A Christmas Story

I've come to think of it as a Christmas story, only a story without snowmen, angels, wise men, or Santa Claus. I don't think of it much thru the year, but at Christmas time and around the holidays I find myself remembering the story which has me googling to read the story over again. It's a feel good kinda story, a story of regular people coming together to make it something more. Something I think that Christmas and just what life it's self should be all about.

It was December 17, 1941 and a small group had gathered to wait for them. The 134th infantry were to be arriving by train and would pass thru, or at least that was the rumor that was circulating about. Trains came and they weren't the right trains, and more people gathered til the 4:30 train which was suppose to be the real train carrying the 134th was to arrive. But it didn't have the 134th infantry. Those sons and fathers and brothers and loved ones weren't on the train but were in fact a different group from Kansas. The gathered group loaded them down with their parcels of cookies, magazines, and cigarettes and sent them off as if they were their own.

And an idea was formed by a local woman, Rae Wilson, that  the soldiers should be met, the trains should be met. They should be sent off, all of them as if they were family, they were everyone's family. A group was formed and on Christmas day the North Platte Canteen came into being.

As many as 23 trains a day and up to 8,000 military personnel were greeted with steaming hot cups of coffee, baskets of sandwiches, plates of fried chicken, cookies, pies, magazines, cigarettes, playing cards, and a birthday cake or two. Well actually about 20 birthday cakes a day, 600 cakes a month, to be given to any soldier who was lucky enough to have a birthday that day.

As many as 125 communities came together to help staff and supply the canteen daily. Auctions, and raffles, and scrap metal drives were held to help cover expenses. Men's organizations, ladies' groups, church members, businesses all took turns to make sure each train was met every single day for four and a half years before the canteen's closing on April 1, 1946.

I find it remarkable. That a town of 12,000 even thought they could undertake such a project. I find it remarkable that every train was met, day or night. That almost 6 million servicemen and women came thru the canteen. How in the very beginning the transport of the trains was being kept quiet, and only the head of the Union Pacific officials knew of their arrival. They would in turn contact the head canteen workers and the word was spread by the simple phone call, "I've put the coffee on". In a time of poverty, and uncertainty, it does seem as if it was some sort of miracle.

The pessimistic part of me, grumbles that it wouldn't ever happen now. No one would be home, no one would be willing to spend such a big part of their day just meeting a train for 10 minutes, and for total strangers. Everyone would claim to be at work and unable to help, or maybe help out once or  twice before moving on and thinking they had done their part. But that is the pessimistic part of me, and the melancholy and romantic part of me hopes that we would. For now though, I just think of it as my favorite Christmas story, which became much more than just a Christmas story for so many.

 

 

To read more about the North Platte Canteen: http://npcanteen.net/

One Person's Junk....

....is another person's treasure.

I thought of that saying a lot recently. I spent last month cleaning out the garage and it was a project that seemed to take forever, and yes it did take me the whole month to complete. I do have to explain that once I filled the garbage container and wheeled it to the end of the drive each week, that I would quit cleaning out the garage for the week. A couple of weeks, I only spent 20 minutes, but there were some days I was out there for what seemed like hours.

Part of garage cleaning dilemma was the fact that you do an awful lot of shuffling. I started cleaning off one shelf and putting things in other spots where they were next to like objects, and it only made for more objects to move when I then got to that  spot or the next shelf. Once I got one shelving unit cleaned off and moved to the next one, I then had to shuffle everything off the shelf into a new spot so that I could sweep it down and try and organize stuff in their right spot. When the shelving was done, then I had to shuffle stuff on one side of the floor space over to the other side of the garage, and then back. It seemed like for every step forward I took, I took two steps back. I didn't want to take everything out of the garage at once because of a chance of rain, and I didn't want piles of junk just sitting for me to cart out, hence the shuffling.

Adding to my woes were the fact that I kept coming across stuff that I had no clue as to what they were or their purpose. I thought to myself, if only I had a digital camera, I could take pics and post them on here and play a bit of guessing game. If I couldn't figure it out, maybe you could... I'd even been willing to mail off that prize to the correct blogger. I had to enlist the help of one of my brothers when he came to visit to pull things off the shelf and ask, what in the world is this?...Do I need it?...Or is it just junk? While I had him in my garage cleaning clutches I loaded him down with some of my precious treasure (cough) junk each time he came to visit during that whole month. He got nails and screws, nuts and bolts, some kind of clamp thingies, storage bins, anything I could think of that I wasn't using, hadn't been using, and just wanted gone.

