Every Friday, my cousin Ann and I go to breakfast together.  It is a lot of fun remembering things from our childhood.  We were raised by six parents who lived in housing within hollering distance.  Her mom and dad.  My mom and dad.  And our grandparents, Pops and Gran.

Neither Ann or I knew for sure who was the final in charge person, because all six of them told us what to do, how to act, gave us instructions, etc., etc...  Ann or I can always come up with a story that the other one hasn't heard before.

This morning, I told her about finding a letter in a box of stuff at my mom's house.  My mother saved everything, and when she was gone, I was the one who had to decide what was kept and what was trashed. (I saved the attic for my brother Bill to clean out when he took vacation from where he lived in China--37 years.  Medical missionary.)

Anyway, mom had saved a letter I had written to Pops before he and Gran moved to Pryor.  "Dear Pops," it said.  "Send me sawdust.  I am stuffing a sock and making a doll."  I was around five or six at the time.

Pops was a carpenter.  And when we visited the farm where he and Gran lived, he had a setup in the barn where he used the saw.  Sawdust was thick on the barn floor, and Gran and I would darn old socks, fill them with sawdust, and make dolls.  No body could afford to buy a doll during WWII. We had rag dolls.

I think that must have been my first sewing project.  I sewed for the rest of my life.  And graduated from sawdust to foam stuffing.  Ann and I had the best childhood anyone could imagine. This morning she said, "To whom much is given, much is required."  We were blessed with six Christian parents who expected us to grow up, live moral lives, serve others, and be responsible and productive.  It's a work in progress.  Sometimes I wonder if they are watching.