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A Joyful Noise

family

#ThrowbackThursday: Nana’s presence, near and dear

February 21, 2019 by Melodye Shore

I’m missing my Nana something fierce these days, so imagine my delight when my sister found and shared this special photograph. It’s a peaceful, somewhat stable moment in our family history, but you can read the previous chapters in our facial expressions and body language. And yet… When it landed in my Inbox, I was able to sense Nana’s presence, as if she were once again sitting right beside me, and that’s what makes this image a rare and wonderful treasure.

(Left to right: my mom; my sister Sheryll and her infant son, Jason; me, opening a gift; and Nana.)

Posted in: #TBT, #ThrowbackThursday, family, family archives, nana, Throwback Thursday Tagged: #ThrowbackThursday, family archives, memories, nana, TBT

Nana’s Porch Swing and My New Glider

March 13, 2017 by Melodye Shore

My Nana’s house was tiny—a “cracker box,” my father called it—with a tar roof and peeling paint, two bedrooms and a single bathroom. She stored her wringer washing machine beside the creaky screen door, and stretched a clothesline between the apricot and fig trees in her grassy backyard.

Cozy enough for two, it was a tight squeeze for ten. But when our car rolled up to the curb, she burst through the front door, apron strings flying, and welcomed all eight of us with open arms.

I loved everything about my Nana’s house, but I have special memories of her front porch swing. It wasn’t fancy at all: just a slatted-wood bench, attached to the rafters with metal chains. But when daylight gave way to moonlit evenings, Grandpa Fred would settle his lanky frame into the swing and pull me into his lap. It was a cherished nightly ritual: I’d snuggle into his flannel shirt, and he’d stuff a wad of cherry tobacco into his pipe, light a match and suck on the pipe stem until the tobacco glowed red. We swayed back and forth in wordless silence, twisting pipe cleaners into clothespin dolls as the tobacco curled itself into smoky ribbons that drifted overhead.

That’s me on the left, standing with two of my sisters in Nana’s driveway.

To this day, I don’t think there’s anything more soothing than the  back-and-forth rhythm of a porch swing, especially when it’s shared with someone you love.  If you’ve ever experienced that, I know you’ll understand why I’ve always wanted a porch swing of my own.

It’s one of those dreams that’s proven more fanciful than practical. My front porch is welcoming, but it’s not big enough to swing your legs wide and far. Our backyard is filled with butterflies and birdsong, and the adjacent hillside is teeming with wildlife—all of which invites us to linger, to make new memories and share our stories. Even so, there’s no place to hang an old-fashioned swing.

But that’s how it goes sometimes, isn’t it? Times change. We adapt. Like this tangerine tree in our backyard, we cling to life’s sweetness — even as we make the inevitable changes, one generation to the next.

When I was a little girl, I vowed that when I eventually had a home of my own, I’d get myself a porch swing like Nana’s.  But when that didn’t work out, for one reason and another, I looked high and low for a suitable alternative.  A stand-alone swing might just work, I told myself, but store-bought options were either too big, too small, too rickety or stiff.

Patience isn’t my strongest virtue, but in this case, it paid off. Because, voilà! Like magic, a classified ad appeared on my NextDoor app: Two slightly-used rocking chairs AND a glider, $50.00 to the first responder.

SOLD, in a blink of an eye! Granted: my lifelong wish!

Yes, they need a good scrubbing. Seat cushions would be nice. The paint is so glossy, so glaringly white, and I much prefer a weathered look. But…$50.00, for the whole set! I couldn’t resist.

No, they’re not what I originally envisioned, but with a little elbow grease, I can transform these cast-offs into something beautiful. If I use my imagination, I can turn their rigid backs into something more rounded, soft and soothing.

Truth be told, I don’t even know where I’ll put them all.  (Shhh! Don’t tell my husband!) But I’ll make room for them somewhere…it’s what we do, for the things (the people and memories) we love and cherish.

Posted in: childhood, family, glider, Grandpa Fred, memories, nana, Nana's Porch swing, Porch swing, rocking chair, Van Nuys Tagged: glider, Grandpa Fred, memories, nana, rocking chair

Thankful Thursday: Indoor Camp Meeting ad, circa 1966

February 9, 2017 by Melodye Shore

PortlandRevivalAd_20Aug1966

In researching my memoir, I oftentimes slipped into the role of my alter ego, Nancy Drew. I’ve retrieved clues from dusty archives; revisited the vacant fields where my father pitched his revival tents; and reclaimed abandoned artifacts, strewn by the wayside as we followed the Sawdust Trail.

I unearthed this family treasure in the Oregonian archives. Years ago, my father purchased this advertising space, in anticipation of a large turnout for an indoor revival meeting. The venue’s long gone, and the intended audience has scattered. But this newspaper clipping is a voice from my past, harkening me back to my childhood. I remember the murmuring crowds, the rise and fall of my father’s voice in the pulpit, perfumed women and sweat-soaked laborers, gospel choruses and clanging tambourines… same as if it were just yesterday.