It was a bit overwhelming when taking inventory of just what all was out there. Even though a person could still pull a vehicle in the garage it seemed to be full of junk. Some of it good, and some of it past it's prime or usefulness. Three string trimmers, one working, one brand new and refusing to work, one kept for parts. Three lawnmowers, two riders, one push. Ten fishing poles....good grief, where in the world did 10 fishing poles come from? I remember having two, but somehow 8 more appeared. Four jugs of windshield washer cleaner. Five water jugs, five hoes, 3 rakes, 4 shovels, two sprayers, four hose-end sprayers, six sprinklers, the list goes on...and on. How does one acquire so much stuff?

I blame part of it from having a past love of going to auctions and garage sales. I use to think nothing of spending my Saturdays at an estate sale or auction. It was fun poking around and sifting thru boxes of junk for any kind of treasure I would spy. I would end up bidding on the whole box just to get that one or few items that I wanted in the box. The remains of those boxes eventually ended up in the bottomless pit that I call the garage. I gave up my auction going ways a few years ago. It seemed that more and more I stood around all day to bid on wanted items only to see the prices go to high, or watch others sift thru those same boxes and shuffle the items they desired into other boxes to combine their treasured wishes together.

Another culprit in my messy garage woes were past remodeling projects. Leftover bits of drywall, boards, molding, paint, stain, etc. etc. seemed to fill a good part of one wall. I was back to my dilemma of sorting thru what does one save or toss? It's a well known fact that if you have something for twenty years and throw it out because you have never used it, that you will end up needing that item the following week. I ended up tossing anything rusty, moldy, broken, or not used in years. I am crossing my fingers that hopefully there was nothing too important in that mix.

Eventually the garage was finished. I now have shelving lining one whole wall with all of it's items neatly in boxes or totes and everything else hanging on hooks or neatly stacked and out of the way. I found a few surprises along the way, along with some long lost treasures found. My old felco pruners, found, once thought lost out in the garden somewhere to rust. Found the fourth ball to the croquet set (small cheer, I thought it was lost forever). Two padlocks WITH their keys...

I wish life could be so easy. We toss out the old, broken stuff that isn't working and shuffle the better stuff til it fits in a way that makes it more workable. We keep hanging onto stuff that's long since filled it's purpose, or doesn't work at all, and yet we still cling to the hope that it will eventually work the way we want it to. It serves no purpose other than to clutter up things so that it's harder to see what stuff is the real treasures...

I take a sense of pride when looking at my newly cleaned and organized garage. It was a lot of hard and sometimes dirty work and something I don't want to have to do over, or let it get to the point that it becomes that cluttered again. It just involves taking the small steps needed at the time to deal with things and not to keep putting things off, something I am bad at,... procrastination has always been my middle name.

I'll keep working on it though. The only downside to my garage cleaning efforts...

Yep, you guessed it... It looks so clean and organized, I'm afraid to park the car in it...

 

Popcorn Balls....A Love Story

I had to cringe a bit when I saw that it has been over a month since I last blogged. I did have intentions of blogging sooner, but time as always gets away from me. I was going to blog on Halloween and post an empty bag and ask each of you to stop by and give me a treat, and to make it as original as you could in your selection. But a big part of me was afraid that knowing all of you, I would just end up with 83 rocks or a bunch of empty candy wrappers. But I didn't get that blogged, but today's blog is a bit of a leftover from my Halloween.

Halloween was a pretty nice day for most parts, but I was a bit frazzled when there was a knock on my door at 11 a.m. and there stood 7 trick or treaters. Trying to hide my shock I mumbled a few sentences about nice costumes, etc. etc. and when I closed the front door I felt the panic set in. SEVEN trick or treaters before noon. I hadn't planned on a whole lot of trick or treaters. Every year the number of kids going door to door had slowly been downsizing. The last few years the most I ever had was a dozen. I had stuff for about 2 or 3 dozen trick or treaters at most. It had me panicking for a bit that I was going to run out of stuff. It was the first time ever that I had trick or treaters so early in the day and I was torn between running to town to get more treats or try my hand at making something.

Fearing I might miss any more trick or treaters that might feel compelled to go around early as their cohorts had, I opted to make something. Growing up as a child the thing that always stood out for Halloween and the homemade treats was ...popcorn balls. My mom made them, the neighbor kid's moms made them, and nobody seems to make them any more. I know most are afraid to make anything homemade, much less let their kids eat anything homemade, but a bee had gotten into my bonnet and I was in the mood for popcorn balls.

