Oh Happy Day!

November 27, 2010

George and Ruth Larson's wedding, November 27, 1929

George and Ruth Larson, November 27, 1929

On this day, 81 years ago, my grandparents George and Ruth Larson were married.

If you remember, back in February of that same year, Ruth started her job as a switchboard operator at C.A. Burnett Packing Company. Here she met George Larson, a handsome and meticulous bookkeeper for the same company.

My, what a whirlwind courtship theirs must have been! Nine months later, on Thanksgiving Eve of 1929, they were married.

God has blessed this day in, oh, so many ways!

As we celebrate George and Ruth’s anniversary, we also celebrate the many family weddings that followed. All because 81 years ago today, George and Ruth said “I do.”

Oh happy day!

Ruth Hooge engagement 1929

Carl & Sophia Larson, 1895

Carl & Sophia Larson, 1895

How’s this for tricky lighting?

These wedding portraits of George’s parents, Carl and Sophia, are showcased in antique frames with convex glass. Needless to say, they’re impossible to photograph without a reflection (at least with my limited skills). That’s my living room reflecting in the glass, where I’ve proudly displayed them for years.

Carl & Emma Hooge, September 1905

Carl & Emma Hooge, September 1905

Hooge Wedding table display
My Aunt Judy (Ruth’s daughter) displays Carl and Emma Hooge’s wedding portrait together with a table, lamp and chair that are all from the Hooge-Hornburg sides of the family. The beaded jewelry and lace doily are handiwork of my grandmother Ruth.

(George and Ruth’s daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren,with their names listed first and their spouse’s second)
Carol & Duane, August 18, 1953

Carol & Duane, July 18, 1953

Judith & Art, August 10, 1957

Judith & Art, August 10, 1957

Diahann and Glen, February 17, 1979

Diahann and Glen, February 17, 1979

Phil & Kim, June 26, 1982

Phil & Kim, June 26, 1982

Rachel & Tom, May 21, 1983

Rachel & Tom, May 21, 1983

Ruth and Scott, June 22, 1991

Ruth and Scott, June 22, 1991

Jonathan and Jenny, June 13, 1997

Jonathan and Jenny, June 13, 1997

Bethany & Tom, December 17, 2205

Bethany & Tom, December 17, 2005

Does Bethany’s dress look familiar?
She wore her grandmother Carol’s dress (see Carol and Duane, above.)

Joshua & Katherine, July 28, 2007

Joshua & Katherine, July 28, 2007

Hey, family! Would you like to include your wedding picture? Send me yours and your wedding date. We’d love to share!


A Parent’s Pain

October 26, 2010

Jon Duane

Jon Duane

The summer before my fourth grade year my brother Jon was born with a congenital heart defect. It was devasting for my parents.

I remember during our family devotions we kids would pray “please fix the hole in Jonny’s heart.” My father always cried. One day, my older (and wiser) sister suggested we phrase our prayer differently.

When Jonny died on October 26, two months after he was born, I remember riding in the limousine with my family to the cemetery. I remember my father holding my hand and in his nervous emotion, he rubbed it so hard it began to hurt.

A parent’s pain can be so great.

Decades later, in the late 90s, my mother Carol became ill with ovarian cancer. It was devastating for her mother—my grandmother—Ruth.

For three years Ruth watched helplessly as her daughter fought a cancer that invaded her body all the while enduring treatments that stole her dignity and sapped her strength. At my mother’s funeral, I remember the painful anguish in my grandmother’s eyes.

“Children are not supposed to die before their parents,” my grandmother said. A parent’s pain can be so great.

In 2005, I watched my sister and her husband face the horror of losing their 20-yr-old son. They have struggled through days darker than anyone can imagine.

No, children are not supposed to die before their parents.

But sometimes they do. It has happened in families throughout all of history, including Ruth and George’s ancestral families.

We remember Olga, daughter of Carl and Sophia Larson (George’s parents). She died of a brain tumor when she was only 32.

We also remember Carl, son of Rudolph and Eliza Hooge. He was Ruth’s father and died when he was only 36.

Here’s something I didn’t know— Rudolph and Eliza lost other children as well.