Most certainly, dusty pages like this would’ve been trashed, were it not for keen-eyed, good-hearted historians–librarians, genealogists, archivists, and volunteers–saints of a sort, who devote their time and energies to the preservation of our individual and collective stories. I’m grateful to them always, but I think they deserve special recognition on Thankful Thursday. Can I get a witness?

Posted in: Camp Meeting, childhood, family, genealogy, memoir, newspaper, Pentecostal Tent Revivals, Portland, Religion, revival meetings, sawdust trail, Thankful Thursday, Throwback Thursday Tagged: can i get a witness, nancy drew, newspaper ad, thankful thursday

Throwback Thursday: Annie Elizabeth Harding, one of countless immigrants

November 19, 2015 by Melodye Shore

My great grandmother, Annie Elizabeth Aldrich, was born in Hertfordshire, England in 1859.  In this snapshot , she’s about 45 years old and has long since moved to Nottingham. As mother to 11 living children (9 girls and 3 boys), it’s no surprise that she looks a bit weary. Even so, she was by all accounts a very happy woman who probably imagined herself living out her days among the people she knew and loved, in the homeland she cherished.

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May (L) and Evelyn (RO were the youngest of Annie Elizabeth Harding’s 12 children.

But when World War I erupted, Nottingham was hit hard. Annie’s boys enlisted in the military, and my great-grandparents sought refuge on American soil. They were second class passengers on the USMS Philadelphia, which was chased by German submarines for countless, terrifying miles.

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Her daughters found work at a local corset factory, and Annie — who, by then, was 56 years old–set about creating a new life for them on Pleasant Street in West Brookfield, Massachusetts.

She and her husband George worked hard, saved diligently, and eventually purchased a comfortable home on an old country road, across from a yeast-making factory and adjacent to the railroad tracks. Annie planted flowers on the hillside and was feted by her beloved children on the occasion of  her 50th wedding anniversary.

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Within a month, the Great Depression hit. They made do and did with less, so as to lend financial support to those in need.

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Annie Elizabeth and George Harding, on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary in 1929.

Just five years later, my great-grandfather passed away. Annie was 75 years old. A widow now, she once again rolled up her sleeves. She endured floods and other hardships, but as it was with her pet canaries, she never lost her song. Local historians told me that hobos etched friendly symbols in the dirt roads that led from the rail cars to her house. “Hot meals offered here,” they said. “Everyone’s invited.” How utterly Annie, to share what little she had!

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When I met the current owners of her humble abode, they offered me a gift.

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Pulled from the crumbling remains of the original foundation, this brick reminds me of my personal roots. Too, it grounds me in the truth of things, within and beyond the current narratives we’re hearing. That is to say, that we are a nation of immigrants, settled by great-grandmothers who sacrificed much in the name of safety and freedom, and who were welcomed equally at Ellis Island.

Posted in: family, genealogy, memoir, nana, TBT, Throwback Thursday Tagged: Annie Elizabeth Harding, Ellis Island, genealogy, Great Depression, Immigrants, nana, Refugees, west brookfield massachusetts

Throwback Thursday: My Brother Roger (1943-2015)

October 29, 2015 by Melodye Shore

We didn’t stay in any one place for long, nor did we ever sit for family portraits. And while revival organizers sometimes took candid snapshots of my father’s fiery sermons and the like, most of those got pitched overboard to make room for an ever-expanding family. So by the time my siblings and I reached adulthood, only a handful of personal photographs remained.

Some wayward pictures were eventually returned by my father’s associates. Some found their way ‘home’ when I reached out to estranged family members. My sister Sheryll, who shares my interest in personal genealogy, tracked down quite a few photographs on her own. Secrets oftentimes stay buried, but we encouraged more than a few hoarders to share their private stash. And as it turned out, I retrieved a good number of images by climbing into my “Nancy Drew” roadster and following my father’s tire ruts down the Sawdust Trail.

When Roger passed away this month, I felt a hollowness in the places where his voice once reverberated. So precious–then and in hindsight–the times we shared in communion, recounting the highlights of our individual and shared stories. Such treasures, the memories and pictures we’ve managed to archive, for ourselves and future generations. This doesn’t seem to me the appropriate place to write my brother’s obituary, but I’ve assembled a small number of images that bear witness to his life.

To my brothers and sisters, a love offering. That’s already printed on the dedication page of my memoir–in my mind’s eye, at least. Same with the pictures of Roger that you see here.

Roger Baby

Roger Suva was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1943.

