Dear Wife and I take this opportunity to wish YOU a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
During my growing -up years there were few, if any, occasions to celebrate the birth of a new year. For families like mine, walking a financial tightrope, there was no money for "riotous welcoming."
I cannot recall even one time that we welcomed a new year in the traditional way as a family, until we affiliated with a local church that offered us the opportunity to join in a midnight "watchnight service," in a somewhat subdued fashion.
I think the main reason, other than financial, for ignoring celebrations, was my family's aversion to drinking alcohol. My parental grandfather and five of his children were heavy drinkers which probably contributed to their premature deaths. My mother's family was influenced by their Presbyterian heritage which frowned on drinking. The one deviation in that family was a brother who, because of WWI wounds (he lost a forearm and was gassed), reverted to drinking and died rather young of age. My parents, in their retirement years, would indulge occasionally. When Mother and her three sisters dined out (chauffered by my dad), the three women had a cocktail - just one, and Dad had a cold beer.
Knowing my family's drinking history, plus my firsthand knowledge of corporate misuse of alcohol, has given me the incentive to follow my parents' example.
More, later.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
WHAT DID YOU GET ?
That question is what most kids ask at Christmas time. For me, it was easy to answer.
During the Great Depression there was little money for gifts. A large, fresh orange was in each stocking, a fruit we never saw during the year. Clothing was always a present. One year, I got a pair of rust-red corduroy trousers, which earned me the nickname "Rusty," at the school bus stop.
Each year I would get a book. I was always hoping for one of my favorites - the TOM SWIFT SERIES, and I was seldom disappointed. Two books that I remember, and now in my grandson's possession, were ADMIRAL RICHARD E. BYRD'S FLIGHT OVER THE NORTH POLE, and CHARLES LINDBERG'S story, WE, about his flight across the Atlantic.
I bought gifts for my siblings and parents at the nearest Kresge's Five and Ten Cent Store, using money that I had saved from various jobs. During the summer, I worked for a local grocer. On Thursdays I would deliver weekly special circulars in the area. On Saturdays, I would deliver customers orders to their homes and receive generous tips. During the winter, I would clear sidewalks of snow and receive generous tips from the residents.
You see, dear reader, because we were all in the same boat, the U.S.S. GREAT DEPRESSION, A paucity of gifts was the norm. When I compare those times with today's buying excesses, and accompanying mountains of debt, I cannot help but ask WHY?
More, later.
During the Great Depression there was little money for gifts. A large, fresh orange was in each stocking, a fruit we never saw during the year. Clothing was always a present. One year, I got a pair of rust-red corduroy trousers, which earned me the nickname "Rusty," at the school bus stop.
Each year I would get a book. I was always hoping for one of my favorites - the TOM SWIFT SERIES, and I was seldom disappointed. Two books that I remember, and now in my grandson's possession, were ADMIRAL RICHARD E. BYRD'S FLIGHT OVER THE NORTH POLE, and CHARLES LINDBERG'S story, WE, about his flight across the Atlantic.
I bought gifts for my siblings and parents at the nearest Kresge's Five and Ten Cent Store, using money that I had saved from various jobs. During the summer, I worked for a local grocer. On Thursdays I would deliver weekly special circulars in the area. On Saturdays, I would deliver customers orders to their homes and receive generous tips. During the winter, I would clear sidewalks of snow and receive generous tips from the residents.
You see, dear reader, because we were all in the same boat, the U.S.S. GREAT DEPRESSION, A paucity of gifts was the norm. When I compare those times with today's buying excesses, and accompanying mountains of debt, I cannot help but ask WHY?
More, later.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
BELLY FLOPPING
Does the title have any meaning for you?
Whenever we have a considerable snowfall, I think back to my younger days in New Jersey and its wintertime fun. Belly flopping means running at your fastest speed, holding your sled in front of you. At the zenith of your speed, put down the sled and flop onto it for as long a ride as possible. Fun! Fun! Fun!
When not riding downhill, my buddies and I engaged in a somewhat risky "bus ride." We waited at a bus stop for a bus to stop, and when it started to move, we ran to the rear of that bus, flopped down on our sleds and grabbed the rear bumper for a fast, sometimes bumpy ride. Fun, but dangerous.
A few years ago, I made an attempt to demonstrate "belly flopping" to my grandson. Using our slightly-hilly street to show him how, I ran down the street, lickety-split and flopped down. Unfortunately, I missed the sled and crashed into a hardened snowbank. Grandson ran into the house shouting to his grandmother, "DeeDee, you better come runing, Pop has crashed and he's all bloody! Fun? Not really.
Warning, dear reader, know where your sled is when you flop.
More, later.
Whenever we have a considerable snowfall, I think back to my younger days in New Jersey and its wintertime fun. Belly flopping means running at your fastest speed, holding your sled in front of you. At the zenith of your speed, put down the sled and flop onto it for as long a ride as possible. Fun! Fun! Fun!
When not riding downhill, my buddies and I engaged in a somewhat risky "bus ride." We waited at a bus stop for a bus to stop, and when it started to move, we ran to the rear of that bus, flopped down on our sleds and grabbed the rear bumper for a fast, sometimes bumpy ride. Fun, but dangerous.
A few years ago, I made an attempt to demonstrate "belly flopping" to my grandson. Using our slightly-hilly street to show him how, I ran down the street, lickety-split and flopped down. Unfortunately, I missed the sled and crashed into a hardened snowbank. Grandson ran into the house shouting to his grandmother, "DeeDee, you better come runing, Pop has crashed and he's all bloody! Fun? Not really.
Warning, dear reader, know where your sled is when you flop.
More, later.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
GO ARMY/GO NAVY
It started 117 years ago.
In 1890, the Naval Academy challenged West Point to a football game and won. Since then, the rivalry has continued, interrupted infrequently (WWI, for example). Navy is leading in games won, 52 to 49, with 7 ties. I was fortunate to be involved in one of those games, in Philadelphia.
My involvement happened in 1935, as a high school junior. My math teacher had a connection to the stadium vendors, and every year he took a dozen of his pupils to the game to sell programs. What a deal! We sold each program for one dollar and pocketed fifty cents of that dollar for ourselves. When our quota was sold, we could go home, or find a seat to watch the game. I chose the latter, treated myself to hot dogs and soda and still went home LOADED with money - which I promptly gave to my grateful mother.
A brief history: In 1899, Philadelphia was chosen a neutral site and has remained so for most of the years. When the Air Force Academy joined the competition, it became a challenge for the Commander-in-Chief's Cup, with the winner accepting the award at the White House.
So, dear readers, when attending your next sporting event, buy a program, and brighten your kid's day.
More, later.
In 1890, the Naval Academy challenged West Point to a football game and won. Since then, the rivalry has continued, interrupted infrequently (WWI, for example). Navy is leading in games won, 52 to 49, with 7 ties. I was fortunate to be involved in one of those games, in Philadelphia.
My involvement happened in 1935, as a high school junior. My math teacher had a connection to the stadium vendors, and every year he took a dozen of his pupils to the game to sell programs. What a deal! We sold each program for one dollar and pocketed fifty cents of that dollar for ourselves. When our quota was sold, we could go home, or find a seat to watch the game. I chose the latter, treated myself to hot dogs and soda and still went home LOADED with money - which I promptly gave to my grateful mother.
A brief history: In 1899, Philadelphia was chosen a neutral site and has remained so for most of the years. When the Air Force Academy joined the competition, it became a challenge for the Commander-in-Chief's Cup, with the winner accepting the award at the White House.
So, dear readers, when attending your next sporting event, buy a program, and brighten your kid's day.
More, later.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
LOCAL CASH FOR LOCAL USE
A recent article in the Washington Post National Weekly wrote about the London (England) suburb of Braxton, printing its own currency as an economic booster. During the GREAT DEPRESSION, hundreds of local governments in our country did the same thing.
In the city where I lived, my dad, a fireman, was paid in "scrip," a paper that we kids called "funny money." It wasn't funny to my mother because some of the merchants would not accept it for payment. What was the solution?
I was the solution! On payday, my mother would send me to the city hall tax office with some "scrip." If people came in to pay their tax bill with federal greenbacks, I would ask them to exchange them for my "scrip," as the city was obligated to accept the "scrip" in payment of bills.
If I was successful, mother and the merchants were very happy.
A certain "funny money" brought happiness to our home in recent years when Dear Wife brought out the board game, Monopoly, to entertain visiting grandchildren. Oh, such fun, to be able to barter for property exchanges and build up "funny money" reserves. Precious memories.
Precious memories of our good life in America have gone "down the tube," caused by the country's disastrous financial collapse. Hopefully, we are on the move again to better days.
More, Later.
In the city where I lived, my dad, a fireman, was paid in "scrip," a paper that we kids called "funny money." It wasn't funny to my mother because some of the merchants would not accept it for payment. What was the solution?
I was the solution! On payday, my mother would send me to the city hall tax office with some "scrip." If people came in to pay their tax bill with federal greenbacks, I would ask them to exchange them for my "scrip," as the city was obligated to accept the "scrip" in payment of bills.
If I was successful, mother and the merchants were very happy.
A certain "funny money" brought happiness to our home in recent years when Dear Wife brought out the board game, Monopoly, to entertain visiting grandchildren. Oh, such fun, to be able to barter for property exchanges and build up "funny money" reserves. Precious memories.
Precious memories of our good life in America have gone "down the tube," caused by the country's disastrous financial collapse. Hopefully, we are on the move again to better days.
More, Later.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
SCRATCHING FOR A LIVING
Today, millions of turkeys are consumed in the U.S.A.; it wasn't always so.
One of my cousins married a turkey farmer and they literally had to "scratch out a living," until post WWII turkey breeding became profitable.
There were three reasons for little or no profit. Number one was that annual turkey consumption per capita was just three pounds! Number two reason was that turkey was eaten only during Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Number three reason was that distribution was local, to individuals like my mother, or at farmer's markets.
Post WWII breeding changes produced larger birds, with today's per capita consumption at twenty three pounds! Dear wife frequently buys a six pound turkey breast and we enjoy many delicious meals from it.
