Winter's a'comin!

Well, if you aren't convinced by the reading on your thermometer, you will be when the big snow storm comes on Saturday. I'm convinced it's coming as it is approaching from Colorado and will be roaring down on us in the afternoon on Saturday.
We will have to get reacquainted with the concept of emergency kits and blankets in our cars. We need to be sure our cell phones are well charged (Maybe it would be a good idea to bring the plug in charger with... hmmm.). The hardest thing for me is to refrain from just driving somewhere for the thrill of the inclemency of the weather around me. I do love driving in terrible weather.

I attribute this to my Viking blood. Any kind of big challenge rouses my fighting instincts. I even wrote a poem to that effect that was mercilessly made fun of by my instructor. He was sure that I didn't have that fighting instinct in me that made it reasonable to compare myself to a Viking. Hmmmm. Obvious to my friends that he REALLY didn't know me very well.

Of course, my cooler head usually prevails. But the look in my eye of absolute ferocity usually does the trick. I love living in the area that has four distinct seasons. Without the awfullness of winter, spring wouldn't be nearly as appreciated. At least, that is my position!

Take care.

Ring around the Rosy

The first snow is always fun. I especially like it because it highlights certain as yet unforseen things. This is a picture of the first snow highlighting how George did his final tilling of the garden. I hadn't realized that he did it in this neat rotary motion. Too cool.

I remember being on a trip with him. He was fishing in the Snake River, and I was just doing my thing waiting for him to return. I made a mound of dirt with a miniature road snaking around and up it. At the top of the mound I put an opened oreo cookie, imitating a volcano. Somewhere I have a picture of this master piece. Very convincing except that you can see my toe in the bottom corner of the picture. Now I would simply crop the picture, but at the time doing that to a slide was next to impossible.

That was one of the events during a five week camping trip that we took in 1956. We went out west to California, north to Canada and returned through Canada and the Dakotas. It was a blast. We stayed in a motel either 4 or 5 nights, but the rest of the time we camped. The camping craze was just getting started in America. We had a little umbrella tent, a station wagon and a camp kitchen that George had made for the back of the station wagon. When we would be getting set up, all the campers would come over to ooh and aah over this innovation. When we sold that station wagon, we tried to burn the camp kitchen as it no longer fit in the new station wagon. Now THAT was a job. It did NOT want to burn. It only finally gave up after a struggle.

I love to camp. Some of my friends consider it torture. To each his own! Fer sure.

Take care.

Blue

Your urging to display a recent art work got me to photographing this start of a new art work. If you notice the background of my blog you will see - BLUE. It seems to be a trend.

Fran has been taking a course at the Loft in writing a memoir. As a result I have been following suit and dredging up some memories. What I have discovered, however, is that things that I remember as clear as a bell have been altered by having gone into the family lore. Then I begin to doubt by memory, as I was a particularly obtuse teenager. I was smart, but I was also somewhat isolated. I should start to relate some of my activities as a teenager at East High in Madison, Wisconsin, to see who would come out of the wood work to challenge my memories. I am also trying to protect those who are in my memories before I include them in my blog. So I probably fudge a bit here and there.

Memory is such a tricky thing. Fran has done research and is doing her work based on a superstructure of history. My memories are just memories. Not based on anything but my failing remembrance of things past. So those of you who are part of that memory time will just have to give me a break! And point out differences when there are some!

Have a great Sunday. Take care.

Thanksgiving

It just goes to show you that I am a bit slow these days. I am writing about Turkey day the day after Thanksgiving. I am really immensely thankful for my friends and family. Carol and Carl had us over yesterday for a sumptuous feast. I appreciated the feast, of course, but the better part of it all was the get together part with good friends and their family.

The sparkle of friendship is just the best thing in the world. To be with people who are fun and with whom you can speak your piece as you wish is so wonderful. As I grow older, I find that I speak my piece a bit more than I used to. (Hey, what if I spoke my PEACE - that would be better maybe!) But to be able to share that which bubbles up to the surface of your mind with those close to you is a great blessing.

During my life time I've thrown kisses on occasion. Surely you have done the same? Where you kiss the palm of your hand and throw the kiss to the person who is leaving. The person catches the kiss and presses it to his heart.. then does the same back to you? Consider yourself the recipient of SEVERAL thrown kisses. The fact that you soldier on and read this blog means that you are worthy of those kisses. Thanks for everything! And Thanks Be to God!

Take care.

Memories - 9

Dad knew a car dealer who was extremely proud of his accomlishments. Dad was the sort who didn't believe in putting on the dog, so he took delight in playing gin rummy with Ted and beating him. They both thoroughly enjoyed the contests. They kept meticulous records on lined yellow legal sized pages. There was some way they could play so that each game would contribute the scores in the next game.. all way too complicated for me to care to figure out. But they would play hour after hour. My dad the peasant with Ted the bon vivant sophisticate. It was an entertaining time. Mom would make great meals and they would talk and play gin rummy.

