Tomorrow, August 4, would be Betty's 85th birthday. I will be out with my 79 year old daughter tomorrow so I thought I would write about her today. She would like that. She always liked to be talked about. Usually it would be her doing all the talking, but this time I get to.
Little Betty Jo was born to poor farmers right before the Great Depression. Her father was a fun WWI vet with not a lot of ambition. Her mother was a stoic, responsible woman who delivered her mother's baby at the age of 3. Money was always scarce. Food was also so scarce that her little brother, J.T., died from malnutrition. But somehow Betty Jo grew up to love life and always be the bright light in the room.
After her high school graduation she, like thousands of young girls during WWII, fled the farm and headed to the big city. She chose Dallas. She, like thousands, got a job at the only place in town that would hire young, inexperienced women - Sears and Roebuck. It was her "college" experience. She lived in a boarding house in Oak Cliff with the other girls. Lifelong friends she made. Just like my college friends.
She met some boys during her "college" experience. Many boys. She was quite the looker and attracted many young roues that wanted some Betty. One of those, young Charles Howard, was diligent. Today we would call him a "stalker". He would wait outside the boarding house for Betty to come out. He would follow her around town. He finally got the courage to ask her out, and she got sick and had to cancel their first date. (She got the "mumps" from another boyfriend). He still pursued. And pursued. And pursued. She gave in to the Charles and they were married in 1948.
From then on her life was filled with children, work, church and friends. And talking. She was no mystery, that Betty. Everyone that she met knew more about her than they probably wanted to. She would listen long enough to get information to pass on to others. She would talk for hours...and hours... and hours. She sewed, cooked, canned and gardened. She loved history, especially the history of our family. And we have her legacy to keep forever because of it.
Living in her house is bittersweet. I still find pieces of toothpicks (a nasty habit) and loose pills that she dropped on the floor. I look around and see the bad painting job she did on the walls, the curtains she made and all the hideous knick-knacks that she would never throw away. I find bed linens that she had for over 30 years. I look in the yard and see years of work that is all grown up and dying in this 200 degree heat.
But mostly I see her life - all of it. I always say that to be such an ordinary woman, she truly was extraordinary. Obviously, I think she was. I've based my whole blog on her!
So, Happy Birthday, Betty! You still live on in me. And I am everso grateful.
What would Betty say? "A card would have been just fine". And then she would tell me that her nephew was born on her birthday and that the Queen Mother had the same birthday. Then she would go on about how her mother would save money to make her a birthday cake. And then she would segue to some unrelated story about the neighbor across the street who married an older man who just wanted her to take care of him. Which would lead to another story about... well, just about anything.