I recall one time that consumption was a disaster. During WWII, my ship came into port for refueling and restocking. It was Thanksgiving time and the captain invited guests for a turkey dinner. The crew ate all of the turkey, leaving none for the captain and his guests. The captain was so d--- mad that he had the quarantine flag hoisted and we lost two days of liberty. Not funny, Magee!!
So, dear reader, "gobble up" your well-bred turkey to keep the per capita consumption high.
More, later.
P.S. I got the apple pie!
One of my cousins married a turkey farmer and they literally had to "scratch out a living," until post WWII turkey breeding became profitable.
There were three reasons for little or no profit. Number one was that annual turkey consumption per capita was just three pounds! Number two reason was that turkey was eaten only during Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Number three reason was that distribution was local, to individuals like my mother, or at farmer's markets.
Post WWII breeding changes produced larger birds, with today's per capita consumption at twenty three pounds! Dear wife frequently buys a six pound turkey breast and we enjoy many delicious meals from it.
I recall one time that consumption was a disaster. During WWII, my ship came into port for refueling and restocking. It was Thanksgiving time and the captain invited guests for a turkey dinner. The crew ate all of the turkey, leaving none for the captain and his guests. The captain was so d--- mad that he had the quarantine flag hoisted and we lost two days of liberty. Not funny, Magee!!
So, dear reader, "gobble up" your well-bred turkey to keep the per capita consumption high.
More, later.
P.S. I got the apple pie!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
APPLE PIE
Each of you must have a favorite dessert; mine is apple pie.
It seems that in every generation within a family, there are "dessert specialists." My mother was a cake baker, her sister Sarah was a baker of fruit pies, and her sister Ellen made the world's tastiest key lime pie. Dear Wife has a reputation as a baker extraordinaire, both within and without the family circle.
At home, mother served apple pie with a slice of cheddar cheese. This might have been a custom brought from Ireland. To this day, that is my preference. My Chicago granddaughter sent me this verse as a reminder:
BUT I, WHEN I UNDRESS ME
EACH NIGHT, UPON MY KNEES
WILL ASK THE LORD TO BLESS ME
WITH APPLE PIE AND CHEESE. (E. Field)
A recent news article asked, "IS CHEESE ON APPLE PIE REQUIRED BY LAW (in restaurants) ?" The answer is NO, although there once was a Wisconsin law that required a serving of butter and cheese with each meal, (a reasonable request in the Dairy State, wouldn't you say?). That law became Wisconsin's first sunset law.
I'm sure, dear reader, that when Dear Wife reads this blog she'll go straight to the kitchen and bake me a you-know-what. Oh, fortunate me!
More, later.
It seems that in every generation within a family, there are "dessert specialists." My mother was a cake baker, her sister Sarah was a baker of fruit pies, and her sister Ellen made the world's tastiest key lime pie. Dear Wife has a reputation as a baker extraordinaire, both within and without the family circle.
At home, mother served apple pie with a slice of cheddar cheese. This might have been a custom brought from Ireland. To this day, that is my preference. My Chicago granddaughter sent me this verse as a reminder:
BUT I, WHEN I UNDRESS ME
EACH NIGHT, UPON MY KNEES
WILL ASK THE LORD TO BLESS ME
WITH APPLE PIE AND CHEESE. (E. Field)
A recent news article asked, "IS CHEESE ON APPLE PIE REQUIRED BY LAW (in restaurants) ?" The answer is NO, although there once was a Wisconsin law that required a serving of butter and cheese with each meal, (a reasonable request in the Dairy State, wouldn't you say?). That law became Wisconsin's first sunset law.
I'm sure, dear reader, that when Dear Wife reads this blog she'll go straight to the kitchen and bake me a you-know-what. Oh, fortunate me!
More, later.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
SHOES
"Mom, there's a knife in one of them." Sure enough, the calf-length winter shoes had an outside pocket sown on one leg and in that pocket was a shiny knife. Wow!
During the Great Depression years, shoes had to last a long, long time as a major item in the family budget. Broken laces? No problem, Mom sewed them together. Hole in the sole? No problem, Dad glued a 25 cent rubber replacement. So, dear reader, you can see why new shoes WITH A POCKET KNIFE were a big deal to me.
Speaking of big deals, did you read a recent Washington Post National Weekly article about President Lincoln's boots? On the bicentennial of his birth, the examiner, M. A Caranacchi, said, "No other garment that we wear retains such an imprint of the person who wore it."
Another recent article quoted a woman who had just received a $600 bonus and said, "I'm going to spend it all on shoes!!" What is it that drives people (women?) to excess when it comes to shoes? The late president of the Philippines, Imelda Marcus, had SEVERAL THOUSAND PAIRS OF SHOES and bragged about it, while the majority of her people were going shoeless.
Want shoes to be a big deal in your life? Let your next shoe purchase be for a person in need of same.
More, later.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
LIGHTS OUT
It's true. The soap opera GUIDING LIGHT is dead!!
On September 19, 2009, the lights on the show, conceived by Irna Phillips, for radio in 1937, went out after playing 15,000 episodes on radio and television, a span of 72 years. If my Aunt Jerrie were still alive, this would have been a disaster.
When my widowed auntie retired, having spent all of her adult life in the nursing profession, she went to live with her sister Sarah. Living in a homey atmosphere for the first time in many years, she found the operas to be so relaxing and appealing, they became the focal point of her day. Her calendar appointments were made so as not to interfere with the shows, and it would take an event of major importance to get her away from the "tube."
Our family had a favorite radio serial show called ONE MAN'S FAMILY. We lived each week with Henry Barbour, his wife and five children who lived in San Francisco, agonizing with them over decisions - right or wrong. This show became the longest running radio serial show, beginning in 1932 and ending in 1959.
The state of Wisconsin Historical Society has become the depository for the Phillips and Proctor & Gambel Foundation (corporate sponsor) papers. Stop in to get a glimpse of Americana of old because you will not find it on your Blackberry!
More, later.
On September 19, 2009, the lights on the show, conceived by Irna Phillips, for radio in 1937, went out after playing 15,000 episodes on radio and television, a span of 72 years. If my Aunt Jerrie were still alive, this would have been a disaster.
When my widowed auntie retired, having spent all of her adult life in the nursing profession, she went to live with her sister Sarah. Living in a homey atmosphere for the first time in many years, she found the operas to be so relaxing and appealing, they became the focal point of her day. Her calendar appointments were made so as not to interfere with the shows, and it would take an event of major importance to get her away from the "tube."
Our family had a favorite radio serial show called ONE MAN'S FAMILY. We lived each week with Henry Barbour, his wife and five children who lived in San Francisco, agonizing with them over decisions - right or wrong. This show became the longest running radio serial show, beginning in 1932 and ending in 1959.
The state of Wisconsin Historical Society has become the depository for the Phillips and Proctor & Gambel Foundation (corporate sponsor) papers. Stop in to get a glimpse of Americana of old because you will not find it on your Blackberry!
More, later.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
THE LADY OF THE LAMP
On October 28th, the Lady will celebrate her 123 dedication anniversary as a gift from the people of France. The Lady is the Statue of Liberty, located in New York City's Upper Bay. She has been viewed by up to 12 million immigrants, including my Irish mother, as they debarked onto Ellis Island, gateway to the new world.
Mother traveled from Ireland at the age of 18 to join her two preceding sisters. Two events of that trip remained etched in her memory. Number one was her view of the Lady that made her realize that, indeed, she was entering a new world and a new life.
Number two, was a marriage proposal! A young Englishman who claimed "love at first sight," promised that he would give her a cottage in the country with a white picket fence covered with red "roseses." Mother would have none of that, proclaiming first of all that she was not in love with him, and secondly, she couldn't possibly consider such a thing without the consent of her two sisters. The crestfallen suitor disappeared, never to resurface.
As a member of the Ellis Island Association, I had my mother's name etched into a memorial stone. So, dear reader, if you chance to visit Ellis Island, look for Agnes Jane Fisher's name and give her a pat for me.
More, later.
Mother traveled from Ireland at the age of 18 to join her two preceding sisters. Two events of that trip remained etched in her memory. Number one was her view of the Lady that made her realize that, indeed, she was entering a new world and a new life.
Number two, was a marriage proposal! A young Englishman who claimed "love at first sight," promised that he would give her a cottage in the country with a white picket fence covered with red "roseses." Mother would have none of that, proclaiming first of all that she was not in love with him, and secondly, she couldn't possibly consider such a thing without the consent of her two sisters. The crestfallen suitor disappeared, never to resurface.
As a member of the Ellis Island Association, I had my mother's name etched into a memorial stone. So, dear reader, if you chance to visit Ellis Island, look for Agnes Jane Fisher's name and give her a pat for me.
More, later.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
MY UNCLE ED
Uncle Ed was short, but stocky in build. He had the world's warmest smile and I loved him for it.
Two of my dad's sisters married men of Italian descent and lived happily thereafter. The Italian/Irish blend must be a good mixture. Both of these families had large numbers of children which made for entertaining visits. With a large number of mouths to feed, Uncle Ed was a busy man. He was a craftsman carpenter who could build a house (he built two of them), or design an intricate wood carving. He built some bookcases for me.
Even with his busyness, he and Aunt Kate always welcomed visitors. After a welcoming drink of anisette (ugh!), we would sit down to a baked chicken and spaghetti dinner, with chickens freshly killed by Uncle. I believe my love for spaghetti started in that kitchen.
After Aunt Kate's death, Uncle Ed moved to Florida to be near a sister and we lost touch for a while. One day I got a call from a cousin saying that Uncle Ed was back in town, but quite ill. I hurried to see him, got that same warm smile and spent several hours reminiscing. As I kissed him goodbye on the cheek, I somehow felt that it would by my last time with him. He died within days of that visit.
Thanks, Uncle Ed, for those memories.
More, later.
Two of my dad's sisters married men of Italian descent and lived happily thereafter. The Italian/Irish blend must be a good mixture. Both of these families had large numbers of children which made for entertaining visits. With a large number of mouths to feed, Uncle Ed was a busy man. He was a craftsman carpenter who could build a house (he built two of them), or design an intricate wood carving. He built some bookcases for me.