I had to find a recipe, and unable to locate a recipe from my mom on her popcorn balls I did the next best thing and googled. Hmmm...so many choices, I finally opted on a recipe for "grandpa's favorite popcorn balls"...after all grandpa couldn't be wrong could he? I set about popping the popcorn, sifting out the old maids, and stirred and stirred the bubbling concoction for what seemed like forever. The directions called for boiling the mixture to a hard crack stage which is roughly 300 degrees. Finally it got to that point and I poured it over my mound of fluffy white popcorn. I stirred the popcorn and kept mumbling, "hot"..."hot" as a drop or two of the molten mixture would touch a finger. How in the heck was I going to mold this stuff into balls if it was painful just stirring the mixture? The directions said to wait five minutes before forming into balls, but after a minute or two I could tell the popcorn mixture was stiffening up and I had to act fast if it was going to take ball form. Buttering up my hands well I proceeded to gingerly grab hand fulls and mold into the balls, all the while continuing my mantra of "hot"..."hot"..."hot"... I got to the last little bit which was cool enough it no longer wanted to stick well so it just got tossed into a bowl. I sat back proudly and admired my popcorn balls and started counting them. I had to frown a bit when I came up with just a couple over a dozen. That's it my mind cried? Only 14 lousy popcorn balls? I debated on making a second batch, but only for a second. No way in heck was I doing that again. How did our moms do it I wondered? I know they made dozens and dozens of the confections and just making a dozen or so had me waning in my love of popcorn balls.

I set my popcorn balls aside as they were going to be my back up plan. As Halloween evening came to a close, I had just enough of my regular treats for the costumed kids and the pile of popcorn balls leftover. I had to try one, after all what is Halloween without a homemade popcorn ball? As I bit into one of the popcorn balls I made a bit of a frown. Hmmpph! Oh they tasted okay but they weren't REAL popcorn balls, or not the popcorn balls that my mom made. They were crispy, hard, they crunched when you bit into them almost to the point of shattering. They weren't what I was expecting or wanting. Insert pout here.... So I thought, well maybe if I let them set a day or two they will soften up a bit to the point of my popcorn ball remembrances. Fast forward to today, November 4th and they are still as crunchy as the day I made them (sigh).

There is an art to popcorn ball making. Mine were too hard. Popcorn balls are made for you to sink your teeth into them and automatically feel the sugared gooey stuff stick to your two front teeth, and as you chew the popcorn ball yumminess, you pray silently that you don't loose a filling. They need to have a bit of stickiness to them but at the same time not be too sticky. I have had popcorn balls made with marshmallows and they are too soft and chewy. The ones I made were too hard... mom's were just right.

I don't know, maybe if my popcorn balls had turned out I still wouldn't have been satisfied. We remember things differently as kids. I think the excitement we all felt while young added a flavor to those popcorn balls that are sadly lacking today. I won't give up on the popcorn ball making though, it will just be awhile before I try it again. Maybe next year.....or not.

Happy Birthday Misty - Thanks for the Memories...

Happy Birthday Misty, I was originally going to make up a new birthday graphic to stick up here or on your guestbook. Looking thru my old graphics though, I came across several things from the past, our past, in our old graphics PSP group so I thought I would post some of them here to give you a chuckle. I know most on here won't know the humor behind them but you will and that is all that counts...

May your day be extra special Misty, I know it's been years and years that we have been connected on here. You ran over my toes first in yahoo chat with your powered 360 computer chair. Was my cohort in terrorizing RRL. Was my mentor in Paint Shop Pro. Helped me to learn html and make a webpage. A lot, quite a lot when I think about what all you taught me on here, and once again I want to say thanks for you and your friendship.

 

Thanks for the memory

Of things I can’t forget

Journeys on the Net

Our wondr’ous time in ladybugs

And chat I won’t forget

How lucky I was

 

And thanks for the memory

Fun and laughs, full of glee

On computer wheel

We had a ball at late night

But we didn’t stop for pleas

How funny it was

 

Now since our late nights I wake up

Smiling on a gray morning after

I long for the sound of more laugher

And then I see the laugh’s on me

But thanks for the memory

 

Of every time a thrill

I’ve been thru the mill

I’ve lived a lot and learned a lot

You taped me up and still

I miss you so much

 

Thanks for the memory

Of how we like to blog

Even in a fog

The bloggers in Multiply

Many hours we did log

How lovely it was

 

Thanks for the memory

Of pictures I destroyed

Blogs that we enjoyed

Today the way things look

I need a book by Sigmund Freud

How brainy he was

 

Gone are those nights on Yahoo chat

Together we would do a great show

But now I begin with the late show

And wish that you

Were playing too

 

I know it’s a fallacy

That people never cry

Misty, that’s a lie

We had our time of mischief

But memories never die

And thank you so much

 

Service

Last week wasn't the best of weeks, as it seemed like everything wanted to break or give out at once. On Sunday the refrigerator decided to give up the ghost and I found myself out and about looking for a new fridge to replace the old one. Living in a bit of a rural area, it's hard to find a big selection on refrigerators. There are a couple of appliance stores nearby but the quantity was very small and the prices a bit steeper than you would find at a bigger retail store. I have found out from past experience that even though an ad will claim that it has free delivery and set up that isn't always the case. Calling a major chain store, whom I won't mention by name but who's catalogs graced many an outhouse in the past, had me placing an order and asking for their delivery service. It was after giving my location that I was then told that I was not in their "service area". So I cancelled the order, because I knew there was no way I could load and unload a fridge by myself and take out the old one as well. Eventually a refridgerator was located at a local business and it was delivered and set up but at a bigger price tag.

