Every since I found my old forgotten blog, I’ve been looking back and surprising myself. When I got to the end of this piece, I am reminded that I’ll never change.

SHIPSHEWANA INDIANA ADDRESS

The little village where I lived as a baby – my first home – one time had its own post office: Scott, Indiana. Then it was closed and when letters came to the house, they bore the address R.R. #1 Howe, Indiana. Not to confuse anyone more, but Howe had been called Lima when my grandmother graduated from high school in 1900. Anyway, by the time I got around to knowing the address, it was Howe . . . for awhile. Then, one day I found out we were going to be transferred to the Shipshewana post office.

At that time Shipshewana was not a well-known flea market and Amish shops attraction. Having the address change meant that I would have to spell Shipshewana to everyone who needed to know – college staff, telephone operators, and so on. I used to break it down: Ship . . . she . . . wana. Now that Shipshewana address has national attention and on auction days, the roads are so clogged into town that my mother has to use the back way in if she is asked to help a friend at a sale. Keep in mind here that the “front way” in is narrow roads with a “funny bump” that made my stomach jump when I was little and, in fact, still does.

So . . . I am thinking I should go into some sort of business with my mother – with her address, we would have a step up on things. We could even copy the old tintype picture to show we were “authentic.” The problem is figuring out what product we would market.

This has been a stumbling block . . . but I will keep thinking. How about storybook quilts – a person sends in some facts about different aspects of their lives and dreams and I piece them together into a “quilt-book?” Or they could send in a list of the things they have done wrong and I could write a story that would be a guilt-book.

Oh, I guess I forgot to sound the bad pun warning. Sorry.