Even with his busyness, he and Aunt Kate always welcomed visitors. After a welcoming drink of anisette (ugh!), we would sit down to a baked chicken and spaghetti dinner, with chickens freshly killed by Uncle. I believe my love for spaghetti started in that kitchen.
After Aunt Kate's death, Uncle Ed moved to Florida to be near a sister and we lost touch for a while. One day I got a call from a cousin saying that Uncle Ed was back in town, but quite ill. I hurried to see him, got that same warm smile and spent several hours reminiscing. As I kissed him goodbye on the cheek, I somehow felt that it would by my last time with him. He died within days of that visit.
Thanks, Uncle Ed, for those memories.
More, later.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
MICKEY - MINNIE - PLUTO
Take your pick of these favorite cartoon characters from the Walt Disney Company, a company that began as Disney Brothers Cartoon Studio on October 16, 1923. The Disney Company has become one of the world's largest media and entertainment companies built upon Mickey and Minnie Mouse and other cartoon characters and eleven theme parks around the world, begun at Disneyland (Calif.), in 1955.
As a youngster, entertainment outside of my home was limited to summer activities. Our primary pleasure was the New Jersey seashore. Occasionally, my mother would pack enough food for the day and we would ride the Atlantic City express train ($1.00 per person, round trip) to the beach, returning late in the day with sunburn, itchy skin and sandy pants.
Our home entertainment was Clementon Lake Park, where we could enjoy a day of swimming. My greatest pleasure was jumping off of a tri-level diving platform. On one occasion my dad decided that "if the kids could do it, he could do it." Diving from the top level, he changed his mind halfway down and landed on his belly with a huge SPLAT - a sound that could be heard around the lake. My embarrassed father, his face as red as the skin on his body, never tried that again.
So, you see, dear readers, while we didn't have the entertainment extravaganses that you have today, we did, with limited funds, make the best of what we could afford, thanks to loving parents who helped us enjoy our world.
More, later.
As a youngster, entertainment outside of my home was limited to summer activities. Our primary pleasure was the New Jersey seashore. Occasionally, my mother would pack enough food for the day and we would ride the Atlantic City express train ($1.00 per person, round trip) to the beach, returning late in the day with sunburn, itchy skin and sandy pants.
Our home entertainment was Clementon Lake Park, where we could enjoy a day of swimming. My greatest pleasure was jumping off of a tri-level diving platform. On one occasion my dad decided that "if the kids could do it, he could do it." Diving from the top level, he changed his mind halfway down and landed on his belly with a huge SPLAT - a sound that could be heard around the lake. My embarrassed father, his face as red as the skin on his body, never tried that again.
So, you see, dear readers, while we didn't have the entertainment extravaganses that you have today, we did, with limited funds, make the best of what we could afford, thanks to loving parents who helped us enjoy our world.
More, later.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
SOMETHING IS BURNING
When I obtained my New Jersey driver's license at the age of 16, the family Ford became an integral part of my life and I soon had the opportunity to prove it.
My mother agreed. She wanted to visit her sister in Pittsburgh (Pa) and I would drive her there. So, straight west on U.S. Route 30, I drove for almost 300 miles. West of Harrisburg (Pa), we met the "beautiful hills of Pennsylvania," and it was then that I began to smell something burning. Not knowing what that was all about (I didn't have a mechanic's training), we found a garage and learned about burning brakes! Having driven in the flatlands of New Jersey, I wasn't used to hilly country and having to apply my brakes too often. With some advice from the mechanic, off we went without further trouble. The return trip was uneventful, the Ford proving its reliability all the way home.
Speaking of reliability, my dad said that there was no better-built car than the Ford. He was a life-long Ford man, beginning with a used Model A Ford in the early 30s. I was one proud teenager when he taught me to handcrank the engine. My enthusiasm dimmed when he warned me about the possibility of crank backspin. It could easily break my arm.
A recent survey of cars, by brand name in our village parking garage, showed Ford in third place after GMC and Toyota. Dad would have said that something was wrong with those numbers.
Enjoy your "crankless car," dear reader.
More, later.
My mother agreed. She wanted to visit her sister in Pittsburgh (Pa) and I would drive her there. So, straight west on U.S. Route 30, I drove for almost 300 miles. West of Harrisburg (Pa), we met the "beautiful hills of Pennsylvania," and it was then that I began to smell something burning. Not knowing what that was all about (I didn't have a mechanic's training), we found a garage and learned about burning brakes! Having driven in the flatlands of New Jersey, I wasn't used to hilly country and having to apply my brakes too often. With some advice from the mechanic, off we went without further trouble. The return trip was uneventful, the Ford proving its reliability all the way home.
Speaking of reliability, my dad said that there was no better-built car than the Ford. He was a life-long Ford man, beginning with a used Model A Ford in the early 30s. I was one proud teenager when he taught me to handcrank the engine. My enthusiasm dimmed when he warned me about the possibility of crank backspin. It could easily break my arm.
A recent survey of cars, by brand name in our village parking garage, showed Ford in third place after GMC and Toyota. Dad would have said that something was wrong with those numbers.
Enjoy your "crankless car," dear reader.
More, later.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE COMIC STRIIP?
Comic: causing laughter and amusement (Webster).
Seventy nine (79) years ago the comic strip BLONDIE (Dagwood) originated and is still being read. Is that a record or what?
Reading the daily comics was a favorite pastime of mine. Some of my favorites (most of them out of print) were HAIRBREATH HARRY (see him rescue the fair Belinda from the clutches of that villain Rudolph), POPEYE (who "fights to the finish 'cause I eats my spinach"), his sidekick J. Wellington Wimpy, who was always hungry ("come up to my house for a duck dinner -- you bring the duck"), BRINGING UP FATHER (Maggie & Jiggs, the Irish bricklayer, who won the Irish Sweepstakes) and Blondie (Dagwood).
I decided to survey residents of my retirement village about their interest in today's comics and found the following statistics:
Reading today's comics - 23
Not reading today's comics - 27*
Favorites: HAGAR THE HORRIBLE, REX MORGAN, M.D., GARFIELD, REAL LIFE
ADVENTURES and BLONDIE (Dagwood).
*I was surprised at this figure -- where do they get their laughs?
So, dear reader, turn to the comic pages and enjoy, although I can't guarantee that they will make you laugh.
More, later.
Seventy nine (79) years ago the comic strip BLONDIE (Dagwood) originated and is still being read. Is that a record or what?
Reading the daily comics was a favorite pastime of mine. Some of my favorites (most of them out of print) were HAIRBREATH HARRY (see him rescue the fair Belinda from the clutches of that villain Rudolph), POPEYE (who "fights to the finish 'cause I eats my spinach"), his sidekick J. Wellington Wimpy, who was always hungry ("come up to my house for a duck dinner -- you bring the duck"), BRINGING UP FATHER (Maggie & Jiggs, the Irish bricklayer, who won the Irish Sweepstakes) and Blondie (Dagwood).
I decided to survey residents of my retirement village about their interest in today's comics and found the following statistics:
Reading today's comics - 23
Not reading today's comics - 27*
Favorites: HAGAR THE HORRIBLE, REX MORGAN, M.D., GARFIELD, REAL LIFE
ADVENTURES and BLONDIE (Dagwood).
*I was surprised at this figure -- where do they get their laughs?
So, dear reader, turn to the comic pages and enjoy, although I can't guarantee that they will make you laugh.
More, later.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
DON'T FORGET YOUR LUNCH
This phrase is probably the most important statement school children hear every day.
A recent newspaper article went to great lengths to encourage today's "foodie moms" to make supreme efforts to "pack a lunch with punch," an effort that includes not only lunch box contents, but also the preparation and appearance of the same for their darlings. The article includes SIXTEEN tips on achieving these goals. One example is to USE COOKIE CUTTERS TO CUT SANDWICHES INTO FUN SHAPES!! Wow!! Do you suppose my Irish mother would have thought of that? Not exactly.
In my high school years, Mother paid attention to my desire for quantity, quantity, quantity. I usually had several sandwich choices, like bologna (called Great Depression baloney, which it was), American cheese, or hot dogs. Or, if I was really fortunate, leftovers from the previous night's dinner that could be sandwiched -- perhaps green peppers and onions in oil, or my very favorite, spaghetti (with or without meatballs). Three of the latter made for a very filling lunch. Balanced? No. Yummy? Yes.
I remember my grandchildren talking about kids swapping lunches for something more appealing, which I never would have done. There is this story about a first-grader and his very first lunch, lovingly prepared by his "foodie mom." When asked how he liked his lunch, he said, "Oh, I swapped it for two bags of chips."
Enjoy your lunch.
More, later.
A recent newspaper article went to great lengths to encourage today's "foodie moms" to make supreme efforts to "pack a lunch with punch," an effort that includes not only lunch box contents, but also the preparation and appearance of the same for their darlings. The article includes SIXTEEN tips on achieving these goals. One example is to USE COOKIE CUTTERS TO CUT SANDWICHES INTO FUN SHAPES!! Wow!! Do you suppose my Irish mother would have thought of that? Not exactly.
In my high school years, Mother paid attention to my desire for quantity, quantity, quantity. I usually had several sandwich choices, like bologna (called Great Depression baloney, which it was), American cheese, or hot dogs. Or, if I was really fortunate, leftovers from the previous night's dinner that could be sandwiched -- perhaps green peppers and onions in oil, or my very favorite, spaghetti (with or without meatballs). Three of the latter made for a very filling lunch. Balanced? No. Yummy? Yes.
I remember my grandchildren talking about kids swapping lunches for something more appealing, which I never would have done. There is this story about a first-grader and his very first lunch, lovingly prepared by his "foodie mom." When asked how he liked his lunch, he said, "Oh, I swapped it for two bags of chips."
Enjoy your lunch.
More, later.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
CORNELIUS McGILLICUDDY
Now there's a name that begs for attention!