That had me thinking a lot about service and how limited services seem to be any more, especially if you are not in a bigger city or more populated area. The week didn't progress well as I found myself calling a satellite tv company about poor reception on my satellite receiver. After dialing the customer service number, I spent a good 10 minutes with an automated voice before I was directed to a real person. After answering her questions it was determined  that the receiver was old and faulty and a new one would be sent out. I was then told that I would receive the new receiver for free but I would have to pay the shipping costs for the newer upgraded receiver as well as commit for another 12 months. I will admit for some reason that hit me wrong and didn't set well with me. Their ads claim they have a 99% satellite reliability, but in order to get that reliability it was going to cost me. After trying to get that point across to customer service, I was told the old receiver wasn't their responsibility, that I owned it and I had to upgrade. I asked then to have my service terminated and I would go with another provider. I was then patched thru to another person who asked what I was calling about and I had the same conversation again. In the end a new receiver was sent out and it supposedly is suppose to be free and they would pay the shipping. When I got the new receiver it clearly stated on the front of the box it is the property of that company and was a leased product and it  would have to be returned if I ever dropped their service. I could only shake my head. In order to get a service I was already paying for I would have to upgrade and make a commitment but it didn't seem like there was being much of a commitment on their end...

On Friday I went shopping for some grass seed to plant this fall. I went to a large feed and supply store that was in the process of moving in and that was their first day of being opened. I wandered around the vast building with only a handful of other lost and confused customers, trying to find someone to ask for help. After a lot of searching, a couple of small bags of grass seed were finally located. At the checkout were two employees, both seemingly chained to their post as neither veered more than a couple of steps from their spot. I could understand one employee having to be there at all times, but the second employee loitered about and tried their best not to make eye contact encase they were actually asked a question. I find that a lot any more when out shopping. I will need help finding something, or head for the check out and there will be several  employees loitering about, but not seeming to do a whole heck of a lot. Heaven forbid if they have to open another check out lane or be forced to wait on a customer...

Service, it's not what it use to be. When I think of all of the things that use to be a service but have been eliminated or streamlined it makes one start to worry. Gas stations that are full service are fewer and fewer. Find a grocery store that actually carries out your purchases is getting harder, even sacking your own groceries is becoming more and more the norm. I can understand that each eliminated position means a cheaper product and a bigger profit for the company business. But it's those cheaper and cheaper products that we have to worry about. As more and more businesses go overseas or across the border, more and more jobs are lost. Add to that fact that products are now mass produced to be thrown away. They are not built or meant to last as long as they use to. Having anyone repair a product or being capable of repairing a product is dwindling. Add those services to the migrating jobs and an even bigger chunk of the work force is gone. It's like a huge gap that is growing and growing between the blue and white collar job forces. It's scary to think about. Factory jobs use to be the bread and butter for middle class America and it's becoming a thing of the past.

With Labor day coming up tomorrow, my mind tends to dwell more and more on service and how it's becoming a smaller and smaller part of our lives. We talk about restaurant service, car service, servicemen and women in the military, and those services seem to be in danger. Maybe I am blowing things out of proportion, progress comes with a price but that price seems to be getting larger and the means for paying that price is becoming less and less. I can imagine one day having a universal debit card, issued by the government of course, and us having to do all of our shopping in one large, massive warehouse. We will go in, load up our purchases and on the way out our items will automatically be scanned along with our bodies, with the total being deducted  from our accounts and a note to please see the dentist as two new cavities were detected.

For most people Labor day is that last hurrah, and is seen as the end of the summer. As time moves on, it seems to take on a much more serious note. Labor, big business, the government, it makes one think alot and ask ones self, are you being served?

Rear Window

As with most days, time gets away from me and before I know the day is over and it's onto the next. I had planned on writing this blog over the week-end but didn't get around to it. It's not a blog of much importance, it's just about a day last week in which I was out for a bit of a road trip and the things that I saw.

I don't know why it seemed like the day was any different from the rest, but it seemed like I saw so much more that day than I usually do. I don't know if I was more aware of my surroundings, my mind open and not lost in thought as it usually is, or if I was really seeing and taking in what was around me instead of dwelling on me and what I was doing for a change.

