Happy New Year 2009

Happy New Year 2009

Wars are raging across the planet. Groups of humans are fighting for power to control other groups of humans. Almost any excuse is used to agitate and manipulate situations for advantage by either individuals or factions within communities and countries. Borders are no longer indications of ethnicity but have turned into highways and byways for refugees fleeing violence. Pestilence and starvation have become norms as a result of massive greed and selfishness by self appointed rulers. The acquisition of money, which represents power, is so extreme in every country that large populations are in want of housing and food. Pollution of earth and water exists almost beyond the ability to prevent a global catastrophe.

I wonder that I have the temerity to wish loved ones a happy New Year, but as hope springs eternal and tradition calls for celebrating the passing of the old year as the New Year comes into being...

I do wish all a happy, healthy and prosperous 2009.

If you would like to help....

Oxfam America

Heifer International

Justgive.org

Sea Shepherd

Is It Fate or Do We Choose?

Is It Fate or Do We Choose?


For all the good times
Thru all the years
For all the joys
The laughs, the tears
Is it fate or do we choose?
We pay the piper
And dance a tune
We swing and sway
From side to side
Then turn and bow to start anew.
Is it by luck or chance
We masque the tune and
Start a dance?
For all the laughs
And tears, a few
Would it differ if
We knew?
If it’s fate or if we choose?

Marion Bigelow, December 22, 2008

Our President

The United States of America elected Barrack Obama president yesterday, November 4th, 2008. His overwhelming victory over John McCain is a win of historical proportion; Obama is the first African American chosen to hold that office, and stories of his life and reports of his election are already resounding around the world. Last night’s celebrations continued in American cities today, demonstrating a faith in his ability to lead us thru a deepening recession and any security challenges the country may face in the future.

I have been an Obama supporter since I heard him speak on television months ago; consequently, I’m very pleased that he is our president elect, but early in the campaign, I had my doubts that he would be elected because of racism. Even in my enthusiasm, there was a moment when I, myself, stopped to think of what it would mean to have a black man as president.

I had already accepted the fact that Obama was a candidate with extraordinary qualities. As I envisioned him giving television press conferences, meeting world leaders and giving speeches to the nation, I mentally approved his living in the white house. Then I suddenly realized that if he was elected, his wife would be ‘first lady’. I had never envisioned a black woman as ‘first lady’. I didn’t know much about Michelle and wondered how she would compare to what I thought was the epitome of first ladies, Eleanor Roosevelt. It only took a nano-second to realize that if I wanted Obama as president, I could and would accept her too. During the campaign she exhibited the same admiral qualities of her husband and she has certainly surpassed my hopes that she will bring honor to the title.

I applaud the changes in attitude achieved by those who fought and continue to fight against racism. I can trace changes in my own attitude from childhood. As a third grader, I remember asking my father if he had ever shook hands with a Negro or touched the skin of one. When he said yes, I asked him how it felt and when he said it felt just like touching white skin, it was difficult for me to fathom black skin feeling warm. I knew Dad was from the south and his grandfather had owned slaves but at that age I had only been exposed to white people and those of Mom’s family who often talked of their American Indian grandmother whose name had been given to my Mother.

In later years when I was engrossed in family history, Mom told me of her first encounter with a black person. She had just arrived at the train station in Louisville, Kentucky and had difficulty managing luggage and a nine month old fussy baby, at the same time. Incidentally, I was the baby. A black porter not only took care of the luggage, but took charge of the situation. She tried to refuse his help, but he took the baby and guided her to the restaurant and even helped serve her. Mom said that she had never been around black people and was painfully aware of his blackness. She was even too timid to drink the milk he had poured in the glass for her. To avoid hurting his feelings, she tasted the milk but didn’t finish it.

As I moved thru the school grades, I absorbed a ‘northern attitude’ toward those who discriminated against black people in the south. In those formative years, stories of the Underground Railroad were enhanced by childish speculations about the secret passage way leading to an outside exit at my maternal grandmother’s house. As children we pretended that it was one of many used to help slaves escape to Canada.

The family’s move to California during the war brought us in contact with ethnic groups, cultures and religions we hadn’t known in the small Midwestern town in Iowa. The war not only disrupted the country and turned lives upside down, but when it ended, social changes came fast and furiously. Women began to aspire to careers and joined persons of color to demand equality.

I not only supported the Civil Rights movement but was also a fervent supporter of Equal Rights for Women. As a young married woman with two children, I had been shocked when a co worker referred to women as second class citizens. I had only applied that term to black people. It had never crossed my mind that even simple things like the ownership of a vehicle required a husband’s permission if a wife wanted to sell it. When I asked Mom about it, she said yes, they always had ‘and/or’ on the registration of the family cars in case she had to sell the car in some emergency.