McGillicuddy (better known as Connie Mack), was the manager of the Philadelphia Athletics baseball team for FIFTY YEARS!!
In a previous blog, I mentioned attending A's games at Shibe Park with my dad. In my memory, I can still see Mr. Mack sitting in the dugout, dressed as usual, in a business suit with a tie, waving his scoreboard to position his players as the game progressed.
During his long career in baseball, many notable events took place. Least notable was the Black Sox scandal of 1919. Balancing that, were the record 60 home runs hit by Babe Ruth in 1927, a record that stood for 35 years and Lou Gehrig's start that same year, to a record of 2135 straight games played before his debilitating illness forced him to retire.
At Shibe Park, there were a number of notable events: the first Sunday game played (1934), the first American League game played under the lights (1937), and the first All-Star game played under lights (1943). In 1941, the A's pitcher Lefty Grove became the first 300-game winner.
Connie Mack's record of 3731 career victories will probably never be overtaken. Today's St Louis Cardinals' manager Tony LaRussa, with just over 2500 wins, stands little chance of becoming number one.
Soak up those events that now mean so much to you, dear reader, for they will become the memories that will bring you much pleasure.
More, later.
McGillicuddy (better known as Connie Mack), was the manager of the Philadelphia Athletics baseball team for FIFTY YEARS!!
In a previous blog, I mentioned attending A's games at Shibe Park with my dad. In my memory, I can still see Mr. Mack sitting in the dugout, dressed as usual, in a business suit with a tie, waving his scoreboard to position his players as the game progressed.
During his long career in baseball, many notable events took place. Least notable was the Black Sox scandal of 1919. Balancing that, were the record 60 home runs hit by Babe Ruth in 1927, a record that stood for 35 years and Lou Gehrig's start that same year, to a record of 2135 straight games played before his debilitating illness forced him to retire.
At Shibe Park, there were a number of notable events: the first Sunday game played (1934), the first American League game played under the lights (1937), and the first All-Star game played under lights (1943). In 1941, the A's pitcher Lefty Grove became the first 300-game winner.
Connie Mack's record of 3731 career victories will probably never be overtaken. Today's St Louis Cardinals' manager Tony LaRussa, with just over 2500 wins, stands little chance of becoming number one.
Soak up those events that now mean so much to you, dear reader, for they will become the memories that will bring you much pleasure.
More, later.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
A PRESIDENTIAL SMILE
Some time ago a family member asked if I had ever been physically close to any of the nation's presidents. I said "yes" and here's the story.
Prior to World War II, I was working at a large east coast shipyard. At that time, the Yard was building the battleship U.S.S. South Dakota. I worked as an estimator in the PLATE AND ANGLE SHOP, the shop charged with rolling the massive steel plates that formed the Dakota's hull and gun turrets.
Sometime in 1941(actual date is fuzzy), we got the exciting news that President Franklin D. Roosevelt was coming to make an inspection of the Yard and the Dakota and furthermore, he would be traveling by auto right through our shop, using the 20 foot wide roadway that was our entrance /exit area.
On that appointed day, and the precise hour (the president was a stickler for timeliness), the caravan of cars entered the shop. The band started playing and the crowd began to cheer. I was standing in the front of the line waving a small American flag. When the car got opposite to me, the president looked straight at me, smiled and gave me a "thumbs up" sign. I was so excited that I cried while still cheering. You could feel the president's magnetism as he rode by.
The Dakota was commissioned in 1942 and the ship and I left the yard for overseas service, never to return. When the war ended, so did the shipbuilding, and I guess that's the way it was supposed to be.
More, later.
Prior to World War II, I was working at a large east coast shipyard. At that time, the Yard was building the battleship U.S.S. South Dakota. I worked as an estimator in the PLATE AND ANGLE SHOP, the shop charged with rolling the massive steel plates that formed the Dakota's hull and gun turrets.
Sometime in 1941(actual date is fuzzy), we got the exciting news that President Franklin D. Roosevelt was coming to make an inspection of the Yard and the Dakota and furthermore, he would be traveling by auto right through our shop, using the 20 foot wide roadway that was our entrance /exit area.
On that appointed day, and the precise hour (the president was a stickler for timeliness), the caravan of cars entered the shop. The band started playing and the crowd began to cheer. I was standing in the front of the line waving a small American flag. When the car got opposite to me, the president looked straight at me, smiled and gave me a "thumbs up" sign. I was so excited that I cried while still cheering. You could feel the president's magnetism as he rode by.
The Dakota was commissioned in 1942 and the ship and I left the yard for overseas service, never to return. When the war ended, so did the shipbuilding, and I guess that's the way it was supposed to be.
More, later.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
MY "AUNT" FRANCES
Are you fortunate enough to have a family friend whose input has been meaningful in your life, someone that you call "Auntie" or "Uncle" although they are not biologically connected to you? Such a person was my Aunt Frances.
This family connection began many years ago in Ireland where my mother's family and Auntie's family were close friends. It carried over to this side of the Atlantic when she emigrated to America after World War I. Her fiance was killed during that war and she needed a new beginning. She never married.
Her new life included being a part of our family's life. I believe that my mother made sure of this connection as an effort to bring her some happiness. It was mutually beneficial , as her gentle spirit and Irish humor were always evident, especially when it came time to "read the tea cups" (mentioned in the blog MY IRISH MOTHER).
Her happiness was made more complete when, after World War II, one of her sisters decided to immigrate to America, bringing a niece with her. The niece married an American and raised a family. Auntie and her sister eventually moved into that home and Auntie's last days were made complete.
Why do I tell you this story? Because I want you to nurture the relationship that you have with an auntie or uncle. Call or write them today, and thank them for being a part of your life.
More, later.
This family connection began many years ago in Ireland where my mother's family and Auntie's family were close friends. It carried over to this side of the Atlantic when she emigrated to America after World War I. Her fiance was killed during that war and she needed a new beginning. She never married.
Her new life included being a part of our family's life. I believe that my mother made sure of this connection as an effort to bring her some happiness. It was mutually beneficial , as her gentle spirit and Irish humor were always evident, especially when it came time to "read the tea cups" (mentioned in the blog MY IRISH MOTHER).
Her happiness was made more complete when, after World War II, one of her sisters decided to immigrate to America, bringing a niece with her. The niece married an American and raised a family. Auntie and her sister eventually moved into that home and Auntie's last days were made complete.
Why do I tell you this story? Because I want you to nurture the relationship that you have with an auntie or uncle. Call or write them today, and thank them for being a part of your life.
More, later.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
HOME ON THE RANGE
"Ride 'em cowboy," was the expression running through my mind as I toured the NATIONAL COWBOY AND WESTERN HERITAGE MUSEUM, in Oklahoma City, OK., recently. If you are in the area, a visit there is a MUST.
In my early years, I was fascinated by the image of the cowboy. Western movies were the first movies I remember seeing. For a nickel (yep, five cents), I saw stars like TOM MIX, HOOT GIBSON, KEN MAYNARD, TIM MCCOY and others. Every year our Century Theatre ran a 12-week series called THE COVERED WAGON, starring Tim McCoy, Each chapter ended with that stentorian call to "Circle the wagons," as protection from the marauding "Injuns." We could hardly wait until the following week to find out what had happened.
While some of the actors had distinguished military careers (MCCOY, GIBSON, and GENE AUTRY), GENE AUTRY 's career was probably the most versatile and successful of all. He was the first singing cowboy --his famous song was "RUDOLPH THE RED NOSED REINDEER." He is the only celebrity with five stars on the HOLLYWOOD WALK OF FAME. He was an astute businessman, owning radio and television stations and the LOS ANGELES ANGELS baseball team. He was so esteemed by the ball players that a Number 26 was retired in his honor at the park.
So, dear reader, if you want to enjoy some "REAL OLDIES," get some Western videos or CDs. They will cost you more that a nickel but, you will find them to be great entertainment.
More, later.
P.S All of the men listed here are members of THE COWBOY HALL OF FAME, at the above museum, in Oklahoma City.
In my early years, I was fascinated by the image of the cowboy. Western movies were the first movies I remember seeing. For a nickel (yep, five cents), I saw stars like TOM MIX, HOOT GIBSON, KEN MAYNARD, TIM MCCOY and others. Every year our Century Theatre ran a 12-week series called THE COVERED WAGON, starring Tim McCoy, Each chapter ended with that stentorian call to "Circle the wagons," as protection from the marauding "Injuns." We could hardly wait until the following week to find out what had happened.
While some of the actors had distinguished military careers (MCCOY, GIBSON, and GENE AUTRY), GENE AUTRY 's career was probably the most versatile and successful of all. He was the first singing cowboy --his famous song was "RUDOLPH THE RED NOSED REINDEER." He is the only celebrity with five stars on the HOLLYWOOD WALK OF FAME. He was an astute businessman, owning radio and television stations and the LOS ANGELES ANGELS baseball team. He was so esteemed by the ball players that a Number 26 was retired in his honor at the park.
So, dear reader, if you want to enjoy some "REAL OLDIES," get some Western videos or CDs. They will cost you more that a nickel but, you will find them to be great entertainment.
More, later.
P.S All of the men listed here are members of THE COWBOY HALL OF FAME, at the above museum, in Oklahoma City.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
BUY ME SOME PEANUTS AND CRACKERJACKS
So goes the line in the song, TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL GAME, sung during the seventh inning "stretch" at major league baseball parks. I began singing that song as a youngster playing pick-up games on the city commons.
During those early years, my dad would occasionally get free tickets to major league games, from a firehouse neighbor. That allowed the two of us to buy peanuts, crackerjacks, hot dogs and soda, while we watched baseball greats like the Yankee's Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Bill Dickey and others, playing the Philadelphia A's, at Shibe Park.
In addition to playing ball, I amassed a collection of bubblegum baseball cards, each card showing a player's picture and statistics. I also made scrapbooks containing newspaper articles of sporting events. When I left home to be married, I put them in my mother's care for a later pickup. The day arrived to pick up the cards and books, only to discover that my mother thought I no longer wanted them, so she had trashed them! I cried inwardly, while chalking up an error on my mother's scorecard of life.
