Memories 5

This is a picture of my brother and his wife, Elaine, with their great-grandchild, Mattias. I have lost track of how many great-grandchildren they have.

Many of the memories I have of my early childhood involve my brother. I always called him "Bud" so that is how I will refer to him in these blogs. He has been an inspiration to me throughout my life. The sad thing about aging is that it is difficult to get together with those who mean so much to you, but memories perhaps will bridge the gap.

As an adult he has become famous in the family for his "Laughing Man" stories. A story with many convolutions as the heroes (mysteriously resembling those to whom he is telling the stories) find their way through the jungle/woods filled with shadows and incipient terror. And then ---- the terrible laugh of the "Laughing Man"... and finally, a way out.

Bud was and has always been my hero. He was the greatest brother a girl could ever have. The only really mean trick he ever played on me was when he experimented with giving me a dill pickle when I had the mumps. We discovered that it REALLY DID HURT. I must admit that I probably would get the prize for being the peskiest little sister possible. I always wanted to be right in the middle of everything.

Bud has always been very involved in the Boy Scouts and he was going for a merit badge for camping so he took me with him while he set up his campsite near Lake Waubesa. He had the tent up and the little ditch dug around the tent, when all of a sudden he realized he had done all these preparations in the middle of a cow pasture. All had to be moved to the other side of a fence. He sent me out to hunt for a spring, and I proceeded to look for a long time thinking he meant a bed spring, not knowing what a water spring was.

More about my dear brother next posting. Take care.

Memories - 4

I was very cute as a small child, and my brother made a big fuss over me. He would take me to his Boy Scout meetings in his wagon, and I became a sort of mascot. Later, when I wasn't so cute anymore and had graduated into the pest category, he no longer took me along. This infuriated me, and I would chase after him until he outdistanced me.

I seemed to make it a habit to be infuriated. I remember having a temper tantrum lying on the floor between the kitchen and dining room. Mother was setting the table and she ignored me completely by just stepping over my screaming, kicking body. Now there was a woman who knew how to handle a kid!

I remember my father coming home from the bank for his noon meal and a short power nap on the couch. The couch was a black mohair affair. When it was time for him to return to work, mother would tell me I could awaken him. I would go and try to pull him off the couch. After about three tries, he would roll off the couch with great moans and groans, roll out into the room and give me a big thrill.

My father had a favorite red oblong eraser. He misplaced it and I found it. He made a big fuss about my great feat, and after that, whenever I wanted a favor, I would scootch up to him, bat my eyes and say, "Raser, daddy" and he would laugh and give me what I asked for. Another thing he would do is lift me up high, hug me tight with my face up close to his and say, "Hearts are flying!"

My heart is flying out to all of you today! Take care

Memories - 4

Memory - 3

This is a picture of me on a tricycle. It is staged at the photographers, but I certainly DID have a great trike at home. Our house was organized in such a way that I could ride round and round through the rooms in a circle if all the doors were open. Mother would play Billy Goat Gruff with me when I would ride under the ironing board.

One day I inadvertently rode my trike down the basement stairs. There was a landing half way down where the stairs changed at right angles. I arrived at the bottom of the stairs still upright on my trusty trike, none the worse for wear.

Right there at the bottom of the steps, if you turned left, you would find the big bin for keeping potatoes. Every once in a while we would investigate to be sure there were no rotten potatoes, as they would spoil the whole thing.

There were also lots and lots of shelves for the glass jars in which my mother spent many a long day canning tomatoes and green beans. Because of the war (I suppose I was 1o by then) my dad had a victory garden. We had a super abundance of tomatoes, especially. I would go with him early in the season to help. He had a small man-pushed plow. He made it into a small girl-pulled plow that the man guided. The trouble with being patriotic and having this victory garden was that everyone in our small town was doing the same thing. When the produce came in, you literally couldn't give a tomato away.

Dad solved that problem by taking the harvest to Madison to the back door of restaurants and selling them the sweet home produced fruits of his labors. I can even remember the clothes that I wore on these excursions. I both admired him for his chutzpah and was humiliated at having to make these inquiries at the back doors. It did instill in my being the idea that nothing should be wasted.

A side issue of this was that we would often be eating in the kitchen and be entertained by the sound of an exploding jar of tomatoes in the basement. Then would follow the clean up. We could never eat enough tomatoes to catch up with the shelf life of the jars.

I wish I could figure out how to make the tomato sauce that my mother made. It was slightly sweet with a touch of lemon. Fantastic, but not easy to duplicate. Perhaps it cannot be duplicated because nostalgia has added to the memory of its taste.

Take care.

tah dah!