When they settled in Chicago in 1886, Rudolph and Eliza had four children; Otto,10; Emma, 8; Carl, 5; and Hermann, 2. By 1900, according to the U.S. census, Eliza was the mother of six children, but only three of them were still living—Otto, Emma and Carl. Little Hermann died in December 1886, the same year they came to America. A daughter, Johanna, was born in 1888, and died of appendicitis when she was only nine years old. Their third loss, a child whose records I’m unable to find, may have been born and died in Germany or in the United States between 1886 and 1900 (there are no 1890 census records due to a fire).

When I look at my family today—my parents, my grandmother, and my sister, whose children have died before them—there is no way I can understand their pain. Yet, I share the same faith they have, a faith in God’s loving grace.

Our children are God’s children and he assigned us to be their caretakers. Some of us for our lifetimes. Some of us only for theirs.

It’s August. It’s hot. It’s the dog days of summer.

Here in the Midwest, it’s been exceptionally hot and humid. At our house, we don’t normally need air conditioning because we live high on a hill, surrounded by breezy trees. But lately, I must admit, it’s been a bit sticky. I haven’t expected many visits from my daughter-in-law, who’s now in her final six weeks of pregnancy.

I wonder what it was like 77 years ago for my grandmother Ruth? She would have been eight months pregnant with her first child—my mother Carol, who was born August 23, 1933. Back then, there certainly wasn’t air conditioning for the common family living in Chicago. I wonder if it was hot, humid and extremely uncomfortable that year like it is now?

Or three years later, in June 1936, when she was pregnant with her daughter Judith? What was life for Ruth like then?

In the video I have of Ruth’s remembrances, she talks about her days of early motherhood. It’s mostly factual things, like where they were living. It’s interesting stuff but I wished I’d thought to also ask more personal, thoughtful questions.

What was it like being pregnant in the 1930s? What was my grandfather like as an expectant father? How hot was the August of 1933, or the June of 1936?

Anyways, here’s what we do have…

“When we decided to have a child, we moved to Blue Island, Ill,” says Ruth to me, in the video. “This is where your mother was born.

“We live there just a year. Then we moved back to Chicago and lived upstairs in an aunt and uncle of mine—their apartment. Then, when Judith was born, when I left for the hospital, I left from that apartment. While I was in the hospital, Grandma and Grandpa Arendt (Emma Hornburg Hooge Arendt and Rudolph Arendt), and an aunt of mine, and George (Ruth’s husband) moved us to a bigger apartment, nearer to church. We lived there until 1940, when we bought the bungalow on (8245 S.) Ada St.”

Stay cool everyone. It’s been hot before. It’ll be hot again.

Four Generations

A four generation gathering: In back, l-r, Emma Arendt and Ruth Larson, holding baby Carol. Seated in front, Wilhemina Hornburg.

Larson, George, Ruth, and baby Judith

George and Ruth Larson, with baby Judith.

George Larson Family

George and Ruth Larson Family, daughters Carol and Judith, circa 1939

My Aunt Judith gave me this picture. She said she remembers feeling conscious of her father holding the corner of her dress. She looks somewhat concerned about it, don’t you think?

One of the cool things about doing this blog has been a renewed sense of family connection. I’ve exchanged emails, telephone calls and personal visits with beloved relatives, some whom I hadn’t talked to in years simply because we’ve been too busy living life.

(Hey, you know we can all share in this connection if everyone makes comments to the blog…just saying, is all.)

Another cool thing is people are giving me stuff—it’s like I’ve become the vault keeper of our family’s history. A while ago my brother Dave made a deposit into this vault when he mailed me a special gift.

Dave was cleaning out and ran across a letter written by our Great-Aunt Charlotte. Dated January 1983, she wrote it in tribute to George Larson at the time of his death (George, you’ll recall, was my grandmother Ruth’s husband and Charlotte was her sister).

The letter is special for several reasons. First, it offers insight to the man my grandfather was. George was a very quiet soul and I, like most young people, was not perceptive enough to know there was more to him than a gentle, smiling face.

Secondly, which is why I’m including it in our conversation of sisterhood, the letter totally shows the unique bond between Ruth and Charlotte. Even though 12 years and hundreds of miles were between them, the two were very intertwined in each other lives.

Here’s the letter. Note the correction in green—knowing my Aunt Charlotte, that typo must have been major cause for concern but poor health at the time likely prevented her from retyping the whole letter. I also like the formal “page two” heading. Most of all, I like the signature—one many of us knew so well and loved.

So very Aunt Charlotte.

Charlotte's letter, pg. 1
Charlotte's letter, pg.2

So, here it is Independence Day, which means we’re more than half way through the year. I bet you’ve been wondering how those 60 bells are coming along, right?

