Collection compiled in December 25, 1981 – updated May 2006
The following pages are excerpts from a form of collected works, a three generation journal if you will, consisting of thoughts, beliefs, mottoes, experiences, and just the lives of three women.
The three women who left this impact, among many others, and this heritage are:
- Nora Mae Knapp, daughter, wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother
- Ramona Mae Fletcher, daughter, wife, mother, and grandmother
- Lorelle West, daughter and wife
This collection is not complete. There are many other works by the above women. And it will never be completed as long as children are born and life goes on on this big, old earth.
I dedicated this to the daughters of yesteryear and tomorrow. Carry your heritage proudly and realize that the beginning is not the end.
We can’t conquer time,
Our enemy true;
But we can find the sublime
And learn what to do.
But feelings last.
I am today,
My ancestors in every way.
A reflection is due
On all that is true,
Three generations spread
Of thoughts you have read.
Their hopes and dreams,
Their lives and schemes,
All reflections of each others:
Me, my mother, and grandmother.
This collection is yet complete.
Never shall it be so.
For this is too great a feat
For all the world to know.
Some day a daughter will read these words
And feel the awesome blow
That what she feels today, will lurk
Around in her child.
Time passes on,
Will they know of us
Forty generation’s on?
Lorelle, December 12, 1981
The days are bright and golden
altho’ the nights are cold,
And leaves that fall upon the ground
are deeply tinged with gold.
The air is fresh and balmy
and skies are azure blue.
Birds are singing everywhere,
their voices clear and true.
And when the sun goes down at night
it casts a lovely glow
Against the mountain peaks above
for they are white with snow.
Were I an artist, I would choose
to make of this a setting,
But I’m a poet as you see
and so will cease regretting.
Nora Mae Knapp, September 18, 1945
October is the Witching Hour.
You must be careful in October,
For there are ghosts and spooks and sounds
That make your dog a’growl.
Dead leaves fly like
witches on broom sticks.
And I like the monster
that asks you for a toothpick.
Lorelle, October 1969
Across the years
Time does fly
Season pass by
But thoughts won’t die.
Memories of yesteryear
Are feelings of today.
“Never to be like mom and dad.”
I’m like them more each day.
The feelings I feel
Each day do reveal
Are the feelings my mom explained to me
That she felt, when old, she said.
Do we change and grow
Or do we expand the show?
Are we the new generation
Or just the last one’s contemplation?
Reaching back across those years
I see that many were my fears
What I feel, my mother felt.
What she feels, grandma felt.
And as they both learned the secret
Of realization complete,
I will feel what mom feels yet,
And also learn of my grandma’s defeat.
Lorelle, December 12, 1981
Make sure the image you give others is the real “you”. The real “you” that you are capable of being…Act your best. Think in your mind the way you want to be and can be. Then act as if you are already there.
Ramona Mae Fletcher, 1980
My sled is fast and slick.
Whenever we go over a stick
It makes a big bumb
Then down the hill we go with a bump.
When I’ve got the flue,
I feel all blue.
Because I can’t ride in my sled,
Instead I stay in bed.
Lorelle, December 1969
As I sit here alone tonight, my thoughts drift swiftly back.
Along the paths of yesteryear, when I wasn’t an old sad sack.
I realize I’m getting old — I have wrinkles on my brow
That once was very smooth and clear, but that’s not so – not now.
I spend a lot of time alone. Daughter is in bed.
I hear the old clock ticking loud but telling me instead:
“Old Nonie, you are growing old. You’ve lost your zip and zoom.
And now all you are good for is to sit around in gloom!”
If I had something else to do – something that was fun –
I maybe would snap out of it – Gloom would be on the run.
But I will try to chase it, if I have to use the broom.
Even if it don’t bring back my “old time” zip and zoom!
Nora Mae Knapp, September 1945
School is beginning.
Hear the bells a-ringing.
“Hurry! Don’t be late,
For school and books will not wait.”
Lorelle, September 1969
Emma Katherine Baker
When ever one needed a helping hand
Dear Emma was always there,
You could always depend upon her
With her your troubles share.
She was so patient, kind and true,
A friend so rare indeed,
And never a chance would she pass by
If anyone was in need.
She was happy in doing for others
Even tho’ she was ill.
She holds a large spot in my heart
Though hers has long been still.
By Nora Mae Knapp, circa 1945
Winter is a lot of fun
When you take a run
Out in the snow.
When the winter winds blow,
Come and play with me.
