Legacy – CRISTA Senior Living

By Irene Pearson

At an early age, everyone in our family knew that money was a precious commodity and if we wanted some we would have to find a way to get it. As soon as I started school when I was six, I wondered how I could get some money to buy some fruit or penny candy that I saw other children have. I shared my thoughts with my neighbors who were very nice and often took time to talk to us.

One neighbor, Mrs. Kauffman, said I could help her on Saturday and she would give me twenty-five cents. I was to show up shortly after eight in the morning, chop some wood and do some housework. I had never chopped wood before, so it was difficult at first especially since my mittens had big holes in them and the shoes on my feet were inadequate.

I desperately wanted to do this. I felt confident that I could. How I longed for that twenty-five cents. I planned to spend ten cents for a Saturday afternoon matinee and then after much deliberation I would buy something at the store.

I was so anxious. I carefully listened to my neighbor’s instructions and after a few swings of the axe, I got the hang of it. I was busy at this for a couple of hours.

Then Mrs. Kauffman had me come into her home to scrub the floors. I started in the front room which had no heat. The floors were large squares of black and white linoleum, heavily waxed. My job was to get off all the old wax and put on the new and then polish it, accomplished by a lot of hard rubbing.

Using hot soapy water with lye added to it, a scrub brush and a putty knife, I worked very hard. It took a couple hours to get the job done. My knees were sore, my hands felt like they were burning but I was diligent and never thought about the difficulty of the chore.

My work was periodically checked and at times gently corrected. I was grateful that my effort was not criticized. I was so afraid of being told that my labor was not satisfactory.

At noon I was invited to have some soup and a piece of bread, and then to my delight a wonderful oatmeal cookie with a small glass of milk. I loved all of it. At our home the only milk came from my grandparents on Sunday mornings when they would drop it off before going to church.

Once lunch was over, I washed and dried the dishes, then went back outside for more wood chopping. After a couple hours, Mr. Kauffman showed me how and where to stack it. He was a kind man and seemed to enjoy having me around. Mrs. Kauffman, on the other hand, even though she was good to me, I felt she was using me for all she could get.

By mid-afternoon, darkness started to set in so I was called in to scrub, wax and polish the kitchen floor. I welcomed that because it was so warm.

I moved a box of wood to the back porch as well as six chairs and whatever else was standing around. I faced a much smaller room and the work was much easier. I did not have to scrape off the wax with the putty knife as I did in the front room. It lifted by using the hot soapy lye water and the scrub brush.

One time I bumped my arm on the stove. The burn hurt but I acted like it was nothing because I did not want to lose my job.

I worked until five o’clock. Then that twenty-five cent piece was placed into my hand. I experienced a tremendous thrill but I was so tired and aching all over I just wanted to sleep.

Mrs. Kauffman informed me I was a good little worker and very pleasant which gave me another thrill. She told me we would do this again the following month and I was very happy.

I was hoping she would have invited me for dinner. I saw some chops on the stove, and I had never seen or smelled anything like it. A deep yearning welled up inside of me so I decided one day I would find a way to buy some chops and cook them and slowly eat them.

I crossed the alley to my own home, stopping at the outhouse. Then I proudly showed my twenty-five cent piece to my family. Never had I been more pleased with myself so I couldn’t stop chattering.

We had a visitor who made the announcement that I should give this money to my parents to help with necessities. The shock of his words were more than I could bear. When my mom agreed with him, I burst into tears. I went and sat in a corner and cried for a long time. Then I got so sleepy I went to bed. I never got washed or undressed. I felt like the world was crashing down on me.

In the morning, Mom was lovingly calling us to get up and get ready for church. Every inch of me was hurting. I could hardly move, and I just wanted to sleep but it was a mortal sin not to attend Mass on Sunday morning and we never dreamed of ever disobeying our parents.

I got washed, changed my clothes and walked about ten blocks to the Catholic church. There were times when I would ride with grandma and grandpa in their caboose, but this Sunday they did not have room.

I sat down in the pew, periodically dozing off, only to be prodded by the nun who sat next to me. Never again have I been so thankful for a service to come to an end and get home.

I lay in bed thinking how I loved to go to the farm every weekend but I also knew I would not want to change this Saturday for anything.

My recollection of my Saturdays at the Kauffman home is a blessing to me because of what I learned. I learned to appreciate the value of hard work. Also I learned that what we earn is not our own. I did get to keep my earnings most of the time and I did not mind releasing it except for that first time. I truly learned to appreciate the ones who paid me. I always liked the Kauffmans but because they met a need in my life, something special happened. When I saw them in their yard, I would walk over to be with them for a few minutes.

My dad used to tell us not to be afraid to give and give and give some more. He was not speaking of money because we had none. He was speaking of ourselves which of course included money. I am convinced that if we rely on outside sources we lose our independence and respect for ourselves. We become weak and unproductive instead of strong good citizens. We expect more and become critical if it’s not there.

Forever I will be grateful for the education I received in my youth which came not from books but from the hand of Almighty God. May His wonderful name forever be praised.

By Irene Pearson

Since my grandson Mitchell has graduated from school, it causes me to reflect on times past when I started to take care of him at four months of age. I also cared for his cousin Taylor who was seventeen months old.

When the children grew a little older, Mitchell loved to play make-believe and portray Old Testament characters. A bath towel over his shoulders turned him into Elisha. He would slam the towel on the table and say, “Where is the God of Elijah?”

At times I had to be a lion and Mitchell would be Daniel. Then we would reverse roles because my roar was too weak.

Taylor was a beautiful Queen Ester and Mitchell was the King. Once they built a make-believe fire, so they could go into the fiery furnace just like Shadrach, Meshach and Abegnego.

Samson was portrayed by pushing over two huge inserts that once housed carpeting; it was great fun to watch. Once I had to rescue Samson when Delilah was going to cut his hair.

Very enjoyable was seeing the two kids play the birth of Jesus. Mitchell was Joseph. Taylor was Mary. I was the inn keeper. The loud banging on the door was done by a stick, representing a staff. I opened the door and heard, “I am Joseph. This is Mary. She is pregnant and going to have a baby any minute. We need a room. Will you help us?” I said, “I am sorry; there is no room at this inn.” Joseph said, “Jerk,” and slammed the door.

Of course they also loved to be play parts of the world as well. Often Taylor was the dentist – I was the patient. Once there was a beauty shop and I received quite an interesting hairdo.

I liked the make-believe pizza parlor and the restaurant but my favorite was garbage day. The kids got such a charge out of the garbage delivery. They had to be on the front porch to wave to the driver and when the street was serviced, I had to become the garbage truck – on all fours on the floor. Mitchell was on my back and he really could imitate the noise of the garbage truck. Taylor became the lady of the house, shouting out orders to be sure to take everything. It was great fun.

How I praise the Lord for the wonderful times of joy that are stored in my memory bank from which I can withdraw at any time I choose. I thank the Lord for giving me the privilege of caring for Mitchell and Taylor.