Well, considering I should have at least 30 done, I’ve fallen a tad behind. I’ve completed 26.

Not to worry! In the weeks to come my husband and I are taking some road trips. And since he rarely relinquishes the wheel, I’ll have plenty of time to catch up on bell-making. Let the beaded bells hit the road!

But first, let me digress a bit…

In my husband’s family, we gather every year on the Fourth of July. Since we always hold the gig at our house, there’s no road trip involved. But because we live in an old farmhouse and we spend the day sitting on our porch, it reminds me of the pictures below and how my grandmother, Ruth, and her husband’s family gathered together on the farm.

The farm is Clarence Larson’s in Imlay City, MI. Clarence, you’ll recall, is one of Ruth’s brothers-in-law, and he and his parents moved to their farm in Michigan in 1925. According to stories from Ruth and her daughters, the George Larson family often took road trips from Chicago, around the big lake, and on up to the farm.

George and Ruth Larson with their daughter, Carol, 1935

Know anything about cars? Can you identify the make and model? Look how big it is—little Carol practically had her own apartment in the back seat. Also, check out George’s white wingtips. Traveling shoes.

Get-together at Clarence Larson Farm, Imlay City, MI, 1935

From l-r: Ruth holding Carol, Arthur, Esther, Roselda and Clarence Larson.

Arthur, Esther and Clarence were George’s siblings. Roselda was Clarence’s wife, and they later became foster parents to Wayne S. (Dad’s buddy from work, who had 16 kids).

Carol and Ruth Larson in Imlay City, 1935

I believe this is Clarence and Roselda’s farmhouse (please correct me if I’m wrong). I’d love to see this house today!

Brothers, l-r: Arthur, George and Clarence Larson, 1935

Don’t you love the ties? Do you think they were dressed this formally for their get-together on the farm? It certainly was a different era than we have today—I can verify there will be no ties worn at our get-together .

George & Ruth Larson with their daughter, Carol, 1935

George Larson with daughters Carol and Judith, 1939

The George Larson Family, labeled in Ruth’s handwriting. All of the above pictures were developed by Hulls Photo Service in Anderson, IN.

George Larson with daughters Carol and Judith 1939

George Larson with daughters Carol and Judith, 1939

George Larson Family in Imlay City, MI

George and Ruth Larson, with their daughters Carol and Judith (sitting), 1939

These two photos were provided by Ruth’s daughter, Judith Hackbarth.

When my husband was thirteen, his mother telephoned the township chairman about the poor state of affairs in the Union Cemetery. Her concern was for a small, country plot of land up the road from their farm that had long served as a historical record of the surrounding neighborhood.

As a result, that summer my father-in-law became sexton for the Union Cemetery of Jefferson Co., Wis. (a poetically old-fashioned name befitting the caretaker of gravestones dating back to the 1850s).

For his work he received an ever-so-slight compensation, which he passed on to his 13-year-old son and 15-year-old daughter for diligently pushing their lawnmowers up to the cemetery, mowing and trimming, and then pushing them back home again.

Little did my mother-in-law know this would become a perpetual position. In fact, here it is forty years later—my father-in-law still serves as sexton and three generations of our family have taken turns at mowing, general maintenance, a periodic grave fill by hand and the annual Memorial Day cemetery board meeting.

I know, you’re probably wondering what this has to do with Ruth? Or beaded bells?

Well, in a paradoxical way, maybe it does.

This weekend, as we celebrate Memorial Day, we’ll head up to the cemetery for that annual board meeting. With the exception of my husband and me (because we, of course, never age:-), its a gathering of ever-aging members whose loved ones are buried there under the trees. They come with the pretense of discussing cemetery business, however, in truth I know they come to reflect. They walk through the rows examining gravestones. They tell stories and connect the family names. They bring reverence to this hilly sanctuary of lives worth remembering.

As I watch and listen to the board members, I’m reminded of Ruth. I think of all the family names connected to her, none of who rest in the Union Cemetery. Instead they’re in Chicago’s Bethania and Oak Woods Cemeteries. Or Oak Hill Cemetery in Owosso, Mich. Or a country cemetery outside Imlay City, Mich.

I hope someone is taking care of those grounds as well as my husband’s family has taken care of these.

George and Ruth Larson’s stone in Oak Hill Cemetery, Owosso, Mich.

