My mother's story before she died in 2000 (standard:other, 4352 words)
Author: Kenneth Nash	Added: May 30 2007	Views/Reads: 3100/2303	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Life story (unfinished) written by my mother

MOM'S STORY (Written by Julia Bell Wallace Larley in 1991-1992) 

Next to Mom, who is 91 years old, I am the oldest of our family.  I'm 71
years old at this beginning. 

And while I just have “some timers”, I'd best jot down all the things I
can remember about my childhood and family ... I just pray my memory 
serves me right! 

I've put off doing this for much too long ... because it seems like a
job I'm not qualified to do.  I've always wanted to be a writer, but 
now that I have my “big” chance .. I don't feel up to it! 

I love the TV series The Walton's and maybe I should make a story from
each incident I remember, as John Boy Walton did.  He was born on 
Walton's Mountain in West VA, and I was born in Wilburton, OK.  His 
story began in the early 30's, mine in the early 20's. 

Unlike some people who can remember being in the womb before they were
born, or their first tooth and ect (etcetera), the first thing I seemed 
to remember for sure was about my little sister, Wanda.  She was about 
18 months, or 2 years old, and I must have been maybe 4. 

It was a cool crisp sunny day.  I can still see mom walking around the
wash place; occasionally she stopped to wipe her face & hands on the 
apron she always wore & reached up to brush her hair back from her 
face.  Mom was always clean and neat -- small – beautiful, yet strong.  
On this day, I remember she told me to watch little Wanda and not let 
her fall down the stairs.  The outside stairs seemed to go straight up 
and Wanda was sitting on a rung – maybe 3 or 4 from the bottom.  I 
think she heard mom and started climbing up higher & faster – I was so 
scared – but I grabbed on to her long dress and held on for dear life.  
Wanda died shortly thereafter.  I do not remember any more about her. 

Seems I can still see mom rekindling the fire under the big black iron
wash pot in the backyard.  The steam was gently blowing from the hot 
water boiling in the pot.  For many years, I watched and helped her 
wash.  It was an all day job.  There was my Dad, Mom, Uncle Roy, Boe 
and myself, to keep clean, and clean we were! 

We pumped and carried water, depending on where we lived, of course.  We
also carried wood for the fire under the wash pot in summer – or for 
the kitchen stove in the winter to heat the tub of hot water.  She 
always boiled the white cloths (clothes)  with home made soap and used 
blue in the rinse water.  (Making soap is another story). 

Mom piled the men's clothes separate from the rest of the colored
clothes.  I'd watch her pick up the shirts and smell of them before she 
separated them – daddy's went in one pile – Uncle Roy's in another.  I 
never really knew why she did it.  She'd soaked the overalls in coal 
oil (kerosene) or gas to remove the motor grease.  Dad was a mechanic 
too.  Such loving care for the work clothes. 

She scrubbed the wooden floors with the soapy water and a broom, and
rinsed them with the rinse water (after she had bathed us kids in it!) 
and she dried the floors by scooting her feet along with old rags in 
them and often would have to hunt for different objects that had fallen 
through the cracks in the floor.  Of course, sometimes “things” got 
“lost” that way too. 

I remember a story my parents used to laugh about – no details remain to
make it as interesting as I'm sure it was – but shows a little of the 
fun they had.  Seems we went to visit Grandma Adney (Mom's mother) and 
knowing they were all anxious to see the new grandbaby (me), they put 
me in their suitcase and heaven knows what they were thinking – but 
somehow I didn't ruin their joke. 

When I was about 6 and Boe would have been 2, our family made a trip
from Oklahoma to Arkansas.  There was only 3 wagons in our “wagon 
train”, but it left a lasting impression on me, probably because our 
wagon was in the lead, with Mom, Daddy, Uncle Roy, Boe and myself. 

Daddy and Uncle Roy took turns riding the one saddle horse and driving
the team.  Mom could drive the team, too, if need be.  She and Dad 
loved that team; their names were Dick and Dutch, a perfect pair in 


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