This is an anthology/memoir of Lenore Humburg, a woman who lives through much of the 20th century to present and writes about relationships, experiences, and love. Her insights expose the feelings and perceptions of a multi-cultural woman in 20th century America.
From her childhood experience to her contemplation on the lives of older Americans, Lenore is able to convey feelings, experiences, and fond memories exclusive to this time of man and a historic part of our American heritage.
Lenore Humburg is a seventy-eight year-old mother, daughter and wife. She is also a friend and inspiration to all whom she meets. She has lived through the Depression, Three wars, drought, and fifteen presidents, and voted against most of them. Her husband of fifty-six years, Emmett, is a retired Pediatric Dentist and lives in a nursing home, and has both Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases.
She currently lives with her son, Robert, and English Bulldog, Patton, in Katy, Texas.
And, yes, she really did eat Dolly Varden!
MOMMA AND THE PERFECT PEACH
Aunt Vada’s daddy had a prize peach-
Or so he thought.
A red ribbon tied around the branch meant
HANDS OFF! DO NOT PICK!
A COUNTY FAIR WINNER!
Everyone came to view
The perfect peach.
Mother, at eight, knew
She was her uncle’s favorite.
So she carefully, methodically, ate
The perfect peach
Without touching,
Without picking,
Leaving the branch, ribbon and pit
Intact.
MY LOVE’S LONG WALK INTO DARKNESS
No boring life with you I found;
But vacillating moods up and down.
Life was exhilarating when in a HIGH;
Then moods down-sliding as time went by.
Always the dark side was hovering near;
What you would do next, a constant fear.
So, who then was the victim here?
Not you, but me, my dear.
Hours and hours of boring patter;
Very repetitious, unending chatter.
Memories repeated from A to Z;
A captive audience you made of me.
Memories warped when compared to mine,
But I could not correct and still be kind.
The varied details would change and grow,
Distressing the one that loves you so.
It is sad to see the slow demise,
Of one so intelligent, one so wise.
Who is the victim of this tragedy?
You are not aware, so it must be me.
Even sadder by far to realize,
The time will come when you’ll not recognize
My face, my voice, my presence here,
When I come to say, "Goodbye, my dear."
