18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Friday, December 26, 1913:My music teacher didn’t come this morning, perhaps on account of the snow. There was a white Christmas after all. It came in the evening.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Snow! What a beautiful way for the 26th to dawn. The beauty of fresh snow after a brown Christmas (at least during the daylight hours) must have been wonderful antidote to any post-holiday blues.
Music Teacher
The music teacher came to Grandma’s house to give her piano lessons? When Grandma had previously mentioned the lessons, I’d always assumed that she’d gone to the teacher’s home.
Sometimes I don’t even realize what I don’t know something until I read a diary entry that makes me realize that I’d previously misinterpreted it.
It’s amazing how a word here and there over multiple diary entries across the course of time fills in the pieces of the puzzle.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Whew, what anger! What did Grandma and her sister Ruth fight about?
Sometimes when I read a diary entry, I can’t help imagining a story in my mind even though it’s probably wrong.
Here’s the story I imagine—
I think that the fight was about who was going to milk the cows. Ruth went to Sunbury from December 15 to December 19. On the 15th Grandma wrote:
Ruthie left for Sunbury this morning, also left me all the milking, but I’m pretty hardened to that.
Since Grandma did all of the milking for four days while Ruth as gone, I think that she wanted Ruth take a turn at doing all the milking so that Grandma could go somewhere and have a little fun. . . but Ruth refused.
. .. . Or maybe Ruth just took off to visit friends or attend a show without doing her share of the milking, and Grandma was once again forced to do it all. . . . . . . Or. . . .
18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Sunday, December 14, 1913:Went to Sunday School this morning. My nice new hat blew off. By good fortune it didn’t land in a mud puddle, but on the grass. Came back and pinned it on for I hadn’t gone very far. Mother doesn’t know it.
Grandma probably used a hat pin similar to this one when she pinned her hat on after the near catastrophe.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Whew, thank goodness it didn’t fall into the mud puddle.
. . . I went to Milton this morning on a shopping tour. I got the daintiest hat I’ve ever had for a while. It is black velvet, trimmed with old rose ribbon and pink velvet flowers.
Sometimes I wish that I was an artist. Somehow the picture I used to illustrate this diary entry seems particularly lame when the descriptions were so vivid.
I can picture it in my mind—the beautiful black velvet hat trimmed with ribbons and flowers, the expression of horror on Grandma’s face as a gust of wind tore the hat from her head (and then the look of relief when it landed in the grass), ominous black clouds, the trees with bare branches (and Grandma’s coat and skirts) blowing in the wind. . .
18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Tuesday, December 9, 1913: Fizzed around this morning pretending to be doing something, but in reality doing nothing. Really it is wonderful the ways I manage to put the time in.
Went to a lecture with Ruth this evening in Watsontown. Fortunately we didn’t have to walk. We rode in a carriage. The lecture was real good and I enjoyed it quite a bit.
Recent picture of the main intersection in Watsontown. I bet that Grandma and Ruth felt proud of themselves as they rode through the intersection in a carriage.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Grandma—
I love the word picture you created. I sometimes fizz around when really doing nothing—but won’t have been able to describe nearly as well as you did.
—
Who took Grandma and her sister Ruth to the lecture in Watsontown in a carriage?
In the early 1900s lectures presented by traveling speakers were very popular in small towns. The lectures brought culture to the towns, and often were inspirational and entertaining—though they sometimes addressed serious topics.
Somehow this diary entry makes me think of Main Street by Sinclair Lewis—though it was written a little after this time period. (Main Street was published in 1920.)
Grandma attended a single lecture, but this is how Main Street described a lecture series:
(The main character in the novel, Carol Kennicott, was from a city and struggled to fit into the small town of Gopher Prairie, so she had a somewhat negative view of the lectures.)
Nine lecturers, four of them ex-ministers, and one an ex-congressman, all of them delivering “inspirational addresses.” The only facts or opinions which Carol derived from them were: Lincoln was a celebrated president of the United States, but in his youth extremely poor. James J. Hill was the best-known railroad-man of the West, and in his youth was extremely poor. Honesty and courtesy in business are preferable to boorishness and exposed trickery, but this is not to be taken personally, since all persons in Gopher Prairie are known to be honest and courteous. London is a large city. A distinguished statesman also taught Sunday School.
Four “entertainers” who told Jewish stories, Irish stories, German stories, Chinese stories, and Tennessee mountaineer stories, most of which Carol had heard.
A “lady elocutionist” who recited Kipling and imitated children.
A lecturer with motion-pictures of an Andean exploration; excellent pictures and a halting narrative.
Three brass-bands, a company of six opera-singers, a Hawaiian sextette, and four youths who played saxophones and guitars disguised as wash-boards . . .
18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Monday, December 8, 1913: Had to help Daddy with his work today. He has a sore back and can’t do much.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
Grandma-
Oh dear, I hope your father isn’t in too much misery. A backache can be so, so painful.
You must have a soft spot in your heart for your father when he’s ill. You generally refer to him as Pa, but I see that today you called him Daddy.
_____
Often when I start researching a post, I’m amazed by how much information I find. Today isn’t one of those days.
I thought that it would be easy to find information in hundred-year-old books about how treat backaches—but I found very little.
I got a 1913 book out of the library called When to Send for the Doctor and What to do Before the Doctor Comes. It had information about sore throats, fevers, sick stomachs, and bowel troubles—but nothing about backaches.
I then pulled out a 1911 book called Personal Hygiene and Physical Training for Women –even though it was her father and not her mother with the backache—because it has lots of great health care information. And, I again came up short. Nothing about backaches–just some information about posture, rounded shoulders, and curvature of the spine.
Finally, I got out my copy of The Compendium of Every Day Wants (1908). It didn’t have detailed information, but I finally found some liniments and ointments for “lame back.” For example, here are directions for making a liniment that could be used to “bath” the sore area:
Mix 1/3 pound of cayenne pepper with 1 pint of pure alcohol.
Today, there are lots of books with detailed information about treating backaches. I can’t figure out why I couldn’t find much in the hundred-year-old books. I’ll have to dig around some more, and if I learn more about old-time backache treatments I’ll tell you about them in a future post.
18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Sunday, December 7, 1913:Went to Sunday School this morning. It proved to be rather rainy. Made a call this afternoon. Ruth and I were going to church this evening, but it started to rain.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
What does “made a call” mean? Did Grandma mean that she visited a friend? . . . .or did she mean that she made a telephone call?
Telephones were unusual enough a hundred years ago that a phone call may have merited a mention in the diary.
In the 1910s telephone lines were being strung from poles in the general area, but I’m uncertain whether Grandma’s family had a phone. Some families who lived in town or along the main road between Watsontown and McEwensville definitely had one.
Back in 1911, Grandma wrote:
. . .This afternoon I went over to Stout’s. My first experience in telephoning. The voice at the other end of the wire sounded rather squeaky. I telephoned to Besse.