Friday I went to visit my grandmother, and MkChippy you will be glad to know I did find out more about the pic from the previous blog. It is a pic of my great great grandparents on my mom's dad's side. They had left for Colorado to see if it would help with my great great grandmother's health problems. They weren't there long at all before they decided to move back home. Evidently the move back suited them well as my great great grandmother lived to be well in her 90's.

My day started with seeing a couple of my neighbors outside. I saw a man working in the hot sun to help a widowed neighbor lady, only to balk and hold his hands up and shake his head "no" when she tried to pay him...

I saw a bald woman out mowing her yard. It would be enough to make anyone stop and stare and wonder at her state of hairless-ness. I would wonder myself if I hadn't asked her if she was ill or having problems. Neither was the case, she shaved it on purpose to commiserate with another friend who was...

On my trip I stopped to get a few things and it was while I came out from shopping that I noticed an old white haired man push his shopping cart across the paved parking lot. He finally came to a stop when he was in front of a John Deer tractor and he took his bags of purchases and placed them in the the bucket of his front end loader and then took off. It had me wondering. Was he having car trouble and took the tractor in to town as a last resort? Had he been working in the fields nearby and stopped for a few necessities before heading back home? Whatever his story was, it gave me a giggle. I could only shake my head and think only in the midwest...

It was in that same parking lot I saw a large woman in a sleeveless t-shirt and a stained short skirt walk in to the store. Normally, if we are honest with ourselves, we tend to roll our eyes, maybe even wrinkle our nose in distaste about someone wearing dirty clothes to go out in public to go shopping. It was less than five minutes later I saw the same woman walking back out of the store with three huge bottles of laundry detergent. Evidently it really was laundry day which had me wondering if she had been frantically pawing thru a huge pile of clothes that morning for anything to wear...

Down the road while traveling I saw a small cottage with a row of mature evergreens in front of the house. The trees couldn't have been much more than 10 or 15 feet away from the front door. Smack in the middle of the windbreak of trees was a large tree, broken and lying to the left of the house. It's trunk twisted but still connected to the base of the tree. I wondered if whoever lived there was home at the time when the storm struck? Were they fervently praying to God when the winds blew... and he answered? By all accounts the tree should have fallen on the house, but instead it twisted and fell in the only spot that it could to miss everything,... the house, the other trees, and the power lines...

Turning off onto the access road to the interstate I saw a suitcase by the side of the road. Lost luggage I wondered? Til driving closer I could see a man lying in the tall grass sleeping, curled up as if the earth was his pillow. Tramp...transient...bum would be the first thing that would pop into most people's minds. I could only wonder where was he going and where had he come from. Did he have a destination or was he just traveling, and killing time, trying to find himself or some kind of purpose?...

It made me all start to think of an old Jimmy Stewart movie called "Rear Window". In the movie, Jimmy Stewart had a broken leg in a cast and he spends his days staring out his window at the apartments across the street thru his binoculars. Thru his window he can see their lives unfolding before his eyes. Granted in the movie, he thinks he has witnessed a murder and I didn't see anything of that nature, but it did make me think and feel that I was staring in someone's rear window. I saw small glimpses that I might have instantly dismissed or not even noticed.

I saw kindness, ..I saw ingenuity...I saw daily toils and struggles... I saw a small miracle and I saw life such as it is for some. That is what I love about being connected to all of you here on Multiply. Thru your blogs I am given a glimpse thru your rear window. I see and read about your trials, your triumphs, your joys and your sorrows...

I see you.

 

One Sentence...

 

Cassius...now that is a name you don't hear too often any more.

Otto, Albertine, Beulah, Grover...Cleveland.....named for a past president?

All names from the past, my past, but a past made up of people I have never met or remember.

I had a lot of company last month. Family members came to visit several days and nearing at the end of the visit, a camera was brought out and pictures taken while members groaned and posed for family pictures. Which then lead to old photo albums being drug out and pictures  poured over like lost and newly found friends. One of my brother's kept finding pics and then would go over to show his kids and they would nonchalantly look at the pic and go back to watching tv or playing games. I really can't blame the kids, they wouldn't know or have a memory tied to the picture like their father did. Memories are tied up in pictures, or pictures tie up memories, either way they help to prod long forgotten moments, capture a time or place or a bit of history for each of us. The picture at the top of my blog is of either my great great grandparents or my great great great grandparents. I'm not sure, I can't remember what I was told, and it's on my list of things to do soon in finding out from my grandmother who they are again. She's the only one who knows, the only one who would be able to tell and remind me so that I can mark on the back of the copied print their names and possibly a date or place in that particular time of their lives.

