My paternal grandparents still seem the oldest people I ever met. They looked incredibly decrepit. My mother told me it was because they led hard lives. 
When they moved to California from Nebraska in the 30s, they first owned a farm on Sepulveda Boulevard in Van Nuys. Later, they downsized to a little house on Mary Ellen Avenue. Grandpa continued to raise chickens and rabbits and a few vegetables. The house may have been minuscule, but the backyard was immense. We went to that house every Sunday for supper.
I cannot remember Grandpa ever getting out of “his chair” in the front room. All us grandkids were obliged to say hello upon arrival. We stood in line so he could look us over and hold our hand. I can’t remember a single word the man ever said. He liked to sleep in the tiny service porch on a cot, evidently because the room had a dirt floor that made him feel cozy.
I recall my grandmother endlessly cooking in her diminutive kitchen. Recently asked if I ever ate rabbit, my first inclination was to answer no. But I’m pretty sure there was more than one rabbit featured in those long-ago Sunday suppers.
My father was the fourth of six children. He grew up on the Nebraska farm, learning to smoke and drink in the barn when he was only 9. An older sister had tuberculosis. Bills piled up and that farm was auctioned off to pay debts. My dad worked in a factory during the war and became an electrician. As was so often the case, farm life became a thing of the past. He never farmed again and never once returned to Nebraska.
I’ve come to love writing historical fiction. It’s my belief people have neither changed nor improved since time began. We simply find ourselves in different circumstances. I try to make my characters relate to current times while giving them as much authenticity as possible. Old newspapers and advertisements provide incredible insight to times past.
On a recent stroll through the Antique Fair Mall, I came across a lady’s magazine from September of 1911—the month and year my father was born. Of course, I bought it and found it utterly fascinating. Colgate’s Ribbon Dental Cream was the latest in tooth care. Post Toasties were suggested as breakfast food, but also for lunch or even dinner on hot nights. The magazine was filled with fashion plates and decorating advice—essential information for works of historical fiction. There was an article about the latest trends in corsets, advice on how to safely send your daughter to the big city to find a job, and a charming short story I would love to rewrite in modern language.
As exciting as I find this ephemera, it’s no substitute for living the real thing. If I had golden tickets to do anything I wished, I would whisk my grandchildren away to my grandparents’ 1911 Nebraska farm to share what life was like way back then.
Fred and Margaretha in younger days.
This was a terrific post! A slice of life from a bygone era…. Ruth
Loved this post and your whole site! It’s lovely!