Naomi has way too much time on her hands, so she decided she would change her blog appearance and I should do the same. Please check her blog out. The link is here on mine.
I actually got to the gym for some rudimentary excercise, but I faded fast. It will take me a bit to get my corpuscles up and running at top speed again. I was disappointed that Fred wasn't there so that we could delve further into the great spider mystery. Soon.

As to the ingredients for my egg salad, they change every time, and I just throw in a bit of this and that. Plenty of finely chopped up onion and dill pickles, a bit of dill pickle juice and lemon juice, some horseradish and REAL mayonaise, none of this diet stuff. oh, yes.... mustard, salt and plenty of pepper. Onion powder. Hmmmm. AND, OF COURSE, HARD COOKED COOLED EGGS mashed up. Whatever else occurs to me. But I like it very tasty, not bland. I love it so much that I don't make it very often because I would eat too much.

This next week I have the book club at my house so I have to start planning our repast. We have come so far that we do variations on the pattern set by Fran. I will probably do the deviled eggs, muffins, sugar free jello. All according to pattern. Carol figured out the greatest topping for the jello. She threw cottage cheese in the blender and let 'er rip until it got to the consistancy of whipped cream. Very tasty and healthy. Yahoo. If I change my menu I will be sure to let you know!

How do you like the new look of my blog? Certainly plain enough. Hmmmm. I'll have to see.

Take care.

tah dah!

Church Bazaar

Because of the state of our health we had to miss our church Bazaar this year. There are certain things we especially missed: the great soup and the egg salad sandwiches. I found myself attempting to make a great soup, and although it didn't measure up to bazaar standards, it was pretty good. Today I boiled up a dozen eggs and made egg salad sandwiches. I actually like my recipe better than almost any other, so that was satisfactory. Now we have to forgo the great pies, lefsa and other goodies. All to the good for little ole diabetic me. George would eat them all, but he is supposedly on a diet.

I love it when men go on a diet. 15 pounds off the first week, no problem. "What have you been moaning and groaning about?" they ask their wives. "Dieting is a snap." Then they get older and get that belly and there is no longer the glibness about dieting. The law of flab has caught up with them. We try not to snigger into our hands but it takes great restraint.

We are looking out at the great weather. Sun makes such a difference. There are still some trees that have kept their colorful leaves. We're feeling better, the weather is great, our spirits are soaring. Wahoo.

Take care.

Memories - 2

Okeedoakee. I'm deep into remembering the basement. I have my studio in our basement, but it is such a different animal than the basement of my youth.

That basement was a wonderful place. Cement floors and unfinished walls were divided into various rooms. The great furnace was endlessly fascinating. It was filled with coal, the ashes had to be cleaned out periodically, and it was controlled by a simplistic little lever in the dining room wall just above.

Dad used it to melt lead in a long handled deal. Then he would pour the lead into molds to make lead soldiers. Now there is so much fuss over lead, but we didn't know the perils of that substance at the time.

I think I was about fourteen when I remember his taking a lump of iron and heating it in the furnace. He held it in a plier and put it as a red hot lump on an anvil. He hammered it, heated it anew and hammered again, until he had fashioned a knife. It took a long time to get it just right and to his requirements.

Now he had a hunting knife blade attached to an elongated piece. He cut circles of thick leather and threaded them over the elongated piece to make the handle, topping it off with a bolt that he told me was from his son-in-law's submarine. It was a hunting knife. He incised "L. Vick" on the side of the handle and gave it to me. It is one of my most valued possessions. I realized that people could make things for pleasure, but also for use. I must admit I have never actually gone hunting or used my knife, but every time I look at it I know the pleasure of being singled out for a gift. A gift that I had seen made from start to finish.

Take care.

Memories-1

I was six years old during the summer of 1936, which was one of the hottest summers on record. We moved cots to the basement and slept there, as it was long before the advent of air conditioning. We took most of our meals down there as well.

I have in my possession this creamer. I was responsible that summer for breaking the sugar bowl that went with it. It is interesting that I keep it, even though I still feel ashamed of my uncontrolled actions that caused the sugar bowl's demise. Nobody bawled me out or anything, but I felt a deep regret that now there was only one of the pair left. So I keep it as a sort of penance and a remembrance of the fun of living in the basement.

Conversely, the winter of 1936 was the coldest and snowiest for many years. One day I walked home from school and got stuck in the driveway. The snow came up to my waist and I could not get out. Eventually someone heard my cries and rescued me. My brother made many tunnels through the yard and would pull me on my sled through them all. They were not really tunnels, but more like halls in the snow, as they had no ceilings.

Be prepared for more memories, as I am in a remembering mode. I hope I trigger some memories in you. Take care.