DadRogerCoralBowChow_JohnsonCityTenn_1946

Roger’s standing next to the family dog, facing my father, who has my oldest sister Coral on his lap. A candid (?) snapshot, taken in front of my father’s revival tent in Johnson City, Tennessee.

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My brother Roger’s upper elementary school picture, taken the year I was born.

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A front-porch respite from the cramped back seat of our family car, the summer before his senior year in high school.

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Roger the Bookworm, shortly after college graduation (Wheaton Bible College, in Illinois).

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A Christmas hug from his older daughter, Esther.

Roger and Heather

Hanging out on the front porch with Heather, his younger daughter (Anaheim, California).

1986 04 Jake and Darlene, Disneyland, Desert_20140413_0004

An outdoor enthusiast with an irrepressible wanderlust, Roger’s pictured here in Joshua Tree, watching for Halley’s Comet.

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A vegetarian before it was fashionable, Roger espoused strong opinions about many things.

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We shared a complicated story, and a tangled family tree. Here, Roger’s (re)introducing me to Cliff, whom I’d met on a couple of other occasions but hadn’t yet realized was my brother.

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The VW bus that Roger called home for several years before he died.

Posted in: family, genealogy, Pentecostal Tent Revivals, revival meetings, TBT, Throwback Thursday Tagged: can i get a witness, memoir, memory, nancy drew, Roger, tent revival, throwback thursday

August was…a happy blur

September 1, 2015 by Melodye Shore

A special little boy, looking for all the world like Christopher Robin, dashes through the park in a summer rainstorm

Funny, the way summer seems to pass more quickly, the older we get. Hours, days, weeks…they slip right past us, in the blink of an eye. And then, whoosh! We’re rushing headlong into autumn.

Feels like we just started the #AugustBreak2015 photography challenge, but here we are, at the end of the month. I confess to blurring past a few scrapbook pages. Life intervened, so I flipped to the next page and moved forward. But I’d sign up again, in a New York second! So much fun, to transform the daily prompts into photographs, and to stretch my storytelling capabilities in new directions.

I appreciated your suggestions and encouragement, and most of all, that you shared your summertime memories with me, too. See you in September!

If you want to scroll through the entire collection of photographs in my #AugustBreak2015 scrapbook, click here. The last prompt of the month, represented above, is August was…

 

Posted in: #AugustBreak2015, Blogging, family, joy, Photography Tagged: august, Christopher Robin, daily prompts, joy, photography, photography challenge, see you in september, susannah conway

Stop and smell the roses

August 14, 2015 by Melodye Shore

Vanilla beans and cinnamon rolls…Lavender and lemon…Crisp, clean air,  after a rainstorm…Fresh brewed coffee in the morning. These are standout fragrances, no doubt about it, but I’d put roses at the top.

Selected by the Vatican to honor the late Pope John Paul II, this luminous beauty has perfectly shaped blossoms and a sweet, citrus scent. Although it’s relatively new to the rose catalogue, Pope John Paul II is considered one of the most fragrant roses of all time. It’s certainly one of my favorites!(Don’t you just wish this were a scratch-and-sniff page?)

PopeJohnPaulRose_Fragrant

Pope John Paul II rose in my backyard

 

But when it comes to that quintessential “old-fashioned rose” fragrance, Damask is the once and reigning Queen. New roses are introduced every year, with various “improvements” to her lineage. Sure, it’s exciting to see all the new shapes and colors, with creative names to match. But once you catch a whiff of her classic pink blossoms, you’ll remember her always. Dreamiest scent, ever.

The Soul of the Rose, aka My Sweet Rose, by John William Waterhouse (via Wikimedia Commons)

 

I suspect my big love for roses stems from my tiny grandmother, Nana. One of my sweetest, fragranced memories comes of seeing her dab Rosewater Eau de Toilette behind her ears every morning and massage rosewater and glycerine into her arthritic hands at night. Oh, and when we ran into her arms after a prolonged road trip, she’d pinch her nose and tease, “You sure don’t smell like roses!” In this undated picture, she’s planted herself among her–our–favorite flowers. I’d like to think it captures the essence of her granddaughters, too, who loved her very much.

Nana_Roses_DateUnknown

Nana among the roses, estimated 1916-1926

#AugustBreak2015 Photography Challenge, continued. The phrase for Day 14 is favorite smell. 

 

Posted in: #AugustBreak2015, family, gardening, joy, joyful noise, Mom, nana, Nature, Photography Tagged: Damask Rose, family archives, John William Waterhouse, joy, My Sweet Rose, nana, photography, pope john paul ii rose, The Soul of the Rose

Five Facts about Me

August 7, 2015 by Melodye Shore

5ThingsAboutMe

1. I never dreamed I’d live so close to the ocean, but I’ve always felt its pull.

2. If Nature is a magician, I’ve fallen under her spell.

3. I can’t explain this #NanaLove any more than I can count the stars.

4. Happy is my default setting.

5. “Your home should rise up to greet you,” says Nate Berkus, “And at the end of the day, it should ground you in a sense of peace.” I’m not an interior decorator by any means, but I think my home is comfortable and welcoming.

