As I mentioned last week, Gertrude is nearly 101. During a recent visit I picked out a piece of jewelry that's fascinated me since childhood and put it in her hand. It's a dark, shiny orb attached to a chain. "That was Puddin's." Immediately, my mind shot back to 1929 when Puddin died. Gertrude continued, "she used to wear it. It's called monel".
The clarity of Gertrude's comments after all these years of silence about that necklace put a hush to my mind's wanderings. I commented that I'd never heard of monel. Gertrude then offered the necklace to me to wear. I told her I would get the clasp replaced and would love to own it.
While sitting with her as she grew quiet over her own memories of 1929, I used my cell to look up Monel and then eagerly read to her what I found. As an industrial metal, I found it interesting that Puddin had a piece of jewelry made of this fascinating alloy.
In the following 82 years since Puddin's death, I doubt that Gertrude has had many occasions to talk about Monel. But last week, the word came out as if it had been a constant part of her life. As she has aged, she has shared many stories of her youth and early married years. I've learned things about my father who died in 1965, things that make me happy.
The decade in which Puddin' died was also the times of the Great Mississippi River flood. They lived in southern Arkansas across the river from Greenville, MS. All areas were inundated for weeks. From books I've learned how masses of people suffered. From Gertrude I learned the personal stories. I wish all of our elderly were cared for as Gertrude has been so their stories could be heard as well. Oral histories come from them. What are we missing?
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