Playing and collecting are no longer options, but as sports fans, Dear Wife and I enjoy a variety of televised events and occasionally attend a game, so join us to cheer on your favorite teams.
More, later.
During those early years, my dad would occasionally get free tickets to major league games, from a firehouse neighbor. That allowed the two of us to buy peanuts, crackerjacks, hot dogs and soda, while we watched baseball greats like the Yankee's Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Bill Dickey and others, playing the Philadelphia A's, at Shibe Park.
In addition to playing ball, I amassed a collection of bubblegum baseball cards, each card showing a player's picture and statistics. I also made scrapbooks containing newspaper articles of sporting events. When I left home to be married, I put them in my mother's care for a later pickup. The day arrived to pick up the cards and books, only to discover that my mother thought I no longer wanted them, so she had trashed them! I cried inwardly, while chalking up an error on my mother's scorecard of life.
Playing and collecting are no longer options, but as sports fans, Dear Wife and I enjoy a variety of televised events and occasionally attend a game, so join us to cheer on your favorite teams.
More, later.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
SMILE! SMILE! SMILE!
This is your last chance to smile for the camera, holding special film.
Last month, the Eastman Kodak Company announced the closing of the manufacture of its most senior film, KODACHROME. After 74 years of production, digital has taken over. I suppose you can call that progress but, I call it the end of an era in my family life.
Picture-taking has been a family tradition for us, beginning with the E. K. black box that my parents owned. Lots of good snapshots as they built a family history of black and white prints that remain clear to this day.
After W.W. II, I took a giant leap from the black box to a 35mm Argus camera with Kodachrome film. I can say safely that I have taken thousands of slides over the years. However, that too has passed, as Dear Wife and I are into digital to a limited degree.
Just recently, I took hundreds of slides I still had and enjoyed, reducing the collection to about 250 slides, tossing away those that were redundant (you know, 14 views of Niagara Falls, the family cats, unrecognizable scenes and so on), and gave them to my son. His adult children will enjoy seeing Daddy's younger life in picture form.
So, dear reader, regretfully I say goodbye to KODACHROME. Thank you, Eastman Kodak, for the opportunity to record in film some of my family history in a very colorful way.
More later.
Last month, the Eastman Kodak Company announced the closing of the manufacture of its most senior film, KODACHROME. After 74 years of production, digital has taken over. I suppose you can call that progress but, I call it the end of an era in my family life.
Picture-taking has been a family tradition for us, beginning with the E. K. black box that my parents owned. Lots of good snapshots as they built a family history of black and white prints that remain clear to this day.
After W.W. II, I took a giant leap from the black box to a 35mm Argus camera with Kodachrome film. I can say safely that I have taken thousands of slides over the years. However, that too has passed, as Dear Wife and I are into digital to a limited degree.
Just recently, I took hundreds of slides I still had and enjoyed, reducing the collection to about 250 slides, tossing away those that were redundant (you know, 14 views of Niagara Falls, the family cats, unrecognizable scenes and so on), and gave them to my son. His adult children will enjoy seeing Daddy's younger life in picture form.
So, dear reader, regretfully I say goodbye to KODACHROME. Thank you, Eastman Kodak, for the opportunity to record in film some of my family history in a very colorful way.
More later.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
IT MUST HAVE SAUERKRAUT
IT MUST HAVE SAUERKRAUT
What must have sauerkraut ? A hot dog, of course.
In the good old summertime, or anytime, in fact, the hot dog on a bun is Americana all the way. In my part of the country, the brat is king, but give me a dog smothered with chopped onions, relish and sauerkraut. Then, drizzle with mustard and you have a meal fit for a king.
Speaking of royalty, way back in '39, President Franklin D. Roosevelt entertained Britain's King George and Queen Mary at a picnic where hot dogs were served. The king ate two, with gusto, while the queen ate hers with a knife and fork! Twenty years later, the Russian Bear, Nikita Khrushchev, enjoyed a hot dog while touring a packing plant in Iowa.
A recent New York Times article (06-07-09), wrote that our diplomatic corp is offering hot dogs to its international guests (including Iranians, for the first time in years), at Fourth of July picnics. While living in the Washington, D. C. area, I often entertained international guests in my home, and served them summertime dinners of hot dogs, sliced tomatoes, ears of corn and watermelon. They loved every morsel.
In my younger years, the hot dog and the hamburger vied for top honors as Great Depression foods ; inexpensive and easy to prepare, particularly my mother's hot dogs and baked bean casserole -- yummy!
So, dear reader, don't underestimate the lure of the hot dog. Stop by a Nathan's Famous stand and give yourself a treat (heavy on the kraut).
More, later.
What must have sauerkraut ? A hot dog, of course.
In the good old summertime, or anytime, in fact, the hot dog on a bun is Americana all the way. In my part of the country, the brat is king, but give me a dog smothered with chopped onions, relish and sauerkraut. Then, drizzle with mustard and you have a meal fit for a king.
Speaking of royalty, way back in '39, President Franklin D. Roosevelt entertained Britain's King George and Queen Mary at a picnic where hot dogs were served. The king ate two, with gusto, while the queen ate hers with a knife and fork! Twenty years later, the Russian Bear, Nikita Khrushchev, enjoyed a hot dog while touring a packing plant in Iowa.
A recent New York Times article (06-07-09), wrote that our diplomatic corp is offering hot dogs to its international guests (including Iranians, for the first time in years), at Fourth of July picnics. While living in the Washington, D. C. area, I often entertained international guests in my home, and served them summertime dinners of hot dogs, sliced tomatoes, ears of corn and watermelon. They loved every morsel.
In my younger years, the hot dog and the hamburger vied for top honors as Great Depression foods ; inexpensive and easy to prepare, particularly my mother's hot dogs and baked bean casserole -- yummy!
So, dear reader, don't underestimate the lure of the hot dog. Stop by a Nathan's Famous stand and give yourself a treat (heavy on the kraut).
More, later.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
PUSH THE BUTTON
PUSH THE BUTTON
In my home I have a favorite button. It is located on the television remote control gizmo and is just above the word MUTE. Whenever the screen fades to commercials, I hit the MUTE. It is not that I don't like car commercials, but I cannot listen to the movie ads. You know, those "fun" ads where people are getting shot down, sliced up or blown apart.
We live in a world of buttons, most of which we take for granted. Not so -- our four-year-old great-grandson who, on his weekly visits, will push every button or switch within reach. We find that after he leaves, the telephone doesn't work -- he found the on-off switch, and our apartment is ablaze with light!
In my teenage world, the most important button was on our family radio. We heard the nightly news from Walter Winchell, "Hello Mr. and Mrs. America and all the ships at sea," was his introduction. More important were the comedy hours with Fibber Magee & Molly, Milton Berle, Jack Benny, Eddie Cantor and many more. My father didn't have to turn off the set during commercials because there weren't the mayhem and obscenities that we hear today.
My world of yesteryear was a different world, and a nicer world in many respects. It was a quieter world without the "whips, whistles and balloons" that we think we need today. Let me suggest, dear reader, that you spend a part of each day with your buttons on MUTE. You'll appreiate the sound of quietness that surrounds you.
More, later.
We live in a world of buttons, most of which we take for granted. Not so -- our four-year-old great-grandson who, on his weekly visits, will push every button or switch within reach. We find that after he leaves, the telephone doesn't work -- he found the on-off switch, and our apartment is ablaze with light!
In my teenage world, the most important button was on our family radio. We heard the nightly news from Walter Winchell, "Hello Mr. and Mrs. America and all the ships at sea," was his introduction. More important were the comedy hours with Fibber Magee & Molly, Milton Berle, Jack Benny, Eddie Cantor and many more. My father didn't have to turn off the set during commercials because there weren't the mayhem and obscenities that we hear today.
My world of yesteryear was a different world, and a nicer world in many respects. It was a quieter world without the "whips, whistles and balloons" that we think we need today. Let me suggest, dear reader, that you spend a part of each day with your buttons on MUTE. You'll appreiate the sound of quietness that surrounds you.
More, later.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
2 X 3 = 6
2 x 3 = 6
Our family togetherness sprang into action last week when our local family members : Dear Wife, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren gathered to celebrate my natal day. Family togetherness has been a hallmark to us and here's a story about it.
Early one spring my mother received the devastating news that her sister Ella had tuberculosis and needed to spend a year in a fresh-air sanatorium, in the mountains of Pennsylvania. What could be done about her three children and a husband?
My parents had the answer to that question. At the end of the school year, without hesitation, my mother boarded a train for Pittsburgh and returned home with Margaret (11), Sarah (8),
and Jack (5), to match yours truly (6) and my sister Jane (4). Brother John was born the following spring. It was a very tight ship in a small, three-bedroom house.
One humorous event, among many, is etched in my memory. That summer the area celebrated the opening of the Delaware River Bridge, the first bridge connecting the city of Camden (NJ) with the city of Philadelphia (PA). The first day was given over to a pedestrian walkover, and my brave mother took us five, with a baby carriage, for the walk. Halfway over the bridge, Margaret made the announcement that, "I've got to GO, and SOON!" What's a mother to do, surrounded by thousands of walkers? We gathered to one side, on a grating, and surrounded Margaret while she added to the height of the river water below!!
You know, dear readers, that the year of bonding between us cousins lasted for a lifetime. Four of the six are gone but, never forgotten.
More, later.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
THE MAN ON THE MOON
THE MAN ON THE MOON
"THAT'S ONE SMALL STEP FOR MAN AND ONE GIANT LEAP FOR MANKIND." With these words, Astronaut Neil Armstrong stepped onto the surface of the moon. It was July 20, 1969, and the culmination of a national desire, first expressed by President John F. Kennedy, to put a man on the moon by 1970. This July marks the 40th anniversary of this great event, completely overshadowing the fact that July 20th is my birthday.