I know some of you on my friend's list have been bitten by the ancestry bug and have been working for years on assembling information and tracing back your family trees. I admire you for taking that on, it's a daunting task trying to fit all the pieces together in your genetic make up. If you are lucky enough you have some old photos to help put a face to a name and can look for familiar similarities in family members. I have some family history written down. On my mom's dad's side, his mother's lineage has been traced back quite aways by another distant relative and there was even a book published back in the 1970's of their findings. Family trees keep growing though, and already the book is almost 40 years behind in additions that need to be made to each branch that keeps sprouting. It's never ending. I have the basics written down for just our particular branch and I need to dig my notes back out to add more information.

It's a heck of a lot of work, keeping track of history. With each passing decade it seems like the history gets smaller and smaller. I could write a lot about my mom, her mother, and a little about my great grandmother, but after that I just don't know much. I could name a few dates and names and look at my list and know just the barest of information about them. Great grandpa was a farmer, a truck driver, a barber,..he broke horses, he was rich and then poor and he always drove down the center of the road. Further back though, all that I have are listings of people with a date, and if they are lucky, one sentence. Such and such was a farmer, such and such was a school teacher. So and so had 10 kids, that person was sickly, died early. She was a spinster, he was a governor. It's kind of depressing when you think about it, a  whole life  summed up in just one sentence.

I got to looking at a particular picture that was taken around 1921. My grandmother was a senior in high school that year, and all of the family is either sitting or standing outside of a home posing for the picture. What always strikes me most when looking at old pictures is how nobody ever smiles much. I've heard it said that was because they had poor teeth back then, but I think it's more than that. Even the kids have the most somber of faces. I think it was such a hard life back then, they were just tired. Some faces stick out from the picture though. It's the eyes that stare back at you and you realize that each one of them had hopes and dreams and you wonder if their dreams were ever realized. My grandmother, at the top of her high school class dreamed of going to college, it's her biggest regret. At 17 she found herself married with a baby on the way like most girls her age. At times when I sit and listen to her talk I can see the years seem to drop from her face as it glows with a memory in her eyes as much as her smile. I think of future generations that won't know her, she will be just a date, and if she is lucky there will a notation or sentence after her name in someones memory book.

It made me start to think that we need a designated keeper of memories. Someone who writes down all the important stuff. Not just names, and occupations, and dates, and how many kids they had, but the good stuff. Stuff like dreams, and hopes and aspirations. Stuff that let us know the real person behind the picture. Let's face it, unless you were someone that achieved a lot of fame, we are all designated to be forgotten after a few generations til someone stumbles upon a picture or catches a bug to trace their family history. This blog isn't meant to be depressing or make anyone feel old and forgotten or that they didn't accomplish a whole heck of a lot in this lifetime. It's about how each of us has a sentence that sums up our whole lives, and it gives one a lot to ponder on just what our sentence will be and how we would want to be remembered.

At this point in my life I still don't know what my sentence is going to say or be. I can't really think of anything that sticks out of great importance. Maybe that is how it's all suppose to be. In our books of family, we are each a sentence that makes up the whole story. No sentence stands out much more than the other, they are all tied together in paragraphs and chapters and endless pages ... and if we are lucky, our storybooks will have pictures...

 

**(From top to bottom of the pictures of the ladies...my great great grandmother, my great grandmother, my grandmother, and my mom as a young child)...

Chicken Update...

 

 

It's been awhile since I have blogged about my mom's recent foray into raising chickens, so I thought I would give an update to let you know the chickens finally made it into their new home. If you will remember, from a previous blog, my mom had purchased 25 baby chicks on the spur of the moment and having no where to put them, had made a pen for them in her garage. The chicks seemed to do well in their environment, but being a fast growing breed they quickly grew from their cute fuzzy stage into that awkward feather-fuzz, gangly look.

