I like the millions of others in the world who now Blog have decided to add my words to this growing world of self-published and commentary. As I note at the bottom of the other column, “My Word” is the expression I remember my Mother Ruth saying so often. She loved writing and the written word. She longed to be a chronicular and had handwritten script that was so beautiful one would swear she was an artist who paints or draws. She did neither, but she did cherish the word and spent long hours filling in little boxes in Reader’s Digest crossword puzzles. She liked playing word games, wrote letters to family and friends regularly, and she read books to herself and aloud to her eight children.
My mother had an eight grade education, but she would have gone on to high school and college had her learning not been tragiclly interrupted by the violent death of her beloved father John Dement Gilham. He was killed by logs rolling off a railway car not far from where he and his family lived in Thorp, Washington just a little way south of Mount Tahoma…high in the mountains. My mother so loved my Grandfather she always spoke of him to her children. A month before she died she asked to reclaim photographs for her to see him again.
To Ruth A. Gilham-Ryser I dedicate this ongoing kitchen discussion about the events, ideas and memories of culture, politics and critical analysis.
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