Something Borrowed – Richard Reid’s 1967 Christmas Memory

A 1967 Christmas Memory

By Richard Reid

Villa Ridge, Missouri, December 2011

I was home on military leave from Ft. Huachuca, Arizona. I was finishing up my Advanced Individual Training (AIT). It was good to be home in Tucumcari. I had come by passenger train from Tucson, Arizona; I was less than a month away from the time I would meet my future wife.

 Having only my meager military pay with which to purchase gift(s) for my family members, I decided to type up Mom’s (Wineva Helen Coberley Reid’s) handwritten poems to give as my Christmas gift that year. It was before the days of computers and computer printers so I typed them up on my electric portable typewriter and duplicated them on my portable mimeograph spirits fluid duplicator that I had used to publish our church’s Sunday bulletins before I had left for my 120 day active duty training after having joined the New Mexico National Guard the summer of 1967.

 I decided to entitle it Wineva’s Writings. The printed cover I made for her writings that Christmas is dated December 23, 1967.

 Exactly one year from that date I would be married to La Veta Marie Routh Reid in Tucumcari at the very church (1st Assembly of God) where I had edited and published the weekly church bulletins.

It is always fascinating what a year brings forth and how interwoven our lives can be.

During that same Christmas season La Veta was on her way home New Year’s Eve 1968 to the Navajo Reservation school in western New Mexico where she taught first grade for the Kirkland Public Schools in Newcomb. She had to have her battery replaced in Tucumcari. She had a checking account, but no cash; it was in the days before common credit card use. She was in a real predicament. She finally phoned Bro. Stewart (the pastor of 1st Assembly of God) to ask if he would vouch for her check. Since he knew Sis. Whitehead, the Assemblies of God missionary pastor in Newcomb, Bro. Stewart was willing to take a chance and stand good for the check. La Veta attended Sis. Whitehead’s church and was the church pianist.

 Approximately one year later Pastor Stewart would marry myself and La Veta. The check had cleared and verified Bro. Stewart’s faith in being able to help out a traveler in trouble. I’m sure all such incidents didn’t have happy endings for him.

 Forty-four years have past since those events occurred. It is good to reflect on the goodness of God. His protection, guidance, and desire to be with us at all times is evident in those events and in Wineva’s Writings that follow. I hope you enjoy reading what she wrote over fifty-five years ago. Merry Christmas!

 Wineva’s Writings

Writings of Wineva Helen Reid

Compiled by Richard Reid

December 23, 1967

Note to readers—This collection of writings are precious to me because the author is Mother and the woman who has done much to shape me into the person I am.

I didn’t compile them for their correctness in grammar or punctuation, but that mainly that a record would be made and kept by different members of the family. It is hoped that as you read you will sense the Christian love, the toils, sadness, the joys, and happiness of Wineva’s life.

It is hard to be objective when evaluating the worth of this prose or poetry because to me it is valueless because it is the communication of a person dear to me. So I will not evaluate, but will present it and let you so do if you wish. I trust that the reader of this compilation will receive new strength hope and courage as they read.

Richard Reid*

 *The Note to readers—above was written 12-23-67


My Old Kitchen Broom


My old kitchen broom.

My children, carry

From room to room.

I see them strike up a tune

As on a golden violin

A tune without no end

But no it is my old kitchen broom

Dashen now crashen

As a cowboy on a flashy

Dashy white horse

Across the room

Oh! No of course it is – –

My old kitchen broom

And to be sure I hear

Boom boom boom boom boom

A Gun here and there

Oh so clear

No it’s just my kitchen broom

         Wineva Helen Reid



I Have a Husband

 I have a husband

He is young, he is fair.

He is always near

He is here and he is there

He is tender and full of care

He is always ready to share.

Oh! Yes, we grumble,

We have our toil and care

But life without this

Would not be complete.

When trials we have

Then let us repeat

I am sorry

With this and love

Life’s journey is sweet.

Wineva Helen Reid

I Have a Mother-in-law

 I have a Mother-in-law

One who I fell in love with

The first time I chanced to meet.

As my Mother taught me to do

When I was young and sat at her feet.

I married her dear son

His love I have won

I felt his tender care

As I remember where she stood

Combing her pretty graying hair.

Yes, times, I’ve had to weep.

Times I have told her of

My life’s trials and care

Somehow she has tenderly shared.

Without words to express

I appreciate my very best

I know God will do the rest

He makes tender Mother-in-laws too.

Author: Your daughter-in-law

Wineva (Helen Reid)

May 2, 1955

Author: Mother (Wineva Helen Reid)

Date: June 2, 1955

Time: At night

Place: 1416 South Adams Street

Tucumcari, New Mexico

 Our Family

 A sweet little girl

 Ethel: A sweet little girl

One without a single curl

A puggy little nose

Blue little eyes

Just like your Dads of course.

Year by year,

Year by year, you so tender grow.

And now what you know

Richard: A big baby brother

And I hear you call, “Oh, Mother.”