The state of Wisconsin has an ongoing genealogy project called the U.S. GenWeb Archives Project. Volunteers have photographed thousands of tombstones and submitted them for an online database. Does your state have anything like this?

And lastly, the end of May brings an end to the heavy duty family tree stuff. By now, I’m sure you’re thoroughly confused. If so, but you still want a basic record, I’m including two charts here, taken from ancestry.com. They’re somewhat abbreviated so I eventually hope to add pages with full names and such.

Click below and enjoy now. Check back again later for updates.

The Hooge Family Tree

The Larson Family Tree

You Asked About Olga

May 13, 2010

Swedish Covenant Church, Grovertown, Ind, circa 1916. The church was later moved to Donaldson. Photo provided by Larry Newburg.

I’ve always had a sentimental fascination with Olga.

It’s not like I knew her or anything. But I’d grown up hearing her story and seeing her picture. Olga was my grandfather George Larson’s sister and she died when she was only 32.

“My sis, Olga, got sick in Chicago,” wrote their brother, Arthur Larson, in a letter to me. Like George, Olga had moved to Chicago as a young adult and found a job. For many years, she and George lived together with a maternal aunt.

“A tumor had set in on her brain,” wrote Arthur. “At that time doctors claimed it couldn’t be operated on, fearing damage to her brain. She came back home and passed away. She died in 1927.”

My grandmother Ruth (George’s wife) never knew Olga. Olga died two years before she and George met. But I do remember Ruth saying she knew it was a very hard time for George and his family.

Lately, my fascination with Olga has magnified. As I learn of the Larsons, the Newburgs and the Carlsons—three extended families who lived in northern Indiana and together shared the joys and sorrows of life—I can imagine that Olga’s death touched not only her parents and siblings, but also a whole community of aunts, uncles and cousins.

And then there are these new pictures.

Thanks to my recently discovered cousin Larry Newburg, I have several new pictures of Olga. They’re beautiful.

I think she was beautiful.

Don’t you agree?

Swedish Covenant Confirmation Class of 1910.

Olga is sitting to our right of the pastor. Note her Newburg and Carlson cousins, particularly Edna (Newburg) Peterson, seated in back, second from our left.

Olga and her sister Esther, who was born in 1909

My sister Rebecca and I share an age difference similar to Olga and Esther’s. I remember Rebecca cried when I got married and moved away from home.

Olga Larson

Does her hair look bobbed? Do you think she was a free-spirited, bold, young woman, as described in this website?

Olga Larson

Beautiful dress. Beautiful pearls. Beautiful woman.

Back in the 1980s, when my genealogy junkiness offered a periodic pause from raising four young children, I wrote letters to two of my grandfather’s cousins.

The cousins, Harry Newberg and Edna (Newburg) Peterson, were from the Larson side—their mother was my grandfather George’s father’s sister.

Oh, I know. As soon as we start adding apostrophes and generations it gets a little confusing. For the sake of simplicity, just remember—Harry and Edna were cousins George grew up with in northern Indiana.

By the early 1980s, George was in his 80s and had developed dementia. Harry and Edna, however, were a few years older and sharp as tacks. They responded to me with a lot of information on the Larson side.

Now today, via ancestry.com, I’ve met up with Harry’s grandson, Larry Newburg. According to this family relationship chart, Larry is my third cousin. He also is a genealogy junkie.

So, between Arthur’s letters, Harry and Edna’s letters, and Larry’s super-sleuth genealogical research, we’re able to establish a fairly interesting family story.

Here goes…

Harry and Edna’s mother was Ellen (Elin) Charlotta Larsdotter. George’s father was Carl Gustav Larson. Ellen and Carl were siblings, and were born to family of eight children in Västra Harg, Sweden.

According to U.S. Censuses, Ellen came to Des Moine, Iowa, in 1887, when she was 25-years-old. Here, she joined Victor Newburg (Nyburg), a man she had known from Sweden.

“Dad worked in a tile factory for a year, then sent for mother,” writes Edna of her parents, Victor and Ellen. “They were married in Des Moines in 1889. She worked as a chamber maid in a hotel those days for a year.”

In 1895, together with their two young children, Victor and Ellen moved to Marshall County, Ind., where they farmed near the city of Donaldson.

Meanwhile, Carl and his twin brother Per, came to the United States in 1888. Their first stopping place was Des Moines, IA, before moving on to work elsewhere.