The Great Big Spider Mystery

I do not have a picture yet for this story. I hope to be able to include one at a later date. I have a note on my computer that says "Fitness Spiders." Lynette swears that when she comes in to open the gym early in the morning, she turns on the lights and huge (saucer size) spiders skitter across the floor, racing to hide. I tried to do some research on the net for this story, and the experts say that there is no such spider possible in Minnesota.
However, several other members swear that they have seen such spiders in their barns. There is even a rumor of such a huge spider that is PINK that has been seen. At present we think that the pink spiders stay in the beauty parlor that adjoins the gym. That would seem to be segregation because pink is a feminine color?
Someone else says she presently has such spiders in the outbuildings of their place.
To date, no one seems to have been able to catch one of these spiders. Freddy makes unmerciful fun of Lynette for having such a phobia of spiders that she sees one spider and magnifies the size by 100 percent merely because of her fright.
I come down on the side that I agree that Lynette sees something of the size she reports, I just doubt that it is technically a spider.
I have been forced by ill-health to be absent from the gym for a bit, so I am not too up to date on this controversy. Can someone bring us up to date?
Take care.

fair weather friends?

Does this picture satisfy better? Hmmmmmmmmm? Both George and I are struck down with coughing and fever. Not fun, but we go to see the doctor tomorrow. hopefully he will have some magical elixir to help us out.

I have spent an inordinate amount of time in my awesome recliner as I start to cough the minute I lay down flat. I do wonder how long the recliner will survive this overuse... oh, well, I can always go hunting for another one. I have been missing the fun at the gym, but I am trying to be a wise person and stay home until I feel better for sure.

Now. Send me an upbeat comment not a belly-aching one. I need positive vibes! Take care.

woe's me

Just thought I would include this sprightly picture to make your day brighter! My kids would recognize the scarf and realize that I have a sore throat. I really do not feel as bad as this picture would indicate, but I can't resist the drama!

I discovered a new book store yesterday in Alexandria. The Cherry Street Book Store. Heaven. I spent three hours there perusing the many volumes and sitting in a very comfortable leather chair. Coffee available. Heaven.

Then I came home and realized that I was getting sick again. sigh. I had had a sore throat the night before, but by the morning it had disappeared. I sighed with relief only to be reattacked later. I should have remembered my mother's dictum: 24 hours without fever before you go out. Oh, well. I now have several books that I got yesterday to entertain me. And, with some chicken broth, I should feel better soon.

Y'all, take care. Luckily the bug will not attack over cyberspace.

Encouragement...

This is a painting of mine that Fran has. It gives us encouragement as we see the plants going into their winter sleep. Spring will come.

I have a friend who does not seem to value her art. She often says that it is just a piece of paper after all. I try to convince her that the paper is not the point. It is the part of her soul that she places on the paper that makes it worthwhile.

The truth is probably in the middle somewhere. I get freedom in my painting by thinking that it is, after all, only a piece of paper. If I screw up, I can start over. It is, after all, only a piece of paper. But then, after the painting gets started and is complete, it is so much more than just a piece of paper. To me it is a sort of miracle. I start out on the clean piece of paper, make some marks and add color, and it becomes something that has not been before. Great fun.

During the last year of his life, when Paul Klee knew he was dying of scleroderma, he painted over 1200 paintings. He just went at it hammer and tongs. One of his paintings looks like a kid with a brown grocery sack over his head. I've thought about the tragedy of that painting. How that must have been how his face felt to him. His face had become a hardening mask. If one does not know the story of his life, the painting is still interesting. Think... He painted over three paintings, on average, each day. It encourages me to just let it rip. Eventually, you will have the courage to let your soul out and onto the paper. Then the paper becomes a painting. And a painting is much more than just the paper. A painting is a life.

Take care

wow! a pair of fours!

Another case of putting a picture in just for fun. This is a picture of an acquaintance of mine. I don't even know which of the girls is my acquaintance, but it's a great picture!

I read over my blog to see what all the fuss is about. What I MEANT to say is that it is hard to know when to stop painting on any particular painting. When the PAINTING is done... but what I did say was something completely different. Sorry about that. Maybe it was my subconscious taking over, as I have had a hard time getting into the painting mode, and perhaps I am pondering whether just to pack it in and sit in a chair and read. Sob, sob. Nope. Not quite yet. Too much to do yet.

We went to the play at the AAAA Theatre in Alexandria. Carol Jean picked me up, we met Karen for a bite to eat at the new Bella's, and then separated. Karen plays flute in the orchestra, and Carol Jean and I had seats P3 and P4 Left to see a rendition of "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum."

Right away we could see the awesome set. It was designed by Roxanne Sorenson, a fellow artist, and constructed by Quincy Roers. Stellar.

Because I am "hearing challenged" I was concerned about sitting 3/4 of the way back and on the side. The accoustics and sound system was such that I heard 99 percent of all that was said. Fantastic. And the acting was surprisingly good. The main characters were as good as one might see in any of the big city venues. Pete Woit was Pseudolus. His character holds the play together and sings several solos. Excellent. Joe Korkowski was Hysterium and he stole the show. Fabulous acting and good singing. I must say I was surprised at the quality of the production. Hats off to the director, Merlin Peterson.

