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"Confessions" - The Family Episode #1

"Confessions" - The Family Episode #1

Old 03-21-2011, 03:12 PM
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Confessions of a Want-to-be Quilter©2011
Memoirs of Carol S. Jackson, Evans, GA
Printed by the author

The Family
Episode #1 The Dukes
As a child, I fancied myself a princess, despite the roughneck tomboy I really was. The fantasy was based on reality, as my maternal grandfather was a Duke. PomPa lived in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans, and we visited him and his wife at least every other month. In his younger days, he traveled. I don’t recall the stories of where he was born, or even his first name. He was Scotch-Irish. His last name was Duke. Royalty? I doubt it, but perhaps it’s something I might like to dig into, in my spare time.

He was apparently gallivanting through Tampico, Mexico when a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed woman stole his heart. Her name was Celina, from Columbia. He brought her back to the United States, and they settled in New Orleans. That was my MawMaw. They had two children, Adele and Beryl. Beryl was my mother. When mom was fairly young, Celina developed Tuberculosis. Mother and her sister had a difficult childhood because their father left the fold for a healthy woman who could speak English. As MawMaw went in and out of sanatoriums, the girls were placed with quasi foster parents through the Catholic Church. They were only together during the periods when their Mother was at home.

There were many stories about these temporary homes from mom. One recurrent “home” was with an old German woman. She was a cold, heartless woman who lived in a tiny house. Mom was given a bed on the minuscule, enclosed, back porch. It was drafty, buggy, and projected into the chicken yard. The chickens were a mixture of comfort and distraction. When their parents were together, her father raised Leghorn chickens for egg money. Mom recalls the noise, and having to gather the eggs from the wire drops of the hen house. She liked to tease the rooster by running in circles and making him chase her, then suddenly reversing her circle to chase the old rooster.

The situation with these chickens was different. They were free range in the grassless patch of a yard, with assorted junk strewn about to serve as their huts and nesting areas. Mister R. Kept the cats at bay with the sharp horns on the back of his legs. Some eggs were gathered for meals, but never were they all collected. From time to time, a less than fresh egg was gathered. Mom described these eggs, as they hit the hot pan, as real stomach turners.

The old German was a meticulous house keeper. Though the house was falling apart, it was clean. Mom learned house keeping skills from this temporary home. Boy, how I regret that! She, too, became obsessed with clean, and tried to pass it on to me. Fortunately, I rebelled. I cleaned, as necessary, but never with the fervor of my mother.

In their teen years, mom and her sister were frolicking in Lake Ponchatrain, quite near Army Camp Leroy Johnson. By-and-by, some handsome young men with typical G.I hair cuts swam into their vicinity. Although mom was interested in the G.I’s, they detected her youth, and inquired about her older sister. “Oh, her? That’s my sister Sue,” was her flippant response. From that point on, Adele had a new name, Sue.

Several years after the death of PomPa Duke, mom and Aunt Sue each got some strange letters from an out-of-state attorney requesting that they get in touch with him about some inheritance. They both ignored the letters, assuming them to be cranks. A year, and multiple letters later, the phone calls began. There really was an inheritance. Apparently my grandfather had been married in his much younger years, before his travels to Mexico. Although we all heard of the Don Quixote life style he had led, there was never a mention of a marriage prior to that of the one to my grandmother. Well, that former wife never remarried, nor bore any children, and had no living realities. Therefore, according to the laws of the state in which she had lived, her estate was to be divided among the living children of her former husband. WOW! One just never knows what skeletons may be in their closet. That attorney, working for the state, must have really worked hard to track down PomPa and his descendants.
Next . . . Aunt Sue


To read or re-read the story to this point:
episode #1 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-89325-1.htm
episode #2 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-91439-1.htm
episode #3 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-93252-1.htm
episode #4 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-95299-1.htm
episode #5 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-97179-1.htm
episode #6 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-99313-1.htm
episode #7 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-101509-1.htm
episode #8 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-103467-1.htm
episode #9 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-105491-1.htm
episode #10 http://www.quiltingboard.com/t-107447-1.htm
Please contact the author for reprint information.
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Old 03-21-2011, 03:20 PM
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Thanks for the read!!!!!!!
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Old 03-21-2011, 04:54 PM
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How very interesting and I can't wait to hear more about Aunt Sue. The story of Maw Maw and your mother and sister going in and out of foster homes reminds me of the stories of my great grandmother's life.............who knows where great grandpa went, some say to be a sherrif in some frontier town, some say he returned to Scotland, but the two little sisters ended up in an orphanage when they mother died of what was then called consumption.
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Old 03-21-2011, 05:02 PM
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It would be wonderful if this would stay on the first page long enough for people to read this
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