“My father worked on large wheat farms in northern Minnesota and North Dakota,” writes Arthur. “I believe they (Carl and his wife Sophia, who also had immigrated and was working in Des Moines) knew each other from Sweden. How they met and married, I never overheard them to say.”

In 1895 Carl and Sophia married and moved to Grovertown, Ind., just a few miles west of Donaldson.

“The house was there,” writes Arthur. “They had to build a barn.”

And finally, just to keep you on your toes, there’s one more sibling who moved to the area. I don’t have much information on her, but her name was Clara Matilda Larsdotter, and she seems to have gone by Matilda. She immigrated to the U.S. in 1887, married Per Carlson in 1888, and they too settled in the Donaldson area of Indiana.

So here you have it—three siblings who traveled an ocean and half a continent away from the rest of their family. They founded new homes, they farmed the land, and they raised their children. And they did it together, maintaining the stronghold of a close family bond.

“This is shortly after these sisters emigrated from Sweden. They married Adolph Carlson and Anders Victor Newberg,” writes Larry Newburg, who provided this picture in his ancestry.com files.

Larry provided this photo as well, and suggests it may have been taken in Des Moines. Don’t you love his top hat sitting on the vase?

Victor and Ellen Newburg Family, circa 1900

“The photo was taken about 1900, two miles northeast of Donaldson,” writes Larry Newburg on his ancestry.com site. “They started in 1895 with a log cabin on this sight. Nice picture to send back to Sweden—showing fine home, good clothes, and a fine set of horses.”

From l-r: Edna, Ellen, Elmer, Oscar, Victor, and Harry. Yet to be born was Mabel Helen.

Carl & Sophia Larson Family, circa 1900

I wonder if the same photographer did both families?

From l-r: Carl, Clarence, Olga and Sophia, holding George. Yet to be born are Arthur and Esther.

Walpurgis Night

April 30, 2010

So, are you ready for the big celebration tonight? It’s Walpurgis Night and it’s part of our family heritage.

What? You didn’t know this?

Well, neither did I. I just happened to come across it while researching the next Beaded Bells topic—the Swedish side of our family tree.

Apparently, Walpurgis Night (Valborgsmässoafton) is a Swedish welcoming of spring. On the night of April 30, Swedes light bonfires reminiscent of those lit in the paganistic 18th century to ward off evil spirits and witches. Nowadays, the celebration continues on to the next day, which is May 1 and the Scandinavian Labour Day.

So happy Walpurgis Night!

Actually, May is George’s month—George, being Ruth’s husband—and May is the month we move on from our very Germanic roots to our Swedish. We happen to have a lot of information from the Larson side, so hang on to your seats. May is going to be a genealogical joy ride (except that it will in no way be reckless or unlawful:-)

Let’s start by talking about George.

As previously mentioned, George came into Ruth’s life in 1929, when they worked together at the C.A. Burnette Co., in Chicago. George was a bookkeeper and Ruth was a switchboard operator.

At the time, George had been living in Chicago for about ten years. According to a letter I have from my mother Carol (George and Ruth’s daughter), he moved to Chicago shortly after graduating from high school in 1918 and lived with one of his aunts.

Prior to that, he grew up on the family farm just outside Grovertown, Ind., the very place he was born on May 3, 1899, to Carl and Sophia (Lindahl) Larson. He was their third child, out of five—Olga, Clarence, George, Arthur and Esther.

Now George was a quiet man. Even though he was very much a part of my childhood and young adult years, I seldom heard him talk about himself. I do, however, have many letters written to me from his brother, Arthur, and these give good insight to their years on the farm.

According to Arthur, in a letter dated 1983, the family’s 98-acre farm was located a mile east of Grovertown, a community where many of their Larson relatives also lived. They always had lots of cows and horses “to enrich the soil,” writes Arthur, “and a few hogs and pigs to roll in the mud.”

Arthur describes their years on the farm as hard work. In addition to corn, wheat and oats, their father also planted 1-½ to 2 acres of onions to be sold as a cash crop in the fall.

“We had to crawl on our knees and pick out all the weeds,” writes Arthur. “Then Dad also planted another acre of pickles (cucumbers), which was backbreaking to pick. When finished, they had to be sorted large from small so it was quite late, and we had to deliver them to town. That was a cash crop.”

Arthur also writes of fun times like butchering a hog every fall, cutting wood in winter and sleigh rides with the horses.

“No cars or tractors back then,” he writes.

