Halloween 2019

15 Nov

Charleston Great-grandkids. Butch was Spider Man, and Sweet Girl was – well, she’s her mother’s daughter. Five, going on twenty-five.

halloween 2019

Buckingham Palace

7 Nov

Our local library sponsored a Visit to Buckingham Palace this afternoon, and it was very interesting.

They had some sort of “Viewmaster” things they passed out to each of us, while the librarian changed the slides from her desk. We had a three-dimensional tour of several rooms – eight, I think – and if you turned your head this way or that you could look all the way around the room, as well as looking up at the ceiling and down at the rugs.  The really funny thing was if someone else couldn’t find what you saw, you would point in the direction of the object, as if you were actually in the room.

Since I seldom pass up a chance to get gussied up, I put on a nice dress and grabbed one of my biggest hats. If I’m going to tea with the queen, I’m not going to show up in jeans and a T-shirt! I was the only one there who wasn’t in jeans and a T-shirt! That’s alright. I was happy to sip my tea (in a Styrofoam cup!) and nibble my “biscuits”.

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Election Day Tomorrow

4 Nov

election 2020

I’ll Take That!

3 Nov

Eldest Daughter called the other day to tell us about taking her grandchildren, Sweet Girl and Butch, out to Trick or Treat.  They live in Charleston, SC, where it is still warm enough in the evenings for the grownups to be out on the porch or patio watching the kids parade up and down the streets. A good number of them will have what amounts to Tailgate Parties, with all the trimmings, while they pass out candies.

One woman waved them up closer, exclaimed over their costumes, and offered them a bowl of treats, telling them to “take what they liked”. Butch’s eyes lit up, and he exclaimed, “Oh, I do like that!”. He reached around her and grabbed a hotdog off the grill, stuffed most of into his mouth, and called out, “Oh! Thank you” as he turned to join his sister.

Don’t Touch!

30 Oct

Over on GoComics.com we were discussing visiting a sewage treatment plant, of all things. Don’t ask; we tend to wander over there. Someone remarked that kids wouldn’t be as apt to wander off or touch everything they saw.

Many, many years ago, The Squire volunteered to chaperone Youngest Daughter’s school class on a trip to the Smithsonian. He gathered his troop and set off to one of the buildings. One of the girls in the class was what my grandmother would have called “willful”.  A handful, in other words. The child went off in all directions – ducking under ropes and trying to sit on the chairs. Even after The Squire had a “talk” with her, she dashed down one gallery, tapping every single portrait was she went – one, two, three, four . . .

The entire group – five or six students – ended up getting escorted out of the building and onto the mall. My husband made all of them sit on benches until it was time to meet for lunch. After they ate, he took them to another building, and darned if the kid didn’t pull the same stunts all over again. The Squire was seething, and the other students in the group were all angry at her, not him, for missing out. Again he made them sit on benches out on the mall; he sat beside her and tried to get some sense out of her. She could only say she was “just having some fun.” “How much fun is it to sit out here, and have all of your classmates angry with you?”  Blank look.

It turned out he had been given that group – that girl – because the staff had hoped she’d behave better for a man than a woman. What with one thing and another, it ended up with the girl having to publicly apologize to her classmates, and then her father brought her over here, to apologize to The Squire.

 

Sweet Memories

23 Oct

I was cooking the other day and managed to spill a good bit of sugar on the floor – the better (or worse?) part of a quarter cup of the stuff. I stared at it for a moment, and then went after the broom. I stood there with the dustpan full of sugar, and The Squire laughed. “You look as if you are going to put it back into the bowl.”

And there by hangs a tale.

I was born in the summer of 1942, a few months after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.   We had a fairly safe and stable life; after my dad got out of the hospital he had a “day job” with the Navy as an “abatu”, training men to go overseas. Sometimes Mum and I lived in the house my parents had bought as newly-weds, and other times we stayed with my mother’s parents. I think I must have stayed there more than she did, as I have a lot of memories associated with the place.

Nearly everything was rationed during the war – shoes, orange juice, canned veggies, eggs, fabric, and of course, sugar. We were luckier than most people, as my grandparents had a five acre farm. Even so, The Government Egg Man came around each week and collected some of their eggs for “Our Boys Overseas”. The only thing that wasn’t rationed  was chicken, as very few people liked it back then. Can you imagine what would happen to American tables if chicken was taken off the menu now?

The highpoint of my three-or-four year old life was going with my grandfather to buy chicken feed, and I got to pick out the two feed sacks needed to make me a new dress. Later on, he joked that I took for ever to select those bags. Much hmm-ing and umm-ing, walking back and forth before I made up my mind.

My grandfather was working for the B&O at the time, and one evening, whether by accident or design, a bag of sugar broke open as they were unloading a freight car. Sugar poured out onto the ground! Pure white gold!  My grandfather said the men scooped it up and put it into whatever was handy – lunch boxes, paper sacks, even pouring it into their hats.

One of my earliest memories is standing between my grandmother’s knees as she gently shook a bowl of sugar back and forth. From time to time, a speck of dirt or cinder would come to the surface, and she’d move that into another bowl. Naturally, each time she removed some dirt a bit of sugar would come with it.  That was the sugar they used in their coffee. The dirt sank to the bottom and you never knew it was there.

Flood Control

20 Oct

Remember the flood we had back in August when one of the pipes to the water heater split and everything below shoulder level was wet?  Yeah.

Yesterday morning, The Squire was working on some household repair and discovered everything in the “nuts and bolts” cabinet was soaked and rusted. Small part organizer, they call those things. Whatever, all of the bits and bobs that come in handy are ruined. And, just to make things even more interesting the entire cabinet, being metal, is also rusted beyond redemption.

I hate to see a grown man cry.