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"Losing Marie this winter brings back many
memories of our childhood in Buffalo, Minnesota. Since Ceola, Marie,
Gib and I were at the bottom end of this large
family, we remember things differently than our older brothers. For example, I really didn't think we were so poor even
though Spencer and the older ones were well aware of it.
"Summers in Minnesota could be very hot - Marie,
Gib, and I would spend many hours down in the
cellar (not a basement) in Buffalo playing school. Guess who was the teacher? We used apple crates and boards for the
school under the steps - drew pictures and thought they were pretty good. What did we know?
"Ceola and we three younger ones would go to
the library by way of the pasture where we were not supposed to go, but it was the shortest way. We were afraid of the cow
that pastured there because of the one time it chased us. Mom really instilled a love
of reading into all her children and Marie continued that love of reading throughout
her life.
"We were allowed to go to the Saturday night "free movies" once in awhile
which meant that we could be coming home in the dark. I think the movies were the beginning of the drive-in movies since they
didn't start until dusk which in Minnesota could be around 9:00 p.m. We sat on a platform with a blanket, if we
brought one, and saw whatever old movie Buffalo managed to secure. One night walking home, Marie
kept pulling on her dress. She said her underpants were loose. (Mom made our underclothes
at that time.) Ceola told her to just forget about it. Marie
started to fall behind us and when we looked back she was taking tiny baby steps - her underpants were down around her ankles.
"We shared a room, the three girls, with Ceola
and myself in the big bed and Marie in her little bed. We would keep the door open to
the room where Gib, Forrey and Dick
slept so we could talk back and forth with Gib, telling stories. We would play a game
about who could keep quiet the longest (except for sneezing, coughing, etc.) Somehow it managed to get us sleeping.
Marie, Ceola and I
would lie on the big bed with our heads in the open window, thinking somehow that we could feel a breeze. Those were hot
summers in 1937 and '38.
"Keep memories alive - you never know who will be gone next - sweet memories of
Marie."
-- from the Stimler/Kampa Independent Newsletter, 6th Edition, Spring 2001
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