prune picker

This is the blog of a prune picker. (Native born Californian) Retired oilfield. I am an old man. (91) I blog a lot about my body and getting old. As I approach death life gets more interesting. More interesting is not good. I still drive. I attend sports, music, and civic events. I am writing my memoirs. I attend swim class three times a week. Some of my blogs might be interesting. A lot of my blogs are silly and trivial. None are very long.

Friday, August 26, 2016

PrunePicker Memories of my Father, Charles Abner Monson. Part 6.

I had said in a previous post about my Dad that I did not know when he was adopted by his Uncle Charles. And moved from Covington, Kentucky to Stirling, Kansas. I have since writing that post found out. I was re-reading an old letter from my Sister Donna. She said that Dad's Mother died when he was about seven and that he was given to his Uncle. This would have been around 1888. If I had any kind of memory or if my genealogy work had been complete I would have known the year of her death. So my Dad lost his Mom (my Grandmother) at about the same age that I lost mine.  So sad.

Dad's life was a mixed bag. Was the Father of nine. Food on the table. Worked many years as a hired farm hand and Ranch foreman. Then was a successful contractor with a team of horses in Pomona. I can remember being in a barn with the horses. They were named Bert and Beck. I remember eating some rolled oats (horse food). Then Dad fell on hard times. Due to the Great Depression and the mechanization of farm work. At the age of 59 he had a severe stroke. He spent the next 17 years as an invalid. He committed suicide by starvation at the age of 76. It is hard to fault him for this act.

27 per cent of my close family committed suicide. 3 of 11.

My oldest brother, Keith. killed himself at the age of 59.

My next oldest brother, George, killed himself at the age of 85.

I was shocked and saddened by these events. I found it hard to believe. I watch my state of mind closely. I do not want to die that way. I used to carry a concealed pistol. I got rid of it. I do not need a convenient means of suicide in my pocket.

I will now start on my memories of my Mother, five sisters, and three brothers. Let us find some happy memories.

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