school. That year the bus came up to just a few yards from our house. I was really proud of myself that first day. The teacher wrote some numbers on the blackboard. One was above the other with a line under them. I tried to make mine just like hers. She took the papers up and then gave them back to us. Mine had a big 0 on it. I was even proud of the big 0.