However, dear reader, this does not bother me, as I was "into space" long before the NASA program. At eight years of age I was a devoted follower of the comic strip BUCK ROGERS AND THE 25th CENTURY!! I faithfully followed BUCK, his companion, WILMA DEERING and his scientist-friend, DR. HUER, as they explored the planets in their rocket ships, wearing their flying belts and disintegrating ray guns, ever on the watch for that space pirate, KILLER KANE.
My friends and I had our own ray guns as we played "space" on our porch glider space-ship.
BUCK became even more interesting with a four-days-a-week radio show that brought the sounds of space right into our living room! Writer J.H Dille and artist Dale Calkins had us hooked on space travel with their far-sighted writing.
So...congratulations to latecomer NASA from a BUCK ROGERS fan.
More, later.
P.S. An extensive BUCK ROGERS COLLECTION is housed on the campus of Miami University, In Oxford, Ohio.
However, dear reader, this does not bother me, as I was "into space" long before the NASA program. At eight years of age I was a devoted follower of the comic strip BUCK ROGERS AND THE 25th CENTURY!! I faithfully followed BUCK, his companion, WILMA DEERING and his scientist-friend, DR. HUER, as they explored the planets in their rocket ships, wearing their flying belts and disintegrating ray guns, ever on the watch for that space pirate, KILLER KANE.
My friends and I had our own ray guns as we played "space" on our porch glider space-ship.
BUCK became even more interesting with a four-days-a-week radio show that brought the sounds of space right into our living room! Writer J.H Dille and artist Dale Calkins had us hooked on space travel with their far-sighted writing.
So...congratulations to latecomer NASA from a BUCK ROGERS fan.
More, later.
P.S. An extensive BUCK ROGERS COLLECTION is housed on the campus of Miami University, In Oxford, Ohio.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
STEER CLEAR OF OLDSTERS
STEER CLEAR OF OLDSTERS
A recent seniors (as in old) magazine offered refresher driving lessons to oldsters. Unfortunately the out-dated ad kept me from signing on. However, it was license renewal time for me, and I expected to have some DMV testing, because of my age.
On THE day, I went to the license bureau prepped for an exam. My exam consisted of, "What colors do you see on the glass?" "O.K., step over here and get your new license (good for eight years)." I felt cheated and not a little angry. I knew that I should have been road-tested because, as others my age, we face "special challenges" on the highway -- challenges like depth -perception, space-judgment and reaction-time.
One day Dear Wife and I were returning to the our Village garage when we spotted the SLOW sign at the entrance wearing a new look --that of being tilted about sixty degrees. I suspect that one of the Village retirees had a "space-judgment" problem (no fatalities reported)!!
So. . .you younger drivers, when you see me or others my age on the highway, steer clear of us because, we could be admiring the flora on the roadside, instead of keeping our eyes on the road.
More later.
P.S. FOREWARNED IS FOREARMED: If you have an auto accident, the insurance company's first question may be, "Were you talking on your cell phone?"
On THE day, I went to the license bureau prepped for an exam. My exam consisted of, "What colors do you see on the glass?" "O.K., step over here and get your new license (good for eight years)." I felt cheated and not a little angry. I knew that I should have been road-tested because, as others my age, we face "special challenges" on the highway -- challenges like depth -perception, space-judgment and reaction-time.
One day Dear Wife and I were returning to the our Village garage when we spotted the SLOW sign at the entrance wearing a new look --that of being tilted about sixty degrees. I suspect that one of the Village retirees had a "space-judgment" problem (no fatalities reported)!!
So. . .you younger drivers, when you see me or others my age on the highway, steer clear of us because, we could be admiring the flora on the roadside, instead of keeping our eyes on the road.
More later.
P.S. FOREWARNED IS FOREARMED: If you have an auto accident, the insurance company's first question may be, "Were you talking on your cell phone?"
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
OUR FLAG WAS STILL THERE
OUR FLAG WAS STILL THERE
" It's the house flying the flag," were my instructions to first-time visitors. As I was the only one on the block doing so, it was an obvious landmark.
As a young boy, I was given the job of decorating the outside of our home with flags and bunting. Perhaps that is what gave me the love I have for the flag, and instilled in me my patriotic spirit. I am a patriot and I love the Fourth of July.
On one Fourth, when I was about ten years old, I decided to become a small-business person. With a business loan of thirty-five cents (from Mom), I bought a block of ice and paper cups, and convinced her to make a syrup of our homemade rootbeer. I put it all in my decorated wagon, along with an ice scraper, and headed for the park to sell snowballs for five cents each. I want you to know that I was able to repay my loan each time from my profits. Only in America!
But, I digress. I would like you, dear readers, to fly the flag on the Fourth. On a recent bus ride, I counted only 6 flags flying out of 35 homes. Discouraging. Do your part to increase that percentage, won't you?
More later
P.S. On your next visit to Baltimore, Maryland, enjoy a stop at Fort McHenry, the site that inspired Frances Scott Key to compose The Star-Spangled Banner, our national anthem.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
EVERYBODY ON THE BUS
EVERYBODY ON THE BUS
Do you ever have the opportunity to ride on a public bus? I suspect not, judging from the pictures we see of bumper-to-bumper auto traffic on the nation's freeways.
For most of us, bus-riding began with the school bus. I previously wrote that I started doing so at age 5. I carried on that tradition for many years, through school and into the workworld, until the day that I got a job as an outside salesman, which meant switching to a car. Then, with a change in job status, I once more found myself choosing to ride a bus to work and enjoying the many pleasurable acquaintances along the way.
I think the phrase "what goes around comes around," is appropriate, because I am once again riding a bus, but for a different reason. For a number of years I have been traveling to the University to engage international students in English conversation. What a wonderful experience! However, my riding has taken a somewhat different turn. There is no longer the openness of conversation that I once enjoyed. It is, in fact, quite the opposite, with fellow riders desiring to stay aloof.
I have taken the fun to categorize my fellow passengers in this manner : (1) students with noses stuck in their books; (2) readers enjoying novels; (3) music lovers with speakers stuck in one or both ears (thank goodness); (4) the "space-starers," looking straight ahead and without expression.
Ride a bus and invent your own categories. You might even be startled by getting into a conversation. It's a fun thing to do.
More, later.
P.S. Have I mentioned the environmental benefits that accrue when car drivers become bus riders?
For most of us, bus-riding began with the school bus. I previously wrote that I started doing so at age 5. I carried on that tradition for many years, through school and into the workworld, until the day that I got a job as an outside salesman, which meant switching to a car. Then, with a change in job status, I once more found myself choosing to ride a bus to work and enjoying the many pleasurable acquaintances along the way.
I think the phrase "what goes around comes around," is appropriate, because I am once again riding a bus, but for a different reason. For a number of years I have been traveling to the University to engage international students in English conversation. What a wonderful experience! However, my riding has taken a somewhat different turn. There is no longer the openness of conversation that I once enjoyed. It is, in fact, quite the opposite, with fellow riders desiring to stay aloof.
I have taken the fun to categorize my fellow passengers in this manner : (1) students with noses stuck in their books; (2) readers enjoying novels; (3) music lovers with speakers stuck in one or both ears (thank goodness); (4) the "space-starers," looking straight ahead and without expression.
Ride a bus and invent your own categories. You might even be startled by getting into a conversation. It's a fun thing to do.
More, later.
P.S. Have I mentioned the environmental benefits that accrue when car drivers become bus riders?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
ON FATHER'S DAY
ON FATHER'S DAY
His name was Jack. He was a quiet, unassuming man, hard-working and devoted to his family. He was my dad.
Dad and his six siblings were born of an American father and an Irish mother into a blue-collar family. Poorly educated (he left school after the sixth grade to help support his family). He struggled to support his own family until his appointment to the city fire department gained him the financial security he had long desired.
With financial stability always in mind, Dad ambitiously added to the family finances in various ways. Because we were renters he always offered to paint or wallpaper rooms in lieu of rent. He developed some expertise in wallpapering and thus was able to find work in the family and the neighborhood.
Dad's lighter side included a love for baseball and for fishing, along with family seashore trips.
My lovable father had his gullible side. A fast-talking salesman once convinced the firemen that he was selling no-run women's silk stockings, and to prove it, he ran a table fork up a stocking to prove it; they all bought. When Dad tried to convince my dubious mother, Dad gave it the fork test...RIP!! Enough said.
So, dear readers, now you know my Dad; loving and lovable, generous and guillable, devoted and determined. I miss him very much.
Dad and his six siblings were born of an American father and an Irish mother into a blue-collar family. Poorly educated (he left school after the sixth grade to help support his family). He struggled to support his own family until his appointment to the city fire department gained him the financial security he had long desired.
With financial stability always in mind, Dad ambitiously added to the family finances in various ways. Because we were renters he always offered to paint or wallpaper rooms in lieu of rent. He developed some expertise in wallpapering and thus was able to find work in the family and the neighborhood.
Dad's lighter side included a love for baseball and for fishing, along with family seashore trips.
My lovable father had his gullible side. A fast-talking salesman once convinced the firemen that he was selling no-run women's silk stockings, and to prove it, he ran a table fork up a stocking to prove it; they all bought. When Dad tried to convince my dubious mother, Dad gave it the fork test...RIP!! Enough said.
So, dear readers, now you know my Dad; loving and lovable, generous and guillable, devoted and determined. I miss him very much.
More later.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
SOUP'S ON
SOUP'S ON
The subject of today's blog is soup, very mundane but it brings up a “memory thing'.
Recently Dear Wife and I decided on a light lunch of Campbell's tomato soup with saltine crackers, tomato being my favorite among canned soups. While eating I wondered aloud if today's soup can carried the company's identifying mark of “O1. Dear Wife retrieved that can, and sure enough there it was, the “O1” that I knew more than sixty years ago and thereby hangs a tale.
The tale begins with my honorable discharge from World War II service on December 26, 1945. Oh, happy day! My happiness turned to gloom when I discovered that I was in the army of the unemployed for the first, and only time, in my employment career. My pre-war employer, the New York Shipbuilding Corporation, was not into building ships at that time even though there was some need for shipping. Fortunately my joblessness was short-lived as I was hired by the Campbell Soup Company for the summer tomato season. Long lines of farmer's trucks were already forming at the plant, loaded with tomatoes.
