the day Cyunthia was born

Of course I kept worrying about when the 'time' would come so I hovered around the house as much as farm work would provide. I think we were harvesting alfalfa seed --even this late in the year.
All of a sudden it was TIME to go. I think we still had the Belair Chev then, and now I wonder who stayed at home with the kids--was it Lois" or was that a school day? see, my memory is a bit dim on this, but I do remember we took the bumpy short cut through the neighbors property and their Yard--.I had to be careful about hitting the bumps in the road.
We finally got on a county road which was good gravel and was heading toward Sunnyside hospital through a lot of farm steads. We still didn't have a name for Cynthia--I told this story so many times, I wonder if I am repeating myself--yes I am--it is indelibly implanted in my mind.
IN those days there was a womens club made up of farm wives--of all names they called it the "Cy_CO " club. I guess that was a 'run' on words for the fun of it. They made stuff like doilies and Afgahns etc--it was a sewing circle I guess-- that best describes it--or a gossip club.
Anyway we drove right by the ladies house who started the club Her name was Cynthia Copeland. The name was in large black letters on the mail box--and we drove slowly by enough to see it stand out . It was almost automatic, that we would name the girl "Cynthia"--Just like that--I don't remember if we had a masculine name or not at that time because in those days there was no way to know if the baby would be a boy or girl. I thinks it's best to be surprised.
So the birth went off uneventfully I guess--y'see, I didn't dare to watch--I didn't see ANY of the kids born. I think I would have been traumatized. I think it would "cure me".
So, when we brought Cynthia home I thought she looked like Ike Eisenhower the president--bald and all. We have some--a lot --of baby pictures to prove it too.
Cynthia had a good appetite and I remember her digging into the bowl which was the last part of Gramma's Meat ball concoction--she stood up on the chair and reached over with the big spoon in her hand and was scooping out the remnants of the meat balls concoction. See , I call it a 'concoction' because it was a one dish meal--with bread of course.
I gotta add this--I always prayed that my family would be all musically inclined so the time came for Cynthia to learn an accordion. So I enrolled her in a school of accordion and she was really doing fine. Then it came time to graduate into a larger accordion. I knew a neighbor whose daughter quit and he wanted to get rid of the accordion. So one day he asked me to bale his hay. I had to do it at night because I had other farm work to do in the day. Ii was a hot day and in the evening it was cool enough to go down to the field in a shirtsleeves. The field was bigger than I thought and I worked all night to finish the field and I was frozen stiff by the time the last bale was dropped. Anyway, Gramma got worried and came down to the field as I was wrapping up. She had a jacket for me I think because I drove the tractor home to have a breakfast at last.
NOW rather than to take money, I settled as payment for that baling job taking his accordion as full and final payment--a couple hunderd dollars.
CYnthia played several months and in concerts held by the Teacher. I was soo proud and also a bit jealous that she was playing better than I could play.
Then the world ended--that accordion world--Cynthia quit. Pow--I was shot and still in a fit of remorse because Cynthia is very very musically talened in spite of her name--Ha! she has a beautiful voice-to go along with an accordion--like Joan Castle on Lawrence Welks show---ask her to sing--go ahead.
So Cynthia , when you read this, operate on my heart strings and cure the longing I have to hear you again play the accordion. On bended knee--I ask--no I am at the type writer--and I am too old now to kneel--. If you do play me, get me a bath towel for my tears.
BUT with all that said, she, Cynthia is and was a hard working intelligent girl and I couldn't have ever thought of a better name than CINTYDOLL. Read the story where she drove my old army truck when we were picking up baled hay. She could hardly see over the steering wheel and standing on th seat. What a girl.