Dora stories

One:

I was attending my aunt's funeral. After the service, I offered to pick up three women and take them to the graveside service. The one woman had figured out where I belonged. "You're Dora's son," she said.

"You want to know how I got the name Dora?" she asked. She went on to explain. "We were neighbors of your grandparents. I was born at home, and my parents discussed what my name should be. They decided on the name Patricia. So, it was my father's job to register my name at the Carlton Post Office. He decided to do this chore on his trip to Carlton with a wagonload of wheat, which he would sell to the elevator. The elevator agent was a friendly man, and the conversation turned to his task of registering his daughter's name.

"The agent said, 'You should name your daughter Dora like your neighbors. She is a pretty little girl with blue eyes, and it's a good name.'

"My father was convinced and registered my name as Dora at the Post Office. When my father got home, my mother asked, 'Did you register Patricia at the Post Office.'

"My father said, 'I registered her, but I registered her name as Dora.'

"Mother was exasperated. 'I sent you on one little chore and you can't get that right.'

"So that's why my name is Dora, like your Mother."

Two

I find this photo amusing. My Mom always said she was afraid of horses, yet every one of her grandchildren has this photo of her. I think many must think she had an affinity for horses. Mom siad her fear of horses came when she was little and a large draft horse bolted out of the barn just as she was about to enter.

Three

Mom was very competitive. I think that competitive gene was passed on to all her children. Mom would play catch with us and if we would throw it hard to her, her throw would be just a bit faster. She was very competitive in board games. She seemed to always win at Scrabble but she prided herself in knowing all the two-letter words that none of us had ever heard of before. She assured us they were real words. I remember when she was well into her 80s challenging me to a race while we were walking in a park near her carehome. The one thing she wasn’t really competive was in golf. She was a terrible golfer, but she would buy a season pass for $100 and golf as often as she could to get the cost down to a $1 per round.