Let’s not have tea.
Let’s play in the snow.
Don’t get touched by the blow.
Now we know winter is here.
Lorelle, December 1969
I wish that you were here tonight
As I have wished before.
We’d laugh and cry as usual
Then I would read some more.
And you would talk so I can’t sleep
As you so often do.
But this time I would talk right back
And get the best of you!
Our eyes would have such bags beneath,
But we would have our fun.
I seldom laugh when you’re not here
So you had better come —
I soon will know about the bus
And how often it goes by.
And then I’ll let you know about it
In a letter on the fly!
I have a couple roosters
And I’m hoping you can share
With us the feat that they will make.
They won’t be burned nor rare.
I’ll cook it nice and tender
For I know you have no teeth.
And I’ll sharpen up my kniff real good
And keep it in a sheath.
But don’t wear anything that’s good
And have corks in your shoes
For you might fall upon the path
And give your knees the blues.
Well, now as it is getting late
And I must go to bed,
I feel a little tired
And my shoes are filled with lead.
Where did I get my talent?
It must have come from pa –
Ma said she can’t write poetry
Neither can I – Ha! Ha!
September 24, 1945, Nora Mae Anderson
I am walking along the long and winding road.
Sometimes I take a side road that leads me away,
But usually I find my own way back.
Occasionally, this new path is the one I desire to make my path way.
Whatever I choose, I do it myself.
I make my choices. I decide. No one leads me.
Let me make these decisions myself.
Let me carry my own weight first.
Let me do my own searching.
Let me do my own learning.
Let me find my own way.
Let me find my own self.
Let me find out.
Let me find me.
Love me now.
Hold me now.
Make plans for next week.
Not next year.
Care for me now.
Love me now.
For the future is too far away and yet,
Will be here too soon.
And if I have not had a chance
To make the most of my future,
I will regret it forever.
So let me have “my time”
Because you’ve had yours.
And because of this
You can only
Love me more
Because I will be
A better person
For all of this.
Give me now
And maybe someday
Lorelle, April 4, 1980
I’ll soon be forty-one years old,
Not too bad looking I am told,
But cranky as an old Ford car
And when I eat I go too far.
I am fat and bulgy; lazy, too.
Not many teeth left with which to chew.
Hair turning grey, my back is lame,
But plenty of meat left on my frame.
My feet are flat, my waist is thick,
I think I weigh as much as a ton of brick!
But I don’t care. I’ll get by somehow
Even if I am the cat’s meow!
I have a man who is not so thin,
As some men are, and I must grin.
It would be funny if he were a rail,
Walking beside a big fat whale.
I wear size forty in a dress
Size eight is in my soe.
I realize how odd am I
And feel a trifle blue.
But grin and bear it, I must do
As I am growing old,
A movie queen I’ll never be
But not toooo bad I’m told.
I sometimes think they kid, tho’
When I look in the glass,
And see my old face looking back –
’tis then I sign – Alas!
It’s hard to keep my spirits up
With such a form as mine
And now that I’m nearly forty-one,
For youth I greatly pine!
If I could turn a few years back
Like the pages in a book,
I’d be sixteen years old again
And swinging in the brook.
I’d pick the dark blue violets
That in the grasses grew,
I’d drink cool water from the spring
As I once loved to do.
I’d go barefoot down the road
And fish in the river,
I’d catch the fish, but hated crabs –
To see them made me shiver!
I’d take another ride on Jim
And think that I was brave
To ride a horse as wild as he
And hear my brothers rave.
And then they’ed get on with me –
‘twould be white head and brown bean,
We’d gallop along to old “Charlestown”
On the map it can’t be seen.
But we cherished that dear old sand hill,
Where I’d make a speech again.
I’d visit the dear old “Friendly tree”
And play again in the rain.
Nora Mae Knapp Anderson, 1945
Don’t just do fine. Do excellent.
Don’t do good when you can do great.
Don’t hide when you can seek.
Don’t leave when you can stay.
Don’t take when you don’t deserve.
Don’t receive when you can give.
Don’t laugh when people are hurt.
Don’t deceive when you can trust.
Don’t lie when you speak.
Don’t frown when you can smile.
Don’t cry when you can laugh.
Don’t end when you can begin
Don’t give up when you can go on.
Don’t die when you can live.
Do what you can be…the best!
Lessons learned from her mother, by Lorelle, 1978
And go on.
And leave it behind.
Ramona Mae Fletcher, 1977
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