In spite of my inexperience I was sent to the labeling department as an assistant machine operator. My job? Clearing the machine when the cans jammed on the belts, and do so without losing a finger in the process. I must have done a good job because I still have my ten fingers.
With the job was a company “perk” of free soup for lunch and I always chose an “O1” can, so you can see why that choice is still with me.
So, dear readers, when shopping for canned soup you can't go wrong if you look for the brand with the mark “O1.”
More, later.
The subject of today's blog is soup, very mundane but it brings up a “memory thing'.
Recently Dear Wife and I decided on a light lunch of Campbell's tomato soup with saltine crackers, tomato being my favorite among canned soups. While eating I wondered aloud if today's soup can carried the company's identifying mark of “O1. Dear Wife retrieved that can, and sure enough there it was, the “O1” that I knew more than sixty years ago and thereby hangs a tale.
The tale begins with my honorable discharge from World War II service on December 26, 1945. Oh, happy day! My happiness turned to gloom when I discovered that I was in the army of the unemployed for the first, and only time, in my employment career. My pre-war employer, the New York Shipbuilding Corporation, was not into building ships at that time even though there was some need for shipping. Fortunately my joblessness was short-lived as I was hired by the Campbell Soup Company for the summer tomato season. Long lines of farmer's trucks were already forming at the plant, loaded with tomatoes.
In spite of my inexperience I was sent to the labeling department as an assistant machine operator. My job? Clearing the machine when the cans jammed on the belts, and do so without losing a finger in the process. I must have done a good job because I still have my ten fingers.
With the job was a company “perk” of free soup for lunch and I always chose an “O1” can, so you can see why that choice is still with me.
So, dear readers, when shopping for canned soup you can't go wrong if you look for the brand with the mark “O1.”
More, later.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Schedule Explanation
Dear Readers:
I feel that you are somewhat discombobulated over my blogging schedule. Not to worry. Beginning next week I expect to blog every Wednesday (rain date,Thursday). Thanks to my dear grandchildren I am "beginning to see the light" as to how these new-fangled machines work. Here's hoping that this will be O.K. from here on
More,later.
Henry
I feel that you are somewhat discombobulated over my blogging schedule. Not to worry. Beginning next week I expect to blog every Wednesday (rain date,Thursday). Thanks to my dear grandchildren I am "beginning to see the light" as to how these new-fangled machines work. Here's hoping that this will be O.K. from here on
More,later.
Henry
CREDIT CARD CHAOS
Can you believe the STAGGERING billions of dollars, euros, francs, yuans and other currencies that represent the worldwide credit card debt? Can you picture what a billion of anything looks like?
Maybe we can better understand what this represents if we picture the average college graduate card debt between $15,000 and $20,000 in addition to other obligations. Whew!
In my younger years the credit card had not been invented so that meant that people paid cash or they didn't buy.
Simple enough.
In my home there were two exceptions to cash payments. One was called the lay-away-plan which allowed you to select an item(s), put down a small deposit and then make periodic payments until that happy day when PAID IN FULL was stamped on your agreement. My mother used this plan to buy
Christmas gifts.
The second exception to cash was the “grocer's ledger book” which allowed you to buy food items and settle the bill on payday. The grocer's book was a credit risk for the grocer but I know that none of them suffered heavy losses, if any.
Why am I telling you this? Because, dear readers, many of you are up to your collective necks in card debt. You have a number of cards and each month you pay the minimum amount on the largest debt, thus adding more debt.
You can do better than that. Tomorrow morning get in front of your full-length mirror and pledge to get out of debt as quickly as possible. You can do it. You had the fortitude to get through school and into the work world, and you can use that same courage to be debt free. Every time you get down to a zero balance on a card CUT THAT CARD INTO SMALL PIECES AND TOSS IT. Get down to one card and keep it there.
It is a matter of trust. The grocer trusted his customers and they didn't fail him. You can trust yourself to get free from this collar of debt.
More, later
P.S. I know I sound “preachy” today but it needed to be said.
Maybe we can better understand what this represents if we picture the average college graduate card debt between $15,000 and $20,000 in addition to other obligations. Whew!
In my younger years the credit card had not been invented so that meant that people paid cash or they didn't buy.
Simple enough.
In my home there were two exceptions to cash payments. One was called the lay-away-plan which allowed you to select an item(s), put down a small deposit and then make periodic payments until that happy day when PAID IN FULL was stamped on your agreement. My mother used this plan to buy
Christmas gifts.
The second exception to cash was the “grocer's ledger book” which allowed you to buy food items and settle the bill on payday. The grocer's book was a credit risk for the grocer but I know that none of them suffered heavy losses, if any.
Why am I telling you this? Because, dear readers, many of you are up to your collective necks in card debt. You have a number of cards and each month you pay the minimum amount on the largest debt, thus adding more debt.
You can do better than that. Tomorrow morning get in front of your full-length mirror and pledge to get out of debt as quickly as possible. You can do it. You had the fortitude to get through school and into the work world, and you can use that same courage to be debt free. Every time you get down to a zero balance on a card CUT THAT CARD INTO SMALL PIECES AND TOSS IT. Get down to one card and keep it there.
It is a matter of trust. The grocer trusted his customers and they didn't fail him. You can trust yourself to get free from this collar of debt.
More, later
P.S. I know I sound “preachy” today but it needed to be said.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Grape Jelly
GRAPE JELLY
When dear wife and I have a meal at a restaurant chain I always the look into the jar of pre-packaged jellies. If I see that the contents are of the standard mix (grape and strawberry), I whisper to her that “this is a low-budget outfit.” However, if the mix contains marmalade, blackberry, boysenberry or the like I opine that “this is a class outfit.”
I know that many of you readers have a fondness for grape jelly because you were raised on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I prefer my peanut butter straight up, thank you. Grape jelly is not for me and thereby hangs a tale.
My distaste has its roots in a great Depression story as follows: When my mother's Uncle Hugh's wife Jennie died, in the early 30s Uncle Hugh insisted that my mother have the one hundred jars of grape jelly that Aunt Jennie had “put up” during World War One years. My mother reluctantly agreed, not that she liked grape jelly but because she loved her uncle. In addition, the jellies would help her food budget.
After my father lugged those heavy jars home we teenagers (sister Jane and myself) were charged with opening the jars for inspection while seated outside on our backyard brick walk. The first jar opened contained more mold than jelly, as did jar number two, number three and so on.”Whoa”, said mother, “we can't eat that stuff so just spoon all of it down the nearest drainpipe. Then she added with a half smile,”Of course we won't tell uncle about this, will we?” Without a thought of the ecological consequences hose it down we did.
So, dear reader, if you are into “home canning” please rotate your inventory so that the freshly preserved food stays that way. If you have an “auntie” that loves to “put up” food don't wait for her demise to enjoy it but try some NOW,especially if it is grape jelly.
More, later.
When dear wife and I have a meal at a restaurant chain I always the look into the jar of pre-packaged jellies. If I see that the contents are of the standard mix (grape and strawberry), I whisper to her that “this is a low-budget outfit.” However, if the mix contains marmalade, blackberry, boysenberry or the like I opine that “this is a class outfit.”
I know that many of you readers have a fondness for grape jelly because you were raised on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I prefer my peanut butter straight up, thank you. Grape jelly is not for me and thereby hangs a tale.
My distaste has its roots in a great Depression story as follows: When my mother's Uncle Hugh's wife Jennie died, in the early 30s Uncle Hugh insisted that my mother have the one hundred jars of grape jelly that Aunt Jennie had “put up” during World War One years. My mother reluctantly agreed, not that she liked grape jelly but because she loved her uncle. In addition, the jellies would help her food budget.
After my father lugged those heavy jars home we teenagers (sister Jane and myself) were charged with opening the jars for inspection while seated outside on our backyard brick walk. The first jar opened contained more mold than jelly, as did jar number two, number three and so on.”Whoa”, said mother, “we can't eat that stuff so just spoon all of it down the nearest drainpipe. Then she added with a half smile,”Of course we won't tell uncle about this, will we?” Without a thought of the ecological consequences hose it down we did.
So, dear reader, if you are into “home canning” please rotate your inventory so that the freshly preserved food stays that way. If you have an “auntie” that loves to “put up” food don't wait for her demise to enjoy it but try some NOW,especially if it is grape jelly.
More, later.
HIGH ON HIGHER EDUCATION-PART TWO
HIGH ON HIGHER EDUCATION – PART TWO
I began this quest for higher education with some trepidation. Would the students accept someone more than three times their age in the classroom? Would I be able to keep up such a busy schedule? Could I write acceptable papers? Could I pass the exams? All of these questions and more kept buzzing in my head as I took the public bus for my first day of classes.
I had worried needlessly. The kids and I took to each other like ducks to water. In the lecture halls, the discussion groups, and the football games we got along well. At the first football game Dear Wife and I sat in the student section. A student challenged our presence there until I whipped out my student I.D. card. “Cool,” he said.
As the fall semester began, I received invitations to new student get-acquainted activities, one of which was a pumpkin-carving party. I also had many notices from Realtors advertising available apartments, all of which I politely refused, desiring to spend my free time with Dear Wife.
During those wonderful years I had many opportunities to encourage older folk to “ take the plunge.” I'm sending that same message to you today, dear reader. Go for it! The rewards you will receive are priceless.
More later.
Monday, May 11, 2009
HIGH ON HIGHER EDUCATION – PART ONE
This blog is a story, a deviation from my usual blog theme.
On May 16th, 1998, I was graduated from a world-class university, the culmination of six years of study, part-time and full-time, at a community college and said university.
Part one tells about some of the humorous events that took place during those years.
When I called my high school to request transcripts, the voice on the phone said, “1937 ? Those records are in the basement. It will take some time to get them.” In three weeks the community college had my records.
Dear Wife accompanied me to meet the Dean of Admissions at the university. “Just the two of you ?” he said, “Where's the student?” “I'm the student,” I said. His response was, “Wow.
