BETTY'S BACK PORCH

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Betty's NOTES:

 I was born a long tong time ago in Fort Collins, Colorado while my father was attending Colo Aggies (now Colorado State University)  as a vet of WW1, studying Forestry.

The Colorado mountains were my back yard. We lived on a Ranger Station in Pingree Park.  I learned to walk hanging on to the stubby tail of our Airdale puppy.

I loved camping as a little child, and cried when I had to go home.

We lived at the Ranger Station until I was 2, and then moved to Denver. I grew up in the Depression years but have wonderful memories of my childhood.

We lived in a small 2 room house, but it sat on an acre of ground where my parents planted vegetables, strawberries, and beautiful flower beds.

I went to the Denver Schools, singing all along the way. I loved chorus, choir and glee clubs.  I began singing alto in the 4th grade.

I attended Mount Olivet Baptist church where I was badly brainwashed, but rescued by a great minister who greatly expanded my narrowed viewpoint.

The Baptists did teach me how to sing!

After high school, I worked at a little flying school as a PBX operator. It was there I met Claude, a handsome young pilot/ flight instructor. He asked me for a date, and the rest is history.

The Pearl Harbor attack was announced while I sat at my switchboard that fateful Sunday morning..

Claude received a commission as an Ensign in the US Naval Reserve .

We fell in love and married in October of 1942. We soon left for NAS Pensacola, Florida, for his basic training. I tagged along. We never fell out of love, and tho he is gone, he is still my one love.

We lived in a boarding house run by a funny little lady named Mabel. I became pregnant with our first son, Mike.

I have 4 children. 7 grandkids, and 5 great grandkids. The best of the best and my heart's delight.

I always had a deep hankering to paint on things. I found my niche in china painting. Now I do acrylics and oils on canvas and derive great pleasure from these artistic endeavors.

If you want details on these fascinating remarks, you might want to read one of my books. I have spent many hours compiling my memoirs.

 I read a lot of books.  When you get as old as I am the list of things you can do gets rather short.

I still drive, and am still quite independent. I don't like to think about the alternative.

If I were to make a List of things to do before I die:

I would love to travel to a faraway place. . . .and go first class, and employ a chauffeur and a maid to handle of all the details.

I would like to play a bass viol and strum to the deep bass rhythms of "Elvira Madigan".

If I had my voice back, I would love to sit by a campfire and sing the harmony to the old songs.. .. .

.If I didn't have a worn out body, I would like to hike the trails around Lake Tahoe, walk the beaches of the Oregon Coast, climb mountains again...

I would like to own a big rambling vacation house so the whole family could come and visit. . all at the same time.

I have seen houses like that, dreamed my dreams, and wished upon stars. Still no house. But the dreams are still there.

Perhaps the dreams are what really count. This is how it feels to be 89 years old.