My Grandpa Fitzpatrick curled. I never had a chance to see him on the ice - at least I don't remember him on the ice - but I do remember at least once being taken to the St. Vincent curling rink on a very cold winter day, and sitting on some low bleachers, with glass separating me from the lanes of curlers. I was very small, and thought it would be heated, but it wasn't. I was so busy trying to keep my little hands warm in my mittens (knitted by my Grandma Fitzpatrick), that I didn't watch much of the action. At least that's the way I remember it.

The rink was only a block away from my grandparents' home, down the same road that if you took if a few block more, led to my own home. My home used to be their home; they built it, in 1906. Later, they sold it to my parents, and moved 'uptown' to a house on the main street of St. Vincent, Minnesota, our little village. The town pump was right outside the curling hall, and there were times, when I was small, that Grandma had me fetch a pail or two of water from the pump. Sometimes, it would take many pumps to get the water going. Other times, it was stubborn; that was when Grandma taught me about 'primeing the pump'. Like magic, water would come forth again...

Later, after Grandpa died, I would spend more time with her. Grandpa's old bed in the porch, that he took naps on, was now passed by on my way into the main house to hang out with her while she baked, or outside while she hung clothes, or gardened. Grandma loved to putter around her yard, especially her sheds, and create useful things out of leftover lumber and other parts.

A memory I'll never forget is how she included me a wee bit in creating a homemade wooden wheelbarrow, and then made a larger one for herself to use around the yard to haul trash, tree cuttings, weeds, etc. to be burned or whatever. She used old tricycle and baby buggy wheels for the wheelbarrow wheels, making her own frame, handles, wheel assemblies/axels all by hand, out of wood scraps. You could tell she was a daughter of an Irish carpenter. I still have his carpenter's saw box, and use it to hold books I'm reading. It's dark with age, but still strong. His old saw is with me now, part of what I inherited from my parents after they broke up housekeeping in 2001. The wood on the handle has a soft glowing patina from many years of use. Great Grandpa Fitzgerald married a Prince Edward Island wealthy farmer's daughter, took her half-way across a continent to America, where they did whatever they had to, to make a living. All I know of him besides his carpentry is that he died drunk, run over by a train, ground to pieces and decapitated, 5 years after his wife died shortly after giving birth to their 14th child. R.I.P....