The university's Public Relations Department selected the 1997/1998 theme Resources for a Lifetime, to emphasize the university's openness to students of all ages. I was chosen to represent the “older” student. As I was to play out that role on the televised shows (shown at all sporting events), the departmental contact wanted to know my age. When I told her, she screamed, “My god, I've hit the jackpot!”
As the fall semester began, I received invitations to get-acquainted activities for new students, one of which was a pumpkin-carving-party. I also had many notices from Realtors, advertising available apartments, all of which I politely refused, desiring to spend my free time with Dear Wife.
Next week's blog will be about the meaningful role of the older student on campus.
More, la
On May 16th, 1998, I was graduated from a world-class university, the culmination of six years of study, part-time and full-time, at a community college and said university.
Part one tells about some of the humorous events that took place during those years.
When I called my high school to request transcripts, the voice on the phone said, “1937 ? Those records are in the basement. It will take some time to get them.” In three weeks the community college had my records.
Dear Wife accompanied me to meet the Dean of Admissions at the university. “Just the two of you ?” he said, “Where's the student?” “I'm the student,” I said. His response was, “Wow.
The university's Public Relations Department selected the 1997/1998 theme Resources for a Lifetime, to emphasize the university's openness to students of all ages. I was chosen to represent the “older” student. As I was to play out that role on the televised shows (shown at all sporting events), the departmental contact wanted to know my age. When I told her, she screamed, “My god, I've hit the jackpot!”
As the fall semester began, I received invitations to get-acquainted activities for new students, one of which was a pumpkin-carving-party. I also had many notices from Realtors, advertising available apartments, all of which I politely refused, desiring to spend my free time with Dear Wife.
Next week's blog will be about the meaningful role of the older student on campus.
More, la
Thursday, May 7, 2009
THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT
The current hassle over the sub-prime mortgage fiasco jogs my memory when I read about people suffering the heartbreak of house foreclosure. My parents went through that scenario in the 1920s.
Although my dad had to leave school after the sixth grade to help support his family, he had the innate skills for building things; so, he built a house!
The house had to built in his spare time so that meant evenings and weekends. My mother was his helper. She often boasted that she got her muscles from carrying the sheet rock (today's dry wall) to form the walls.
My dad finished the walls and we moved in, then tragedy struck in the form of a work layoff. My mother's part time work as a nurse couldn't bring in enough money to pay the mortgage so foreclosure took place and they became renters instead of owners in the same house.
Do you know that the house-that-Jack-built is still standing and happily occupied? Not to long ago dear wife and I drove past the place and children were playing on the front porch. I would love to have gone inside to see how it looked but felt a bit awkward about that so we drove away.
Not long after this loss my dad landed a job as a city fireman and remained on the job for 30 years.
That job stability enabled them to once more move from renter to owner, assuring that they would never again suffer the heartbreak of foreclosure.
This stability taught my parents of the need to be thankful, and to show it in so many ways. I have never know anyone who could match my mother's generosity to those less fortunate than us, and, believe me, in those days suffering surrounded us. Many times I was sen “down the street” with a pot of Irish stew to a neighbor who had lost a job, or where sickness had sent in. Often my dad would use his car to tote a neighbor, or family member, who needed help. There was no debate about whether the need was necessary or not. It was understood that people had needs and we had the means to take care of such. It was a privilege to be a caregiver.
Thankfulness: expressing gratitude (Webster). Our world needs more of this, wouldn't you say?
More, later.
Although my dad had to leave school after the sixth grade to help support his family, he had the innate skills for building things; so, he built a house!
The house had to built in his spare time so that meant evenings and weekends. My mother was his helper. She often boasted that she got her muscles from carrying the sheet rock (today's dry wall) to form the walls.
My dad finished the walls and we moved in, then tragedy struck in the form of a work layoff. My mother's part time work as a nurse couldn't bring in enough money to pay the mortgage so foreclosure took place and they became renters instead of owners in the same house.
Do you know that the house-that-Jack-built is still standing and happily occupied? Not to long ago dear wife and I drove past the place and children were playing on the front porch. I would love to have gone inside to see how it looked but felt a bit awkward about that so we drove away.
Not long after this loss my dad landed a job as a city fireman and remained on the job for 30 years.
That job stability enabled them to once more move from renter to owner, assuring that they would never again suffer the heartbreak of foreclosure.
This stability taught my parents of the need to be thankful, and to show it in so many ways. I have never know anyone who could match my mother's generosity to those less fortunate than us, and, believe me, in those days suffering surrounded us. Many times I was sen “down the street” with a pot of Irish stew to a neighbor who had lost a job, or where sickness had sent in. Often my dad would use his car to tote a neighbor, or family member, who needed help. There was no debate about whether the need was necessary or not. It was understood that people had needs and we had the means to take care of such. It was a privilege to be a caregiver.
Thankfulness: expressing gratitude (Webster). Our world needs more of this, wouldn't you say?
More, later.
THAT IRISH MOTHER OF MINE
She was small in stature but BIG in spirit, BIG in loyalty,BIG in generosity,BIG in love-she was my Irish mother.
My mother and her sisters emigrated from Ireland early in the 20th century using a relay system. Ellen came first; her savings brought Jerrie; their savings brought my mother, Jane, and together they paid Sarah's passage to America.
After a time spent in various jobs (my mother was a telephone operator who was hired with some misgivings because of her Irish brogue), all of them went into nurses training as their life's work. I am so proud of my two granddaughters who have followed in their footsteps. Mother worked as a nurse until the age of 70. Tough! Caring! Committed! Outspoken!, that was my mother Jane.
Lots of Irish wit passed between the sisters. I can still see them gathering around a “wee cup of tea” and talking a blue streak. A favorite time was “reading the tea cup leaves” in the bottom of the cups (this was before the days of the tea bag). With one sister a youngish widow, and another married late in life, someone could always see the figure of a man in their futures.
Can you describe to others the story of your mother's life? If you cannot, why don' you spend this Mother's Day catching up on her family history ? If you don't do it NOW there may come a time when it will not be available to you.
Thanks.
More, later.
My mother and her sisters emigrated from Ireland early in the 20th century using a relay system. Ellen came first; her savings brought Jerrie; their savings brought my mother, Jane, and together they paid Sarah's passage to America.
After a time spent in various jobs (my mother was a telephone operator who was hired with some misgivings because of her Irish brogue), all of them went into nurses training as their life's work. I am so proud of my two granddaughters who have followed in their footsteps. Mother worked as a nurse until the age of 70. Tough! Caring! Committed! Outspoken!, that was my mother Jane.
Lots of Irish wit passed between the sisters. I can still see them gathering around a “wee cup of tea” and talking a blue streak. A favorite time was “reading the tea cup leaves” in the bottom of the cups (this was before the days of the tea bag). With one sister a youngish widow, and another married late in life, someone could always see the figure of a man in their futures.
Can you describe to others the story of your mother's life? If you cannot, why don' you spend this Mother's Day catching up on her family history ? If you don't do it NOW there may come a time when it will not be available to you.
Thanks.
More, later.
Friday, April 17, 2009
THE ICE MAN COMETH (to NEW JERSEY)
During my early teen years the month of April was change-over time in our New Jersey home, not exactly a high-tech change, but change nevertheless.
In our kitchen we had an ICE BOX and a WINDOW BOX. The free-standing ice box (about 6'x3'x3') was wooden, well-insulated, and with a space on top for a block of ice. Our metal window box sat outside our kitchen window. It was the width of the window and was nailed to the sill with additional outside support underneath.
From October 1st until early April we put perishable foods into the window box where it was refrigerated by the cold New Jersey winter. Getting the food from the box onto the kitchen table without chilling the kitchen was an art unto itself. An additional art was scooping snow from the box top and putting it down my mother's back!
In April we changed to the inside ice box. The ice man would appear in his stake-body truck, chip off a block of ice to fit out box and bring it into the kitchen on a padded shoulder while us kids climbed onto the truck and put ice chips into paper cups. Let me tell you that there was nothing, nothing more refreshing on a hot summer day than that cup of ice.
So you see, dear readers, how much you have missed by being younger than me? You never had the opportunity to open up that cold box, never had the chance to drain the melted water from the ice box. Instead, you mundanely push buttons to cool the house, grind the coffee beans, make ice cubes and so on.
Today's technology has robbed you of the daily living challenges that I experienced, oh, so long ago.
More, later.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Remembering the Past
- Remembering the Past
-
musings: saying or thinking reflectively (Webster)
The human brain is a wonderful thing. I know, because I have been using mine for many, many years. Know what I like most about my brain? It's the part that gives me the ability to remember the past.
I can remember as far as back as my fifth year on the planet. Two eventful happenings were my first memories.
One summer day I decided to eat a red, ripe tomato from my dad's garden patch. I took a large five-year-old bite and while looking at the tomato I saw a piece of a wriggling worm! I ran screaming to my mother that I had bitten a worm in half. Her calming instructions were "spit it out," which I did. Life's lesson #1: Be calm and think it through.
The second event took place when, as a kindergarten I boarded a bus to travel to school. Because there was no bus to bring me home at noontime, I went directly into first grade. During one typical New Jersey snowy winter day the school closed early. Somehow I missed the bus, or there was no bus so I walked the 3.4 miles home. When I arrived home and walked into the apartment my startled mother said, "What are you doing home so early, and why are you all wet?!" "I missed the bus, Mom, so I walked home." She began to cry and hugged me 'til my breath was about gone. The next morning she was on the public telephone to the school. I suspect that her Irish temper just about melted the phone lines. I never walked home again. Life's lesson # 2: If you need help ask for it.
How I knew in which direction to walk home I can never explain, but I have been good at directions ever since.
Good direction-finding hasn't always been in our family. I still chuckle when I recall driving incidents with my dad. When my folks decided that they had had enough of Florida, I flew down to drive them back to New Jersey. Every time we left a restaurant, with my dad driving, we would stop at the highway entrance, and he would say, "Which way?"
Today, when dear wife and I travel the highways we alternate behind the wheel. She enjoys driving while depending on me to navigate. Fine with me. I like reading maps, don't you?
More, later.
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