So off to google for chicken coop plans and with suggestions from the carpenter who was going to build it, she finally had everything in motion. Except for one small detail... rain. This spring it rained and rained and rained continually. All thoughts of building the new chicken coop were put on hold. Original plans had called for a concrete floor, which in this kind of weather, couldn't be poured. So on to plan B. On my mother's place there is an old building which I am not sure what it's original use was intended for. Years ago, a farmer had placed a couple of old bridge planks on each side of it and had used it to store grain. The bridge planks were to keep the sides from bursting out from the pressure of the stored grain. From all accounts though, it looked like at one time it could have been a chicken coop...like 75 years ago. But the building was still standing and it was declared the new home for the chickens. Of course being such an old building it required a bit of work to get it up to chicken snuff standards. The carpenter hired along with the help from one of my brothers, built a lean-to styled chicken run or area on the East side of the building and inside of the structure, they constructed a wall of metal siding with a door, so that upon entering you had half of the building for storage of feed and supplies and the back part was for the chickens. It sounds simple enough but it seemed to take on huge proportions when they insisted on digging deep trenches and lining with metal tin to prevent digging predators, along with burying chicken wire and completely encasing the enclosure in. One could only access the penned yard by another door that was constructed inside the building in the storage area. So with two new doors, a new wall, and an enclosed lean-to area, a new home was created. The guys were even kind of enough to build a chicken cage for transporting of the ever growing chickens. The first batch of chickens they deposited in the outside penned area, and the next two batches of chickens they placed inside the building. The only problem with their thinking was now we had segregated chickens. Being traumatized in their moving they didn't want to budge. The outdoor chickens stayed outdoors...the indoor chickens wouldn't venture out. I suppose eventually they might have figured it out, but there was a bit of dilemma brewing...

Rain, more rain was going to be moving in. No matter how hard my mom tried to coax them with feed up their walkway to the little square chicken door, they wouldn't budge. So she tried herding them. Chickens don't herd well, at least these chickens didn't. Still worrying about the upcoming rain my mom proceeded to chase and grab each chicken that was in the outside pen and toss it thru the chicken door. She was pretty good at it too. Well except when she kept forgetting that being a lean-to type structure the ceiling lowered at the one end and she would grab a chicken and stand up only to conk herself in the head. I winced the first couple of times she did it, and on the third time I thought perhaps I might need to call 911 and direct the rescue personnel to the prone, unconscious women on the ground that had chickens roosting on her. Luckily she managed to get all the chickens tossed inside and for a couple days/nights she would play the game of chicken run and toss when she worried her chickens might get drowned.

The chickens are finally learning and doing better and will now use their walkway in and out of the coop. And in the evening they will line up against the fencing when they see her coming with their feed and fresh water. They flap their wings and make a mad dash to be first in line. It's not like they are starving, they are huge. So huge, I accused my mom of having chickens that were part duck because they kind of waddle. In the mix are several roosters that are growing into big birds as well, but their voices haven't quite matched their size yet. The first time I heard one of them try to crow, it sounded like someone had stepped on a very tired and worn out squeeze toy. I looked over at my mom and trying to look as serious as possible I told her, "you have a gay rooster". I know, that isn't very politically correct, but I couldn't help but tease my mom on the weak, effeminate sounding crowing bird.

So far, I think she is still enjoying her chickens. The cost of feed isn't cheap though and I imagine those birds will have to work overtime whenever it's egg production time to make up for the cost. My mom did lose a couple of baby chicks in the very beginning from them crowding together too much. And since then she has only lost one other chicken, which in it's self, has become a bit of a mystery. The missing chicken was small and had an injured wing or leg and never moved much from it's spot. Faithfully my mom would go out every day and give the injured bird it's own food and water. She couldn't bring herself to kill the chicken. One day though, she went out to find the chicken missing. Someone or something had made off with the poor chicken. There was no blood, there was no feathers lying about, it had just vanished. A few days later my mom was chatting to me and mentioned she was sure she bought a new bag of flour and it wasn't there. It was gone. I told her, well, that obviously made sense, because whoever stole her chicken of course would need a bag of flour in order to coat and fry the chicken they had stolen...

I wonder some days about my mom...and her chickens...

If she can't kill one chicken, how will she kill any? If one chicken escapes or was stolen, will more chickens make their getaway? Will her chickens continue to get fatter until she will be forced to put in an electric escalator so they can go in and out? And I wonder will all of my mom's roosters turn out to be gay?

Raising chickens isn't as easy as they tell ya...

I could only cover my eyes with my hand the other day when my mom enthusiastically chirped that "we" could get a calf or some goats, she had plenty of room...

"Mom" ..(I sighed)..."where do you come up with this "we" stuff?"...

I feel tired....really tired... some days...

 

 

June 30, 2009

 

I had forgotten about the passion fruit...and for some reason I still want to call them pomegranates, even though you educated us on the difference...

But I remembered when I saw the pic, that pic of the glossy, globby bits of seeds you tried to convince us was a taste of pure bliss,... but all that we could see were "tadpoles"...

I looked deeper and saw you in a rut, not just any rut, but a big rut that you drove straight into and somehow managed to climb out of...

I read the words,... your words,... and it's as if you were standing beside me and reading them to me over my shoulder.

Serious words, silly words, words that wrapped around ones tongue and followed a path that lead us to your thoughts. Thoughts you were kind enough to let us see and experience along with you.

Sometimes you added pictures, gloriously colored pictures, but your words already painted a picture for us...