I scamper to my feet

To obscure your defeat

But to my surprise it is

Not the finding of his little feet

It is that thumb you put

To his little mouth

That you have learned to

Nurse so complete.

 Another, another,another

 Reba: A tender little girl so soft

And sweet, for you Mother

Pretty little nose and lips.

Like a little rose

As the month grew to a close

Goodness only knows,

Here we come and here we go

Your Uncle Raymond came

To take us on a flying trip

Before we could close our lip.

With a whir and then a flip.

 Another! A big, another

 Glen: Baby brother.

With a tiny pug nose

Just like your Dads,

Goodness only knows

What would we do without

That Daddy’s pug nose.

Months may come and months must go

With wavy white hair

That stood straight in the air

Just a pretty little fellow

Hair so white—was almost yellow.

But eyes—oh! to our surprise

They were brown and mellow

You took them after your Ma

Young fellow.

As Dad had stolen the rest of

Them all. ha! ha!

As I have said before—

 Clora: Years come and months close.

My! my!, God so tender in his mercy

Let us another tender little

Life share

This time a sweet little girl

One with white hair

With soft curl

God showed me in a dream

How to part her pretty little hair

And (also) how to take care.

Her round little face

Her tiny turned up nose

And one who found her

Pretty little pink toes.

How she grows and grows.

 As years come and years go

 Our Family We a little family

Want to sit and learn at

The Master’s dear feet

Then the race we must run.

We hope to make it to heaven

This will make our lives complete

And have others to bring to his feet.

 Wineva Helen Reid

 *Note Barbara was not born when this poem was written in 1955.

After the Night—After the Storm

 We hear over the radio wave

That there were low clouds

Even had created a cyclone

No damage was done

But I feel so safe

As God’s dear Son

Hovered over with tender love.

God gave me this beautiful poem

Of his tender loving care

And it does prove

God is everywhere.

I had looked at almost every window

Even out the door

But nothing of outstanding danger

I had not seen,

But was conscious of his

Tender love and care.

 Wineva Helen Reid

As I Was in Prayer

 As I was in prayer

Souls I had won.

My brothers, one by one.

My Father, my Mother so fair.

By God’s tender mercy and care.

Not boasting, but there were others

I don’t remember the complete number

But I spoke to them

Maybe they are in sweet slumber.

But I wonder about my Father

And wonder if he is just a step away

My tender Mother prays each day

For each one who is away

From the heavenly Father’s dear care.

I wonder about each brother.

We all have our lovely families so fair

Our lovely children and wives so fair

But I wonder

If life is so full of toil and care

That we have left Jesus

Standing a way back there.

As I was in prayer

I ask

My dear God to save

Each one’s soul again.

As by his dear grace

We must all see his dear face

And who can pray

Must do so for our

Loved ones each day.

 Wineva Helen Reid

A Soul to Lay at His Feet

 Give us another soul

Dear Lord I pray

A soul for a sheave.

One who thou hast made whole

A soul dear Lord whose journey

Is not complete

A soul for a sheave

To lay at thy dear feet.

Seems my time is so full of care

Babies here and babies there

Busy, busy everywhere

Just not one moment to spare.

But please I repeat

A dear soul to lay

At your dear feet.

May 25, 1955

Mrs. Wineva Reid

–After visiting with Sister Adcock

on Tuesday and then Sister Spivey.

No Unkind Thing I Might

Not Repeat

Something dear, something sweet

Let me repeat

That their dear soul

I might win so complete

To lay at thy feet.

As I have said before

When time we take

To bow and pray

Whether on a chair or on the floor

I find you so near

You are always “here”.

To write it over—

As I have said before.

When time we take

To bow and pray

Whether it be night or day

Whether it be on a chair or on the floor

I find you so near

You are always “there”.

 Wineva Helen Reid

 A Bonus Poem*

My Mother Fair

Where on earth is there one so fair?

One that I for her may care

Where on earth is there an end to my despair

With lovely nose, face, eyes, and hair.

Where on earth is there one so fair?

Oh, I can tell you she’s not very far,

She is just over there

And no matter what we have to bear,

I with her my burdens will share.

Where on earth is the one so fair?

Over there in the clear mountain air.

Then we will hear the loudest blare

It’s my mother, and she’s right there;

In Christ’s loving embrace with Quanah, our dad;

 awaiting their children on earth they Had.

By Glen R. Reid

Undated: Circa—1967

Approximate Age of Author—Teenager

*Found in the folder with Mom’s poems.

Wineva Helen Reid’s Fourth Child

Undated: Circa—1967

Approximate Age of Author—Teenager

*Found in the folder with Mom’s poems.

Wineva Helen Reid’s Fourth Child

 Merry Christmas from all families of Quanah and Wineva Reid now resting in Heaven. 


About grreid

A real estate professional with experience in the areas of property management, residential appraisal, residential sales, right-of-way management, building management, leasing, acquisition, relocation, title search, negotiation, document preparation, eminent domain and more. My goal with this website is to bring the joy of God's word to everyone. These words give comfort to all that God is in control of everything and worry and stress are needless.
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