My grandmother always had a stack of six or seven books beside her wicker rocking chair.  Seeing all those books, I asked her, "Bommie, how can you keep track of what is going on in each of those books?  Do you ever finish one?"  She smiled at my childish question.

"You'll find out some day, Nancy Jo, that some books are so good you don't want to finish them.  With others, your mind can only absorb a chapter or two each day."  It was the 1930s and she lived in Eldora, Iowa, a long 600 miles from our Texas home, so our rare visits were precious ones.  I puzzled over her answer, and didn't understand what her latter remark meant, but I disagreed with her first statement.  I was always in a hurry to finish a good book.  I often read at night using the flashlight under my sheets.  That is, until my mother caught on and started bed time checks.  It took many years and many good books for me to comprehend what Bommie meant.  She was right, and now I linger over a good book.

I'm not sure who originated that honorific of "Bommie," whether the elders thought I couldn't say "Grandmother" or I, innocently as a two year old and the first grandchild, coined the word.  I had an Ohio Bommie but she is another story. 

I don't remember my Iowa Bommie saying anything else that was especially impressionable.  I am sure she talked about her father coming from Ireland in the potato famine, raising a big family on a farm in the heart of Iowa, and sending his two daughters to a two year college.  My Bommie became a school teacher, and her sister was a  missionary-teacher for the Methodist Church sector in what is now known as Pakistan.  She taught cooking and hygiene to daughters of impoverished families along with religion and other subjects.  She used tiny bronze replicas of the cooking utensils and home making tools, of which I had half of them, about 20, perhaps to overcome language barriers.

My grandmother always had a stack of six or seven books beside her wicker rocking chair.  Seeing all those books, I asked her, "Bommie, how can you keep track of what is going on in each of those books?  Do you ever finish one?"  She smiled at my childish question.

"You'll find out some day, Nancy Jo, that some books are so good you don't want to finish them.  With others, your mind can only absorb a chapter or two each day."  It was the 1930s and she lived in Eldora, Iowa, a long 600 miles from our Texas home, so our rare visits were precious ones.  I puzzled over her answer, and didn't understand what her latter remark meant, but I disagreed with her first statement.  I was always in a hurry to finish a good book.  I often read at night using the flashlight under my sheets.  That is, until my mother caught on and started bed time checks.  It took many years and many good books for me to comprehend what Bommie meant.  She was right, and now I linger over a good book.

I'm not sure who originated that honorific of "Bommie," whether the elders thought I couldn't say "Grandmother" or I, innocently as a two year old and the first grandchild, coined the word.  I had an Ohio Bommie but she is another story. 

I don't remember my Iowa Bommie saying anything else that was especially impressionable.  I am sure she talked about her father coming from Ireland in the potato famine, raising a big family on a farm in the heart of Iowa, and sending his two daughters to a two year college.  My Bommie became a school teacher, and her sister was a  missionary-teacher for the Methodist Church sector in what is now known as Pakistan.  She taught cooking and hygiene to daughters of impoverished families along with religion and other subjects.  She used tiny bronze replicas of the cooking utensils and home making tools, of which I had half of them, about 20, perhaps to overcome language barriers.

After teaching a few years, my Bommie married the catch of the town.  "Papa" or "Bampa" to me, was about 20 years her elder, and he owned three lumber yards, many rental houses, and fulfilled about every civic duty a man of his stature should.  But there was one challenge for Bommie, and that was having a step-daughter and two step-sons almost as old as she was.  The sons were no problem.  But the step-daughter had been her father's hostess for several years, and I expect there might have been times when Bommie was required to exert all the diplomacy she possessed with her step-daughter.  Needless to say, it was a relief to all when she finally married and had her own house.  Which was built right next door, of course.

As was customary in those days, Bommie had a kitchen maid who answered the little dinner bell which proudly stands in my china cabinet, and when summoned, the maid would say "MIK" or "FHB."  These signals to the family when guests were present meant "More in Kitchen" or "Family Hold Back."  It was a common practice for friends, especially bachelors, to drop in about supper time.  "Welcome, we'll just set another plate."

At age 10 I decided I would be a writer, like Bommie, and wrote my own short version of a  famous southern civil war novel.  That was too much writing, so I decided to emulate my Great Aunt Kate, the missionary-teacher.  She would come home on sabbaticals (a new word for me) every once in a while.  I would also travel like Great Aunt Kate did, as did my Bommie, whose belated honeymoon was a trip to the opening of the Panama Canal.  So I began to practice by setting my dolls up on a big stool, opening my book of Bible stories and read to them.  That somehow didn't seem like the life I wanted.

That dream vanished, and I unconsciously began to imitate my Iowa Bommie, the writer.  She wrote a weekly newspaper column for more than 30 years.  So, after editing the high school and junior college newspapers, I was off to Journalism School in Columbia, Missouri.

However, when I was with her, or communicated through letters, I knew I was somebody, and this somebody would lead a meaningful and useful life.  It was from her I assimilated the values that typify Iowans: hard work, honesty, loyalty, and perseverance.  She lived these values, and they in turn, helped her produce the many achievements in both her personal, church and civic life that made her outstanding.  These values also permitted me to do many of the accomplishments that have made my life meaningful.