|
A Biography of Sorts
By Florence Vining Thomen, East Canaan
If I ever proceed to have some of my "better" articles assembled and (hopefully) published in hard-cover form, I am sure a biography would be appropriate. So, perhaps readers of The Voice would like a tentative glimpse of the story of my life, so far.
My birth name was Florence Margaret Vining. I saw my first light of day at the Litchfield County Hospital in Winsted. My father, Henry Hart Vining, was farming his ancestral acres on Hart Street (Millbrook Road) in the next town, Colebrook. I've always loved that town; it still retains its ancient charm and beauty and proudly exhibits its historic background. It is almost untouched by today's blatant "rush and hurry." To continue, my mother was Walpurga (Wally) Stein, born of German parents in New York City, where she lived out her life as a very prim and gentle young lady. Her own mother died when Mama was about four years old, so her father later placed her in a convent school, where she almost decided to be a nun. Thank God she didn't. But think of the upbringing—almost a "saint" in her bearing, one might say.
Then with a stepmother at hand, the family bought a home in Colebrook. Her charm and auburn-haired beauty and natural lady-like manner merited her many country friends, among them her next-door neighbor. And there begins the actual sequence of events leading to my arrival on earth.
In time I was blessed with a lifelong companion, my brother, George, now deceased. Our life on the farm was very fulfilling, with many acres to roam and explore. Daddy taught us the names of all the trees, birds and flowers. I treasure that knowledge as an added asset to our well-rounded school education. Farm life in our day developed healthy, sturdy, robust bodies, along with a happy and wholesome bearing.
My father's health broke down and we sold the farm and took a train to California, where a friend introduced us to a new life. It was an exciting interlude in our young lives, but my parents became so homesick for Connecticut and relatives that we returned "home" in January, with three feet of snow on our native ground! After moving from place to place, we eventually built on a small acreage that Daddy had kept from the old farm, and life began to develop on a permanent basis.
Attending school was an exciting and never-ending joyful experience, starting each day with a ride behind a pair of workhorses or, later, in an antiquated vehicle. We were never cold, as we were crowded together and always engaged in animated chatter. Our one-room school held less than two dozen eager students from first grade (pants-wetters) to boisterous, know-it-all eighth graders. How we admired those "big boys." They seemed like full grown men to us, though they were scarcely fourteen years old at the time.
Later we were blessed with an addition to the schoolhouse—an "upper grades" room. Fifth graders and up had a room of our own, and a special teacher of our own! We grew to be eighth graders with such fine training that I, for one, was "certified" into high school (The Gilbert School). That meant I did not have to take an entrance exam. And there, again, I was given an especially fine education at "one of the seven best schools in the USA." Gilbert, yeah, rah, rah!
From that background I progressed to a year at "NBNS" (New Britain Normal School) to prepare for a teaching career. It was not of my choosing, but it was the only practical solution in those Depression Days of 1932 and on. But the tuition and such became too difficult for my parents and I left college after one year.
I soon started my first job. I took a bus to Winsted and helped W.T. Grant's store in its move to its new location on Main Street. At first I was employed behind the hardware counter, of all places! (Imagine trying to wrap a tea-kettle, for instance.) I recall that I earned about $21 a week, which paid for my bus ride and my lunches, with most of the rest going to help the family budget.
It was there that I met a very persistent and consistent customer. He always found some need to buy various items over which I had control, like a spool of thread, or some other thing that might be useful where he was living with relatives! And so, in due time, I became a married lady.
We rented a downstairs apartment in Norfolk and, in due time, became the very joyous parents of our first son. He also was born in the Winsted Hospital. Later, my husband decided that we should trying living in his family area, northern New York State, near the Canadian border. There we rented and "worked on shares," making a rather decent living. Finally, back to Connecticut. We lived in East Canaan, and later a divorce broke up our marriage.
I had to make a living for my (now) three young sons, so I had various factory jobs through the years. Being away from home meant that I had to have some solution for my boys. Eventually they were established in The Gilbert Home. As time progressed, they were placed with nearby families, because I had no home for them. They somehow seemed to accept and enjoy their foster families, while I lived in a tiny house trailer on my parents' property. Living in the same town, I saw my boys often. They grew up and life went on in satisfactory (I hope) ways.
My parents gave me some acreage in East Canaan, and my second husband and I built the nice house that I still occupy. After about thirty-seven years of marriage, I lost my beloved husband due to emphysema.
So here I am, still, with a lot of memories of, firstly, a very happy childhood and excellent schooling; and, secondly, rewarding years amid financial and emotional struggles, with the three fine sons who made it all worthwhile.
I am filled, these days, with a joy for living and such a feeling of gratefulness and thanksgiving to the Lord for giving me such a fine existence. I am happy by nature, and am loved by the "greatest" friends one could ask for.
At the advanced age of eighty or so, I found my "calling." I decided to write for The Voice and share my thoughts and beliefs and "bare my soul" to a very receptive audience of readers. I love every moment of my life and hope to exist for many healthy and joyous years to come. Wish me luck in this pursuit! Much love to all of you!
|
|
