Under the Sea - more photos

Yesterday I posted photos of our wonderful under the sea bathroom done by our artist friend John. The photos that I posted yesterday were more close up; these attempt to give a broader view of the same. This is the main wall between the door and the bathtub/shower. This is looking above the toilet with the towel rack. We got the original purple jellyfish at Pacific Beach resort. When we wanted more and Pacific Beach no longer stocked them, we were able to find them at the Seattle Acquarium.

Under The Sea

We love our bathroom now that our artist & fireman friend John did all the work. Originally it began as an idea of a sea colored room with a few ceramic fish and the glass jellyfish. But just like that verse in the Bible that says, "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man what God had prepared for those who love Him" -- well, our idea was so nothing compared to the end result. See for yourself!
What a magnificent job he did. We will try to post a few more broader view photos soon!

Old Wisconsin Winter

I wish I knew who these people are -- relatives or friends of relatives, no doubt. Interesting people, but I love the horses and the buggy.

Poem for Nathaniel Healy (1785-1841)

My great-great-great grandmother, Rosina Healy Richardson, wrote this poem upon the loss of her father, Nathaniel Healy, son of John and Mary (Wight) Healy. Nathaniel was born in Washington, New Hampshire on July 10, 1785 and died in Topsham, Vermont on February 11th or 19th, 1841. Nathaniel was a teacher and had taught in Haverhill, New Hampshire, South Hero, Vermont and ended his days teaching in Topsham, Vermont. He only lived to 55 years of age and his daughter, the eldest of ten children, was 33 years old when he passed away. I thought it only fitting on this memorial day to read again her words of loss and love.

While I have found the graves of MANY relatives, the burial site of Nathaniel (1841) and his wife, Jane Tabor (who died in 1870), both of whom died in Topsham, VT, remain elusive.


My Father’s Gone

Thou art dear, little spot, Oh to me thou art dear
For the ashes your bosom contains
Though no willow is placed to shed the soft tear
On the sod o’er my Father’s remains.

Though no Parian marble encircles the spot
Though no ivy entwines o’er the tomb
Still the grave of My father shall never be forgot
While the wild flowers remember to bloom

The leaf that I plucked from the grave where it grew
Is now withered, forever decayed;
So my Father has gone! But affection most true
Shall remember the spot where he’s laid

And Oh may I walk in the steps that he trod
While o’er life’s troubled ocean I roam:
With religion to cheer me I’ll look to my God
And to Heavenward I’ll look for a home.

When this last scene of life shall be acted and o’er
When the cares of existence are riven
When I leave this rough region to wander no more
May I meet my dear Father in Heaven.

R ---

Echternach, Luxembourg in WWI

My great-Uncle George Sherwood sent the postcard above to his Aunt Nellie (Eva Irene Richardson) Thompson while he was in France. On the back of this photo he wrote:

Dear Auntie,

Just a line to let you know I am well. Just read your letter written the early part of Dec for my Xmas. Thank you for the kind greetings. The picture on the other side of this card is taken from the German side of the Sauer River and shows the little city we now occupy. Write to me as often as you can. I hope this will find you well. With loving greetings.

Corporal George Sherwood

108th US Engineers, American Exp Forces

Censored - Captain

WEATHER CHANGES THREATEN DISASTER

Oh, wait, that was 1955 - the world should have ended in 1975. I had to laugh when I found this in my parents "stuff" to go through. I hear echos of Chicken Little in the background. And we have four years, eleven months and two days for Al Gore's prediction of saving the earth from scorching -- and there is tons of snow all over the Puget Sound. No matter how things change, they do seem to stay the same.

Woodrow Wilson Writes to the Nation

I found this printed letter that must have been mailed throughout the country. As there is no date on it, I did a little internet search and found a printed version in a United Mine Workers publication dated October 1, 1918. During this time period George Sherwood would have been "somewhere in France" and I am sure that is the reason his family kept this letter.

A Poem for Mother

A Poem for Mother

God saw you getting tired
And a cure was not to be
So He put his arms around you
And whispered "Come to Me."
With tearful eyes I watched you
And saw you pass away;
Although I loved you dearly
I couldn't make you stay.
A golden heart stopped beating,
Hard working hands at rest.
God broke my heart to prove to me
He only takes the best.

With love from your daughter, Venca

The above poem was written by my sister after our mother passed away. I think it is a beautiful tribute to her. The photo above is of Venca and Mom at my daughter's high school play, Prince Caspian.

In Memory of Myrtilla Delaney Gilmore Thompson

Dear Auntie,
I wish I was well enough so mama could come and see you this summer, but as it is now I don’t know what we should do if she was not here. I can fritter around and do a little work part of the time and then some of the time I can’t, while if mama was gone, I would have all of the regular housework to do, and you know July and August are our very busiest months with the fruit and melons. Papa has in about 2 ½ A (acres) of melons this year and they are doing finely. Our strawberries will be ripe in at least two weeks now and probably some before then. We will have new potatoes in two weeks and are going to have beet greens this week someday. Have turnips 1 ½ and 2 inches through and our spinach is nearly ready to use. Have had radishes for a month or six weeks.

I have a snow-ball bush that has 47 great big snow-balls out in full bloom and just beside it is a peony all in bloom. It is a deep scarlet.

The Christian Church is just a short distance from our place and they are holding protracted meetings there so on the evening of my birthday, as it was very warm and pleasant, papa took me to church. It was the first time I had been in nearly 6 months.

I must close with love,
Mertie
____________________________________________________________

This photo of Mertie, Myrtilla, is the only one that I have which can definitely be attached to her. Myrtilla only lived until August of 1902 so this letter was likely written late spring or early summer beforethat when she was already ill. Myrtilla apparently taught school in the Palouse. She became ill and died when she was only 20.

I thought it was only fitting to take this opportunity to remember the life of Myrtilla Delalney Gilmore Thompson who was a joy to her adoptive mother and father, George and Nellie Thompson who missed her dearly after her death. She was young, but she faced death as a Christian with no fear, stating to those with her that she was "ready to go" to see the Lord when the time came.

I've heard it said that in Jewish tradition that worse than death is to have one's name forgotten forever. Myrtilla may not have had the opportunity to be married, raise and family and have her own generations rise up to call her blessed, but here and now we remember a young woman who "fought the good fight and kept the faith" over a hundred years ago.

Myrtilla you are not forgotten!