4 Seasons

Four Seasons with Seasoning

Not Vivaldi’s but my Four Seasons with plenty of seasoning; of both salt and spice. The analogy is possible. The first two decades of my life (1888-1919) were Winter; quite stormy, although with some sunshine as when the sun breaks through the clouds to make the crust of the snow sparkle like diamonds.

The next two decades (1910-30) were truly Spring; a period of rapid growth and the soft breezes of romance bringing forth the blossoms of love, marriage and a family; and, as an extra dividend, recognition in my chosen profession of social work. 

Summer (1930-50) was the period of maturity; full of the complications of life with some grief but still providing satisfactions in spite of reverses and losses of those closest to us. 

Finally came Autumn (1950-1984) which we have always said was the best season of all; the flaming beauty of fall foliage with rest from the labor of life’s summer and the opportunity to pursue the goals which may have seemed too distant for realizations.

When I suggested to Bruce that this story should be his autobiography, he replied, “my life has not been remarkable enough to interest anyone.” I disagree, for his life should be an inspiration to all of you. But since I have not been persuasive enough, the best that I can do is to recount as much as possible of the sixty plus years which I have known him, with a prelude of my life prior to 1912 when we met. The purpose of the story is not to recount exploits but rather to relive some very pleasant memories. Perhaps in my telling, you will learn items which will help to explain incidents, previously not understood. At least, I learned after my father’s death, facts about his life which answered many questions. 

On the whole, my life has been a fortunate one in spite of the shadow cast on my childhood by the early death of my mother. That loss undoubtedly crippled my ability to respond to love and relate to others. But the loss was somewhat compensated for by the advantage of an education which was superior to that then available to most girls of my generation. Some people, of whom Winston Churchill was one, believed that an unhappy childhood due to the loss of a parent might even strengthen anyone who could survive “the perils of youth.” Certainly our common loss produced an unusually close tie between my brother and myself.

That tie must have been unusually strong to have survived the strains placed on it, for I was spoiled and often given a preference because I was younger. At one time my brother was being prodded by the remark, “If you don’t do better in school than you are doing now, your little sister will catch up with you.” Struggling to defend himself, he replied, “Well, I'll always be five years older than she is.” No one could dispute that statement.  

The fact that I had a college education was due to my mother’s insistence at the time of my birth that my education must be equal to that which was given to my brother. Because she had struggled to graduate from college as early as 1874, my father was committed to carry out her wish, although his doctor-brother did not approve of sending girls to college. 

When I reached Mt. holyoke, one of the oft-repeated precepts of President Emma Wooley was that the privilege of a college education carried with it the obligation to make adequate use of that education for the benefit of one’s fellow citizens. We were urged to look outward, not inward; and, in time, we came to learn that such a mode of life was the best cure for loneliness – “the inescapable forlornness of an egoist.” 

Not long after Commencement, I began to realize that other forms of education besides a college degree were important and one of these was travel. The present day practice of circling the globe developed too late for us, and so there are many places which we wanted to visit. In fact, that had been our plan for the years immediately after retirement, but inflation prevented persons on fixed incomes from fulfilling a dream of that sort. Nevertheless, we did live in Europe for two years and I had a preliminary trip to England in 1911. We have had our share of domestic travel, which has supplemented the text books. 

My greatest good fortune has been the opportunity to combine a profession, in which I had satisfying recognition with the joys of a family; two fine daughters and their equally fine children. Another one of our great pleasures has been the pleasant homes we have owned in attractive surroundings. 

Life in seven major cities, such as New York, Philadelphia, Providence, Washington and Minneapolis, as well as in five smaller communities, provided the opportunity to make a multitude of friends. Many of whom have been of the life-long variety. 

Last but not least, the retirement years have been all that we hoped for; have even exceeded our expectations. WE have not been bored and have developed satisfactory hobbies, although some pursuits, upon which we had counted, had to be abandoned because of physical disabilities. 

Of course life has been no Pollyanna experience and we have made mistakes. But I learned rather early in life not to dwell on misfortune, since the opportunity to repeat any experience and act differently is never afforded to anyone. It is true that what we remember and what we forget often seems queer, but I am not entirely convinced that the explanation is always Freudian.

This is the introduction to Mildred Dennet Mudgett’s memoirs she penned as 4 Season. I am digitizing them from binders of typewritten pages. I inherited these documents from her daughter, my grandmother Roxie Tyler Mudgett.