Day 6 of Susannah Conway’s #AugustBreak2015 photography challenge. The phrase of the day is 5 Facts about Me. Ask me again tomorrow, and I’d probably create a wholly different collage. Maybe I’d adjust the zoom lens, crop the pictures a little tighter. But this is pretty decent selfie, for a first attempt.

Posted in: #AugustBreak2015, california, family, friends, Home, joy, joyful noise, Photography Tagged: family, family archives, joy, joyful noise, laguna beach, monarch butterfly, nana, photography

#TBT My Father’s Pentecostal Revival Tent–built of canvas, faith and grit

July 16, 2015 by Melodye Shore
KeyWestTent

My father’s tent revival meeting in Key West, Florida (Anyone recognize the street signs?)

A lesser star in the evangelical orbit, my father didn’t usually have a crew on hand to help set up his tent revival meetings, so we did everything for ourselves. It involved a lot of grunt work, with no guarantees that the crowds would come.

My father painted new signs for each location, hand-lettered without a template. While we cleared debris and smoothed the dirt, he sandpapered the scuffed edges of our portable platform. Pitching the tent was an engineering feat, in and of itself. It also required a lot of strength. My older brothers helped my father position and anchor the tent posts, and then stretch the canvas over top. Sometimes the canvas tore, whether from age or an over-energetic tug. One of the girls, myself included, would  stitch the frayed edges together, using a curved needle and stiff thread.  On our luckiest days, local church folks would volunteer their time and effort. Working in tandem, they’d help hang speakers from tent posts, string the interior and exterior lights, and sound-check the microphones. (Electricity was typically siphoned from a nearby church or charitable business). We then planted the folding chairs in tidy rows, scattered sawdust on the earthen floor, and plunked a hymnal on every seat.

Drivers slowed, gawked, and rolled on past. Sometimes they’d honk. Other times, they’d jeer. Passers-by would stop to watch our dusty, sweaty routine, would whisper among themselves as we worked. I remember my father’s fervent prayers over dinner, remember him asking God to deliver those spectators to our evening service.

Posted in: family, memoir, Pentecostal Tent Revivals, revival meetings, TBT, Throwback Thursday Tagged: can i get a witness, memoir, tent revival

#TBT A portrait of my Great Aunt Eleanor, drawn from memorabilia

May 7, 2015 by Melodye Shore

I know very little about my Great Aunt Eleanor, but these artifacts sure paint an interesting portrait!

Eleanor (“Nelly”) was born in Nottingham, England in 1887. She–along with many of my maternal grandmother’s family members–emigrated to West Brookfield, Massachusetts in 1916.  Years later, Nana told us stories later about the WWI German submarines that chased their ship across the ocean, but at the time of their passage, the United States hadn’t yet entered “The War to End All Wars.”

People described Nelly as “high-spirited” and “adventuresome.” She and her husband, Allen T. Godfrey, were nothing if not enterprising. That’s what I heard tell.

When I steered my Nancy Drew roadster down bumpy roads, I found evidence of that.

GoldenRuleLunchroom

GoldenRuleLunchroom_abt1927_ReedNewOwner

The Golden Rule Lunchroom, about 1927 (via West Brookfield, MA Archives)

Whoa, Nelly!

She died the year before I was born, which makes me wistful in this remembering. I think we might’ve shared some things in common. And oh, the family secrets we could spill, over afternoon tea!

Allen and Nelly Godfrey_Sept1946

Allen and Nelly Godfrey, 1946

Although she fashioned herself a writer, Nelly didn’t leave to future generations any poems, journals or books. She did, however, enter lots of contests, many of which she won. “Duz Does It All” was my great aunt’s award-winning slogan for a laundry detergent company.

war-time-cleaning-duz

Wartime was hard for everyone, with more than enough hardship to go around. Gasoline and groceries were rationed, and money was scarce. Few people owned automobiles in the small town where she lived. But there were whispers down the lane about a certain relative who very much enjoyed rumbling through the streets of West Brookfield,  honking and waving to pedestrians from the driver’s seat of a shiny new Ford. It wasn’t common, back then, for women to slide behind the wheel. But Nelly being who she was, I suspect she felt entitled, being the Grand Prize Winner and all.

I’m picturing all this in my mind’s eye this morning, and oh, what a happy portrait it paints!

1947 Ford Ad-04-2

1947 Ford, via OldCarAdvertising.com

Posted in: CAN I GET A WITNESS, family, genealogy, memoir, nancy Drew, Throwback Thursday Tagged: Du Does everything, family archives, nancy drew, throwback thursday, west brookfield massachusetts
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