Watching Joe become convinced that he was "lovely" as Pete had him dressed in a dress was hysterical. The realization of his loveliness that shone from his eyes was so much fun. We had a lovely night out thanks to the Quad A Theatre!

Take care.

When action is best - or not...

I am including a picture just because I like the looks of my blog best when I have a picture included. This is a painting that I entitled "You, too." It belongs to Naomi and Tony as a gift from Tony's mom.

As an addendum to the question that I posed to you in my last blog, when is it best to act and when is it better to contemplate and wait a bit? The most difficult thing about painting is when is the painting done? When should one quit? That is a sort of corollary to the question I posed about life - and collar bones.

Sometimes the need for immediate action is obvious. Someone gets hurt right in front of us and we are obligated to assist. But sometimes the need for playing a waiting game should be obvious. When a teenager gets in to trouble, should his parent rush to assist him/her, or let him/her stew in the difficulties to learn that there are consequences to actions. It is easy to rush in too soon. We all have needed the wisdom of Solomon during the growing up years of our children.

Now, I have the luxury of worrying about whether it is time to stop painting... the painting is finished.... or not???????? And the endless little things related to health issues. Should I go and have my symptom checked out or wait awhile. Hm? Each thing should be decided on its own merits is what I have decided. Hopefully we all make the right decision. Take care.

customs

There are various differences in the treatment of injuries in each country. When we were living in Brazil, John broke his collarbone. I wish I had the patience to hunt up a picture of how he looked after his treatment. He had a full torso cast with his arm also encased at a right angle to his torso. For many weeks he existed in this manner, unable to do much of anything except walk and sit. As I remember it was his left arm, so at least he could write as he is right handed. It was a major health issue.
When we had returned to the States, he once again broke a collarbone playing football, I think. He went to the doctor and returned in just the same state as when he went. They had done NOTHING to the boy. I went and inquired as to what the treatment was. They said, oh, it would heal itself, but if I was not satisfied with that, they could rig up a sling that he could wear.
I was simply amazed at the difference in the treatments for the same injury. The collarbone did mend itself and all was well.
The trouble with the Brazilian treatment is that it affected so much of his boy-life. It kept him from sports and any other activities. Even sleep was difficult. Amazing.
When no treatment was probably the best way. At least, it seemed to work perfectly later.
I wonder if we complicate matters in other ways, when if we would just wait awhile, things would correct themselves. What do you think?
Take care.

Yeah, right

That's four comments? Two people chatting back and forth? C'mon. The comments were entertaining, however, so I'll allow it this time. Right.
I am doing more and more things as I feel better. Drove to Battle Lake yesterday for a board meeting. Sat through the board meeting! Ate lunch and chatted with my friends and drove home. Went to the doctor in the afternoon. Came home exhausted and fell asleep in the comfy recliner for three hours. Oh, yeah, I'm really frisky!
I looked up the word "chatelaine" which describes a type of adornment worn by women who were heads of households or castles (!) to hold the household keys or instruments needed for needlework, etc. So it would be more romantic, perhaps, to call my deal a chatelaine. The lanyard is a nautical term for the neck rope used for the suspension of a whistle. I do have a whistle I could suspend on my deal, I suppose, but for what purpose? To defend myself from the ravening hordes at the gym? When they get out of hand I could blow my whistle? But who would come to rescue me? HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM? Who?
Well, enough nonsense for one day. Hope to get to the gym this morning to laugh with the hordes of hula hoopers there. After my illness they have at least stopped pestering me to try the hula hoop. I must be thankful for small favors.
Take care.

wow

Six comments! I'm absolutely agog.

I forgot to tell you about something from the stay at Lake Anna... in Virgina. One of the women who was there was injured in a waterski accident. She wiped out and hurt an already chancy hip condition. So for most of the time she was hobbling around with crutches. Her name was Gina, I thought, but it turns out it was Jeanna. She works with horses and had some stuff with her put out by Mane and Tail called Hoof Maker! It can be used by people like me who have disappearing fingernails. I've griped about this for many a long year with no help in sight. THIS STUFF SEEMS TO WORK!.... I haven't been able to find Mane and Tail products locally, but I found Farnum Hoof Saver at Fleet Farm. We'll see if that is as good. I am so excited. If any of you know where they have Mane and Tail products locally please let me know.

It's so much fun for me to read Fran's memoir of her life. I suppose she was 12 years old before I would have any chance of remembering anything of our family life, so her memories are very cherished by me. I will try to start writing to match her assignments. We'll see the differences that occur! Fun.

Take care... and remember the magic of four.