According to Arthur’s letter, Olga, George and he all went to Chicago as young adults because work there was easy to find. In 1925, their parents sold their farm in Grovertown and moved up to Michigan, where they farmed together with Clarence in the Imlay City area.

I remember as a child, my parents always had a big garden and my grandfather, George, loved to help with planting and weeding. Like the old adage says, you can take the farmer away from the farm, but can’t take the farm out of the farmer.

Here’s to Walpurgis Night, here’s to our Farmer George and here’s to any of us soon to plant our own gardens.


Carl & Sophia Larson Family, circa 1900

L-R: Carl, Clarence, Olga and Sophia, holding George.

Carl & Sophia Larson Family Farmhouse, 1993

Years ago, I sent away for the abstract and plat map for the Larson’s farm in Indiana. While vacationing in the area, we scouted down the house. Unfortunately, the owners weren’t home (or thought we looked shifty and chose not to open the door). We left a copy of the original farmhouse photo and our address, but never heard from them. It would be interesting to see the house today, yes?

Carl & Sophia Larson Family, circa 1910

A guess at identities: Back, l-r: Clarence and Olga. Middle: father Carl, Esther, and mother Sophia. Front: Arthur and George.

George, on the left, and Clarence Larson

Olga Larson, 1895-1927

Clarence Carl Larson, 1897-1959

Geroge Berthal Larson, 1899-1983

This picture was provided by Larry Newburg, our Kusin, as he likes to say. Wait to you see the information he has to share—stay tuned!

Strangely, of the many pictures we have, none of them are of Arthur. Very unfortunate, since it’s Arthur who provided so much personal information about the family. He lived from 1902-1990, and I’m hoping his daughter Donna can share as well.

Esther (Larson) Mann, 1908-1978

Another photo provided by Larry.

George Larson

Anyone know antique cars? Any ideas of the era? Look what a sharp dude George was!

George Larson 1918 military draft registration

While World War I lasted from July 1914-Nov. 1918, the U.S. didn’t get involved until April 1917.

Above is George’s draft registration card, dated September 1918. At the time, he was working as a postal clerk in Chicago and never was drafted.

Below is a more visible sample of a registration card.

1918 U.S. Draft Registration Card

“In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it,
You’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade.”
— Irving Berlin

The title and verse are somewhat tongue-in-cheek because I have no fashion sense whatsoever. But my mother and my grandmother did, and they brought it out in full bloom at Easter.

This is a fashion fête in memory of them—four years (out of many, I’m sure) of delightful Easter bonnet adornment.


My grandparents, George and Ruth Larson, with my sister Terri. Note the jaunty feather in Ruth’s hat (not to mention those cool glasses).


My mother Carol (George and Ruth’s daughter) and my sister, Terri. There’s Terri, standing all cute and coy with her trendy sailer cap and purse. Little does she know her idyllic, only-child world is soon coming to an end.


Obviously, hat fashionistas go back many generations in our family. Eyeglassware, as well. Here is my great-grandmother (Ruth’s mother), Emma (Hornburg) Hooge Arndt.

Note the lace doily in the background. Certainly it was crocheted by someone in our family.


Here’s Ruth with her grandchildren; David (my brother), Diahann (me, without the hat—by now my mother has probably sensed I’m going to be a fashion-challenged child) and Terri.

I think I’m about to burst forth with a smart comment about my grandmother’s, well, “unique” hat.


Can you find a truer picture of late 1950s-early 60s Americana than this? I think not. Note the classic ranch homes set in a perfectly aligned subdivision. Today they’re back in architectural vogue and we call them “Atomic Ranches.”

Speaking of en vogue, here is my mother Carol with her Jacqueline Kennedy Pillbox hat. And isn’t Dave adorable with his double-breasted peacoat and cap? While he wasn’t able to escape my mother’s stylish standards, he certainly got off easier than Terri and I. That pretty dress poking through my coat was bouffanted by a scratchy, starchy underslip.


Just wanted to give you the full affect (no, that’s not wind billowing those dresses). And check out our purses. There’s a story to them…stay tuned in the months ahead.


Here we are, four years later; Dave, Cheryl, Diahann and Terri. And no Easter hats. Possibly sans sombrero is now the fashion, but most likely the chaos of getting four children ready for Easter Sunday necessitated simplicity.

Happy Easter everyone! May you have a blessed day as you celebrate our Savior’s love and resurrection.