Lois Fellows Ross

Lois Fellows Phinney Ross was born the second of four children to William Lewis Phinney Jr. and Rachel Fellows Pike Phinney April 18th, 1922 in Boston, Massachusetts. She was raised in Worcester, Massachusetts and graduated from South High School in 1940. She attended Boston University for two years with the intention of becoming a doctor. In May of 1943 she enlisted in W.A.A. C. She took basic training at Camp Davis in North Carolina and was assigned as a Supply Sergeant. She recruited for a short period of time in the South then was sent to W.A.C. Physical Therapy School. She was commissioned 2nd Lieutenant April 9th, 1945. In November of 1945 she married Lloyd V. Ross and moved to California, then to Oregon where they bought land, built their home, worked and raised their family. Lois had many interest. She loved the outdoors. As a member of the Mazamas she climbed Mt. Hood, and hiked many areas of the state. She enjoyed camping, bird watching and photography. She loved to travel and in 1970 she and her husband sold their home and spent six months in Southeast Asia, Eastern Europe and Greece. Other trips took them to Russia, Australia, New Zealand and Alaska. They traveled extensively in North America as well. With friends they piled into a Volkswagen camper and drove across Canada, down through the New England states, then across the mid-west into the southwest, and home. Lois continued to work as a physical therapist throughout the years and eventually became the head of the physical therapy department at Good Samaritan Hospital in Portland, Oregon. She retired in the mid 1980\u0027s. After the death of her husband she moved to Willamette View Retirement Center which provided a wonderful environment in which to meet new friends and develop new interest. The first ten years, living in The Manor, she drove her Metro, gardened in her plot, was on the garden committee and the movie committee, took computer classes, bought a computer, went to lectures and enjoyed life in general. However, as her physical limitations increased she moved to assisted living in The Terrace. In the early part of 2014 she had two falls that resulted in concussions and that put her in the Health Center at Willamette View. She knew where she was and didn\u0027t like it, but, as in everything else that had happened to her over the years that restricted her activities, she began to adjust and handle her circumstances with grace and dignity. From then on though, her health declined and on August 30th she passed away. Leaving behind all of us who love her, she is at peace now. She will be missed greatly by her daughters, Leslie Ross Probasco and Isabelle RaLonde ( Ray RaLonde ). Son, Michael W. Balfe. Grandchildren: Janel A. Probasco, Robert N. Probasco Jr., Celeste B. Artharee ( Hasan Artharee ) and Colette M. Eaton ( Joshua Eaton ). Great grandchildren: Jaya D. Probasco Mitchell, Khaled H. Artharee, Kareem J. Artharee, Emil Y. Artharee, Hannah Lewellyn and Adam L. Lewellyn. Lois printed this account of her early life as an assignment for a genealogy class in the mid 2000\u0027s. I was born on April 18th, 1922 in the Homeopathic Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. I was the second born to my parents, William Lewis Phinney Jr, better known as Bill, and Rachel Fellows Pike, better known as Rae. During my early childhood we lived on the top floor of what was called \u0026quot;a three decker apartment building\u0026quot;. It wasn\u0027t long after that we moved to the first floor of that building. I have a feeling my mother got fed up trying to keep up with one or the other of us from the third floor apartment whenever we went outdoors, especially in the winter. We would constantly whine to go out in that wonderful snow, only to have one or the other of us turn up wanting to go back into the house again where it was nice and warm. This meant my mother had to take off our wraps, and hang them up to dry. A few hours later we again would beg to go out again. By this time she had had enough. \u0026quot; No More! Find something to do in the house\u0026quot;! I don\u0027t think being on the first floor helped out too much. My brother Bud was four years older than I. Having been the apple of every one\u0027s eye for that length of time, left resentment towards this intruder into his contented life as the only child in the family. There are a few times I remember how this played out in a way that involved me. I must have been about three at the time. We were standing at the top of some cellar stairs looking down to see a rat Bud said he saw running by the bottom step. Bud and my mother stood behind me so I wouldn\u0027t be left out. Bud gave me a push forward and down I went head over heels to the bottom. As I went my mother gave a cry, \u0026quot;Bud, What have you done\u0026quot;? She came down as fast as possible to see how I was while I bawled my head off. Helping me up the stairs every thing seemed to be working properly. I have no recollection of what happened after that episode. Bud was probably sent to his room and I was glad I had not met that rat! When my sister Carol arrived two years after me, things changed in our lives. I no longer posed a problem for my brother, for he had found other friends to take up his time. However, he did try to get my sister and I to smell a bumble bee on a flower just to see how we would react to getting stung. We didn\u0027t fall for that idea! I was sick a good deal of my early childhood, not just from the usual childhood diseases but pneumonia. This kept me in bed for months. It seems to me to be the way it was. Sometimes I was taken out onto our front porch in the hot months of summer to get relief from the heat and mugginess in my room. I remember how difficult it was for me to breathe. I would fuss to go back to my room where I felt more secure. Since these were the days long before antibiotics it was hoped that somehow I would get better. One day my father picked me up out of my bed and carried me all the way down the street to where Doc Sprague had his office. It had been decided to give me a dose of x-ray with his machine. It was not long after that I began to recover. Finally, I could gradually get back on my feet and go out to play once again. However, when I had to eat food I was a picky eater. I hated eggs! I wouldn\u0027t eat this and I wouldn\u0027t eat that. Finally my mother resorted to Malted Milk, which I did like."",