One Sunday Ted took us (Dad, Mom and me) out to dinner at the fanciest hotel in Madison. He ordered the best steak, I think it was chateaubriand, for us. As we were teetotalers, he couldn't impress us with his knowledge of wine, but he did the best he could. As we finished the meal, he asked, "Well? How was it?" Dad paused, patted his mouth with the linen napkin, and replied, "Well.. It was filling."

At that reply, I got the giggles, Ted joined in, and we laughed until we cried. Somehow, Ted always tried to impress and Dad always impressed without trying. The people around us looked at us with disapproval, but we were beyond caring.

Memories 8

Fran went off to St. Olaf College when I was only six years old. She got the starring role in a play, and mother and some other ladies and I went up to take it in.

She was great. I didn't quite get what was going on, because when she paused at the steps contemplating going up into the attic where Rochester's wife was hidden away, I shouted, "Don't go up there!" I took her welfare very seriously even then. After all, she is my sister.

When we got back home we discovered that Bud had broken his arm while we were gone, and the tin pan that was used for rinsing the dishes had rusted. Dad was not as good a housekeeper as mother. He was NOT, however, responsible for the breaking of Bud's arm. That was entirely Bud's own fault. He wasn't able to jump as far as he thought he could.

Bud had rigged up the closet in his front bedroom as a little office. He had made himself a crystal set radio there. That was how we heard the news of Pearl Harbor. I can see the scene yet - as can anyone who has been involved in the news of a great disaster. I was standing behind him as he sat at his small radio set. I didn't understand all the ramifications of the news, but I knew we were in great trouble as a country. Bud and I took the news to mom and dad.

Take care.

Brrrrr.

This time of year is a mixture of cold and not so cold. It's a difficult decision deciding which coat to wear. Should I wear my honest-to-goodness winter coat which looks as though i am Mrs. Santa Claus, or should I settle for a fall coat? The last couple of days I have opted for the Mrs. S. C. coat. Better safe than sorry, eh wot?

Those of you who like to chat with Naomi should take a chance and take a peek at her blog. The link is on the side of this page. It is entitled "Naomi." Such a surprise. And now that you have mastered the fine art of leaving a comment on this page, you could do the same on hers! The other links I have on tap are sort of dated, but she is trying to get hers going again. Give her a look-see. The last two blogs have awesome pix of her new house.

She is the one who got me going writing this page. It has been so much fun. Now that she has moved away to Portland, it is one way we can stay connected. We also talk on the phone. I must say, however, I miss her close proximity. Such a sweety.

Take care. And DO check out Naomi's blog... pleeeeeeeeeeeeeez.

Memories 7

All through my childhood, I slept in the upstairs back bedroom and Bud had the upstairs front bedroom.

"Beau Geste" was the first book I stayed up all night to read.
I was reading away when the alarm clock woke Bud to go on his early Sunday morning paper route. I had the lamp on, so he came back to see what was happening. I feigned sleep, and he gently took the book out of my hand, pulled the quilt up to my chin and turned out the lamp. He was such a sweetheart of a brother... and still is, actually, my sweet brother.

I have always been a voracious reader. One day, when I was supposed to be helping my mother with Spring cleaning, I was hiding out in the attic reading "Gone with the Wind." The attic was a portion of the second floor. At the head of the stairs if you turned right and opened a door, you entered this wonderland. All sorts of marvelous things were stored in the attic including a large collection of Big Little Books. Because I was supposed to be helping, mother called and called, but I sat as still as a mouse in the attic reading. I imagine mother knew where I was, but knew she could get more done if I wasn't trying to help.

I am amused at myself that I still have these very books in my hands. After sixty some years, I still feel an attachment to the books and the memories they evoke. Now, if only I had that collection of Big Little Books... that would be a treasure trove. Do you all remember what they were like? Great fun.

Take care.

Bellyaching 1

NEVER hesitate to beat the drum for a new blog. I depend on your feedback for encouragement. I am having a bit of trouble with the blog master, so this is not Memories 7, but bellyaching 1.

We are home. Fall approaches. George is recovering just fine from his gallbladder surgery, but now his sciatica/herniated disk in his spine is acting up as he has been unable to do all of the exercises he was assigned and which were really helping him. He cannot at the present moment get out of his recliner. Hmmm. I'll let you know how this progresses.

I have figured out how to upload a picture (download?) from my camera. It was necessary to give my little sweetie, the computer, a different command and there it was. Now I am having difficulty getting the blog to download the picture. Endless irritations. As long as I have ultimate success, I don't mind a few bumps along the road.

Remember to beat the drum. Multiple drums are just the greatest! Take care

Memories 7

Tah Dah!!

