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A Very Boring Story My Birthday is Monday and I want to thank the Government for giving the people off. Just can not figure out how they got the name confused? This is going to be a very boring story. Why then, you might ask, am I writing it? It’s because I have realized that some things are getting harder to remember. Then you may ask, why post it here. To that I can only say, why not? Someone might need a good laugh? The story is really longer but I am cutting it down some for here. Stephen Edgar Simpson Born 16 January 1950 in Evansville Indiana to Ruby Lee and Kenneth Edgar. I was the second of four one older sister, Nancy Ann and two younger, Irma Jane and Susan Gale, Jane passed July of this year, Mother (1995) and Father (1993). My Mother was a farm girl whose father was of German descent. She had two sisters, Ray and Maxine, and three brothers, George, Bill and Wayne, only Bill is left now. She could milk cows, by hand, make lye soap and cook; she was a farmer’s of the 30’ and 40’s. My Father was a “city” boy who lived about 30 miles away he had a brother who die at birth so was an only . He was a jock and played guard on the football team. He went to WW II hit the beaches on D-Day and then served with Patton, was wounded twice, I still have his Purple Hearts in his cases. He never really talked to me about it, but I got a very big hug, the first in a very long time, when I left for Vietnam. It was not until his death and I found out he was to be cremated that my mother told me that was his biggest nightmare when he came but from the war, was to be underground and well I will just leave it at that. As a I remember that I was happy, we were not rich by any means but we never went hungry. We had a coal fired furnace to heat the house and a fireplace in the front room and a pot belly stove in the kitchen. In the summer when I tan up you can still see the burn mark on my arm from while I fell into the side of it. My father worked for America Dairy and drove a delivery truck, some days he would let me go with him and help. We would go to the ice house to get ice and spread it over the milk cases to keep it cool, glass bottles and little cardboard caps, I’m sure some of you can remember. I remember one holiday season he came home really happy, he had gotten a hundred dollars in tips from his customers. It was the first time I had every seen that much money and I got to hold it, Christmas was special that year. Then he got a job driving a truck for Standard Oil and made fuel deliveries he worked weird hours and just remember he smelled like gas a lot. He got a job with the Post Office and things got a little better around the house. My mother was a mom, she cooked and cleaned up after us, One of my memoirs is her sitting in the living room and feeding my sister Jane and singing “Go tell Aunt Roadie” She always watched the pennies and had her rainy day fund up in the kitchen cabinet, second shelf back right conner. A happy day for her was when the laundry room was built on the back of the house; it was her room, a washer, yes one with a ringer, an ironing board, and a shower. It had a screened in pouch along the side. She did get a washer and dryer; I think it was an anniversary gift from dad. I guess some things have never changed. Grandparents: Mary and Hobart Simpson, Boonville Ind. Grandfather worked for a soda bottling plant, Derr’s Dye, they had the best Orange/Pinnapple soda ever, they went out of business years ago, my mother found some of the soda bottles at an auction one time and brought them for me. They are on a shelf, memories. Grandmother would hold me on her lap on the back pouch and sing gospel hymns to me. I remember I put stickers on the wall, she never took them down. She got sick, diabetic and her eyesight began to fail. She had a stroke, the last years of her life she laid in a nursing home, blind, and partly paralyzed. We would go see her each weekend. I did not like it, it was not fair. Do not remember when she died, but remember my father getting the call at night. I can vaguely remember her in the casket she look so peaceful, it was really a blessing for her, if there is a heaven she is there. My Grandfather would just sit at the house after that. His fingers yellow from smoking. I not remember when he passed; I believe it was when I was station in New Mexico, found out after the fact and never went home. Other memories; going up and watching football (bowl games) with my father, and changing the wall paper in the house. We used a vacuum cleaner, with a bottle sprayer on it, to wet the paper down, scraped it off the plaster wall. My job was to pick up the paper, put it in bags and take it out to the burn barrel. Well time has caught up with me. So will post what I have now and a little more tonight and with a little help I will have it all done by Monday. Picture attached is my sister Nancy and me and our Grandpants Simpson Easter 1954. |
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Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Stephen, happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuuu! I live just north of where you were born and recognise a lot of names you said. Have a good one and I enjoy reading your blogs! Read each you write. Ann
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1/15/2006 1:18 pm |
Lets...I never found anything you write to be boring..and reading about your life could never be considered boring...you are one gentleman that has the ability to write something and make the reader the feeling of being right there with you...I, like the other ladies are looking forward to as Paul Harvey says..."The Rest of the Story"... Here's wishing you a VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY on Monday...and Many..Many...Many...Many..more to come.....Fran
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