`My Bertha`, story : Jasper, Alabama

JASPER, ALABAMA

“ MY BERTHA “, STORY



Why whimsical buttons, are so important to the 'My Bertha', Story ?

The key to the buttons is within the Queen Elizabeth, section @

Eyes (Ayin) of the Madonna
http://eyesofthemadonna.blogspot.com/



https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnuK6MItO45A_5fucBkhoUEf2coEYiCFy7XYXqTLtrCAE5yaQK8ek0AmLs9JKtf7EIWod-vyWuTw5P8GkXKHpoCu49BICBk9n34CPoPZZYaUAx2ek8QbzYhZJRi0bdDb2ov7rKBvvUNrs/s400/JEWELED-BUTTON.jpg


http://biobettyculpepperclark.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-bertha-story-jasper-alabama.html
“ MY BERTHA “, STORY

[excerpt]
None of these goodies, compared to the secret bedroom of `My Bertha`. Due to her seamstress work, she collected thousands upon millions, I thought, of jeweled buttons. Yes, the hidden jewels. She kept them in linen cloth draw string bags. And upon each visit, while bouncing upon her feather mattress, I would open these draw strings bags of buttons and pour out the jewels




* 1961, I was 2 1/2 years old and we lived in a rental duplex next door to our landlord, a elderly minister named : Reverend Hales. The duplex was located one mile outside the town. The lady that had been a caretaker for the deceased Mrs. Hales, lived high upon the hill and her name was : Bertha. Which I determined to be ‘My Bertha’. In between, my curious nature toward the dozen or so Rhode Island Red chickens, which Mr. Hales owned, `My Bertha` was the central focus of my experience in Jasper. Mr. Hales insisted that our family help ourselves to daily offerings of as many fresh hen eggs as we needed. My father loved over easy eggs. The children only wanted the hard cooked yellow, with the white removed. Which sent my parents into a morning confusion of egg white removal, to keep the kiddies from acting out. Although my elder brother, was only 16 months younger than I was and he was always happy to play with me. The fondest memory of visiting `My Bertha` up the hill, which seemed a distance for a 2 ½ year old to walk and climb, was homemade chocolate cake. She always insisted that I bring and share candy with my brother David, who was still shaking the play pen. I just always knew what candy he liked and we understood a language between the two of us, not expressed in words. Each visit to her house, brought a giggle to my heart. She always had a little child size wooden table and chair, just perfect for me to sit in. Her house smelled of turnip greens cooking on the stove and the strong odor of Clorox. She cleaned every inch of the house with Clorox. And even took baths with it. However, these smells did not distract me from the offerings of a homemade double layer yellow cake batter, iced with double chocolate frosting. With an additional cold glass of milk, to wash it down with. None of these goodies, compared to the secret bedroom of `My Bertha`. Due to her seamstress work, she collected thousands upon millions, I thought, of jeweled buttons. Yes, the hidden jewels. She kept them in linen cloth draw string bags. And upon each visit, while bouncing upon her feather mattress, I would open these draw strings bags of buttons and pour out the jewels. Of course under strict instructions, not to bounce while I counted the valuables to avoid spilling them onto the floor. After many visits, I knew which bags held what type of buttons and the idea that a special nugget could not to be located, sent me into a fit of tears. Which `My Bertha` would then quickly locate the described misplaced jewel, to offset my spoilt behavior. When she hugged you, you knew you had been really hugged. With a love for children and a heart as big as her belly. She was just like the lady on the pan cake syrup bottle. I thought she was a television star. How could any human live high on the hill, have chocolate cake to eat everyday, with `zillions` of jewels hidden in her bedroom, not be a famous person ? The day came, when my fathers telecommunication work required us to leave Jasper. The trama to leave `My Bertha` will never leave my heart. In about a year, mother and daddy returned to visit Jasper. I ran up the hill, as fast as my legs would go. Upon embracing her I felt the letting go of all the love she had stored, until she could hug me again. I remembered that I had played in the sand on the hill and buried some play things. I found in the sand, after this full year, the metal hair combs to return to `My Bertha`. She was delighted and very impressed with my ability to remember where the treasures had been buried. If daddy said anything in front of her, that I had been bad or was spoiled, she had a saying, “ Tot Tot ( no, no ), not a mean bone in her body “. This would thrill me to no end, to hear her take authority over daddy. I think about, as we drove away, with my eyes pouring tears looking out the backseat car window, that one day I have high hopes to see `My Bertha`, at the highest hill that heaven must contain . . . )

* leaving Jasper, Alabama