This is a picture from a year ago or so. We never made it to Virginia. We got to the Holiday Inn and George was stricken with GREAT PAIN about 2 am. So all of our flight plans got cancelled on the spot and in the morning we found a hospital which had walk-in-care. We entered at 8:45 am and left at 4:15 pm. George had every diagnostic test until they determined that his Gall bladder had to be removed NOW. So the doctor called MeritCare and a surgeon there (Blessings on all the doctors and nurses) and by 6 or so, George was having his gall bladder removed by laproscopic (sp.) surgery. Voila. He's doing well today and we trundled home to Evansville. Ah, the miracles of modern surgery. I had my gallbladder removed some years ago, and it was a major slicing deal. This new way is really slick.

We will have to trundle off to Virginia again soon, but, for now, we are content to sit in our recliners and recover. Oofta.

Take care!

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.

This is a picture of George and Matthew contemplating the chess board when we were at Lake Anna.

I am interested in your comment, Naomi, about Grandpa's temper. He was "risible." The quality that made it easy for him to be funny and laugh, also made it easy for him to "fly off the handle." I remember his taking us out into the yard to pick a slender branch that he would devest of its leaves and make into a "switch." He would hang that switch in the kitchen above and behind the mirror that hung above the sink. Then when we were being difficult, he would look at the switch with a great and horrific scowl, and we would laugh. He never actually used the switch, he would just use it in that good humored way to help us change the activity, whatever it was.

I found myself using this technique in teaching. I would make a hideous face and slam a book on the desk to shock the students out of bad behavior. Never had to do any more. They would laugh because the faces I made were so awful, they were funny.

We kids learned that dad would "blow up" about small things, but when real emergencies arose he was always there ready to do whatever was necessary. Broken bones or illnesses were handled with great care and attention. He always "had our backs" as the kids say now.

I have an endless store of stories about my dad. I will trickle them out for your amusement and amazement as time goes on. And then there's mom. Wow. You will have to stay tuned to get all of these memories into your own memory box.

Take care.

Memories - 6

I am the baby of my family. My sister Fran is 10 years older than I and Bud is 6 years older.
Our family has always had a love affair with Lake Waubesa outside of McFarland, Wisconsin. Now people have all kinds of fancy speedboats and sailboats, but when I was a child we seemed to have lots of "make-do" boats.

Dad was always patching up rowboats and I have the vestige of a remembrance of his building a boat in the basement.

One summer day, Bud and I took one of our fabulous leaky rowboats for a trek around the lake. We went for quite a ways before we realized that the boat was leaking badly. Turns out all we had to bail with were two little coasters. We made sure to stay close to shore so we could abandon ship if necessary without drowning. We worked like mad, I bailing and he rowing, and we finally got home safely to the lagoon.

Dad had two trailers set up down on the lagoon which fed into the lake. In that way, Fran and her friends could stay in one trailer, and Bud could stay in the other trailer to stand guard! There was a little store on the lakeshore where Mrs. Barr would make us small pies as a special treat. I didn't get to go with Fran, of course, but when she was gone off to college and grown up, I got my chance.

Dad would always take me to do things once. He took me hunting rabbits out around Mud Lake, once. He took me fishing over by Hog Island, once.

The time we went fishing, we were over on the other side of Lake Waubesa when the motor ran out of gas. He had to row all the way home. He was fussing and fuming. I was sitting quiet as a mouse. When we got back, we rushed home, he rushed up the stairs and woke Bud from a sound sleep to accuse him of not putting gas in the motor on purpose. Of course, on cooler consideration, he knew that was foolish.

The adventures of our family on Lake Waubesa continue to this very day, as Bud's offspring continue to live on the shores of Lake Waubesa. Living on the lake is lots of work, but the fun seems to outweigh the chores. Boating of every kind is in our blood.

Take care.

yippee

Did you notice the second comment on the last blog? Izzy is back in this cyber-space world. I was so ecstatic to hear from him and Enid that I'm sure I shouted a little shout!

As to why a dill pickle would be bad if you had mumps. I can't explain the technical reason, but I think because the glands in your neck are all swollen that when the dill pickle (which is acid and vinegar) hits those glands, WATCH OUT. You will just have to take my word for it that it hurts big time.

My camera does not want to connect to my computer at the present, so I am going to have to go shopping for a new one. I'm shopping the internet, but I will wait until we visit out east to go shopping with the expert advice of my son. For the present, I cannot include pix of stuff I have collected which give me memories of the past.

At our book club we talked about the book, "Catseye" or "Cat's Eye." Margaret Atwood is the author of this fantastic book. It takes real courage to read, as the plight of the young girl is so traumatic it is almost painful to think about. Actually, it is not "almost" painful, it is excrutiating. I have been remembering the moments of the past in this blog, but she is such a master of the details of each thing. She describes how they washed clothes, and each of us four members of the book club lit up as we went through each detail. We can remember all of the things she describes. Of course, we are all old enough to do so!

The air is crisp, the sun is shining, the leaves are almost all off the trees, it is a beautiful fall day. Take advantage of this short hiatus before the snow flakes fall. Wahoo.

Take care.