I was jealous of hairbugs...going places, seeing places, experiencing places....as much as a stuffed bear could see and experience...

I stole a moon picture from your blog,... not to claim as my own, but to post here....your moon, ...and as you saw it one night and wondered and basked in it's glowing light...

I have your letter, not an e-mail but a real letter, that you sent to me after one evening of chatting and how I moaned that no one writes letters any more, and how letters were so much more tangible than e-mails....And so you wrote me a letter in your own flowing writing that I knew had passed thru your hands into so many others and finally ended up across the world in my tin-colored mailbox like a small miracle upon it's safe arrival.

I have the pics you sent, I still have some of your e-mails, and even an opened jar of vegemite that I can't seem to bare to part with even though I never could seem to acquire a taste for it's salty flavor...

I have memories of our late night chats...the instant messages, the giggles, the smiles, and the hugs....

I learned what gobsmacked meant...

I sit here and I try to find the words and they don't come so easy...I keep reading your written words to try and absorb them and you, and I keep feeling the anxiousness as if they are slipping away with you...I read the words from your entry of November...the 3rd of 2006 (has it really been that long ago?)...

I keep rereading that entry, because if ever there were the words that described you it was in those few sentences. It's hard to condense ones life into just words, whether describing your own or someone elses...

But it's the words that I miss the most,...those thoughts set to paper or to the keyboard that traveled the world that let us, ...me, ...know you...

Thank you Poss for you and your words...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dead People With Hula Hoops...

Have you ever had one of those disconcerting moments where you know what is factual but seeing something before your eyes makes you doubt what you know? They say that seeing is believing and yet the other day when I was out shopping, I couldn't quite believe what I saw...

I saw dead people with a hula hoop...

Well not a lot of dead people just one in particular but it did make me do a double take and think for a split second I was losing it. I could have swore it was her. I could have swore it was Louise.

Louise was an old neighbor and friend from my ladies community club. She was brash, outspoken, opinionated, loud and more to the point she died two years ago. But there she was, or there was her exact double getting into a vehicle parked next to mine, carrying a shopping bag and a hula hoop.

I felt kind of stupid, I saw her and automatically was putting my hand up in the air to wave and yell hi when it dawned on me that can't be her, she's dead, and there is no way she would be shopping for hula hoops. It gave me a bit of a weird feeling though. Seeing her double, they just looked so much alike it was creepy. I tried to tell myself that all old ladies look the same. They either have really tightly wound perms plastered so close to their heads in pastel colors, or they have their hair cut short with bangs and have let it go to it's natural greying color. Louise had bangs. She had bangs, and was short, and square and had the aches and pains of an 80+ year old farm woman. Louise was Louise and there was no doubting her. She could pinch a penny tighter than anyone I knew, yet she didn't have to. She sewed and quilted, and baked bread from grinding her own flour. She danced, she drank beer, she loved to play cards and she loved to cook.

It was from Louise that our ladies club learned you could use your leaf blower to blow the dust off of the top of your curtain rods. That driving a tractor on terraces made your boobs uneven, and one should always, ALWAYS cook with butter. Louise was a firm believer in butter. When it came on sale she thought nothing of spending 50 bucks to stock up on butter. I know when she passed away they had to have found a freezer full of butter. One woman can not eat that much butter, contrary to what Paula Deen might say on her cooking show.

It all made me think about people though. People that have left this world already. It made me wonder about those "twins" those look-alikes that could pass for their doubles, that are still wandering around. Are there more look-alikes than just the one other person twin? Perhaps there are whole groups of look-alikes? Which is kinda scary when you really think about it. We all think of ourselves as individuals with our own personal traits and personalities, and all of this time there could be more of us out there...maybe a lot more...

It makes you wonder about this individuality stuff. Maybe we aren't so unique after all? I have blogged before on angels walking among us, and I am not so sure that it was an angel or not. Angels carrying hula hoops? Or just an ordinary grandma  buying toys for grand kids? Or maybe I was just seeing a mirror image reflected downwards to spark my mind and memories of someone or something in my life to help me not forget?

As far as I know, Louise never had a hula hoop, but maybe they ran out of wings and are handing out hula hoops instead? It's got me thinking I need to start practicing some swiveling moves. I'd hate to disappoint the other groups of "me" out there with my uncoordinated abilities....

It's Still Raining.....So Another Quiz ...(Updated With Answers)

You guys did so well on the flower quiz, I am sending another quiz your way on wildlife. The pics can or may include animals, amphibians, birds, reptiles, etc. ....Good luck!

 

Bonus Question:

There is no bonus question....if there was a bonus question what should it be?

UPDATE: Congratulations you guys did fantastic and got almost all of them, encase you missed any of them, here are the answers....