I remember when the graduation of a woman from either law or medical school was unusual enough that it made the newspapers. Some years ago there was a push to have the states ratify an Equal Rights amendment to the constitution guaranteeing women’s equality but nothing came of it. History of the amendment can be read on http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Equal_Rights_Amendment . It has been reintroduced in every congress since 1982 but public interest has subsided. I was quite disappointed when one of my own brothers fought against passing it, postulating there were already laws on the books protecting women. Today there is sporadic talk of equal pay for equal work, but public interest in that is greatly diminished too.

It’s interesting to see how each generation pushes the acceptance of others to a greater understanding and our attitudes continue toward the goal of equality. It’s heartwarming to watch television interviews with a people who never believed a person of their race could or would be chosen president, only to wake up one morning and realize the highest office in this land has been given to one. It’s also a testament to Barrack Obama’s character that Americans of every color, race and belief recognized his abilities and have faith in him to exemplify our Constitutional and democratic ideals. I’m 86 years old as I write this and I may not live to see a woman reach the top of the mountain, but Obama has shown the way, and one day a woman will be President of the United States of America.

I’m pleased that many family members are as enthusiastic as I am that Obama is president. Comments that both my son and daughter have written follow in the next sections.

Bob's Stories

Barak Obama - President of the United States of America! What an amazing and wonderful title!
I have had a curious and unique relationship with the civil rights'movement' in this country, ever since I was a teenager.

In the early 1960's - while in High School - I was a 'Quaker' [or more correctly, 'The Society of Friends'], and deeply involved with my Friends 'Youth' Organization, of about 150 or so teens of all ages, 13-19. This was in northern California. We were very active in social, and politically aware events of the time, but we focused a lot of our energy on the 'Civil Rights Movement'. Some of our group, and close friends, were 'Freedom Riders' on the Greyhound busses touring the south. Several were beaten and jailed. Later 2 of my good friends participated in the 'March on Selma' with Dr King. I was too young to go then.

During these years, Dr Martin L. King, and several notable civil rights activists, musicians, artists, and writers were to be having a town hall meeting about the 'movement' at Stanford University. Our youth group helped in the promotion of the event. We waited outside the hall, and Dr King, and the other notable activists, and celebrities - on their way into the event - were kind enough to stop and meet with us briefly, each say hello to every one of us indivually, and shake our hands by way of thanks for supporting the 'movement'. I have always been very proud to say I shook Dr Kings hand!

Those were very worrisome days in the Civil Rights movement, as there were many people across the country - not just in the south - that were not very favorably inclined toward helping black folks, or supporting the concept of 'equality' in general. I was about 15 then, and had not yet gone to Viet Nam ... which is another, but very much inter-related story. In spite of my belief in, and study of, civil disobedience and non-violence my whole life, I found myself in the Marine Corps. This is an amazing story in itself, but for another time of telling.

Fast forward now a few years to 1965.

I was in Marine training at Camp Pendleton, California - in the heat of August, when the 'Watts Riot' erupted in Los Angeles. Being only an hour away, our unit was hastily organized, and trained for 'riot control, to attack civilians .. where we learned, and practiced crowd control techniques with fixed bayonets. This scared the shit out of all of us. Americans against Americans. About 35% of our unit was composed of African-Americans, who were not inclined to participate, and threatened a virtual 'mutiny'. This was a very crazy time. Ultimately, we were never called to the riots, but the Government had rows of busses, and troop transports lined up for us, waiting to go at a moments notice. It was very serious buisness. We were not issued rubber bullets. Thank God we never had to go.

The first time I ever voted in a National Election was by absentee ballot - as a Marine in Viet Nam. I voted for Eldrige Cleaver. There wasn't a chance in hell he would be elected, but to me - there wasn't any other choice. I later wondered if that was a 'wasted' vote, but at the time, I was convinced it was the right thing to do. I could not vote for LBJ! Through a curios twist of fate, I had actually shaken hands with President LBJ, when he came personally to see off our Marine Unit. He was shipping us off to Viet Nam to reinforce our losing troops during the 'Tet Offensive' of 1968. LBJ had come to El Toro Marine Air Base to see us off. We traveled in combat gear, to be ready to fight upon landing, which we did.!

By the age of 19, I had shaken hands with Dr King, and LBJ. What a world of contrasts.

When I watched Barak Obama give the keynote speech at the Democratic Convention, in 2004, it was the first time I had heard such stirring words of inspiration, reconciliation, and hope from a politician in many decades. It gave me hope. I was inspired. I was stirred. I was 'called'. I felt that here was a person who actually 'got it'! I turned to the folks I was watching the convention with, and said WHO is that guy? Wow.. HE is the guy who should be running for president, and if - by some chance - he ever did, he had my vote! I have since learned that many others mirrored that exact moment.

I was at the VA hospital on this last voting day - November 4th. It happened that I was there almost all day. There was a palpable feeling of excitement, and it seemed that everyone - even the most red neck hardened old vets - were all hoping that Obama would prevail. I was quite taken by the universality of the sentiment across all the various clinics, staff, waiting rooms, and elevator rides. There was a quiet riot of sorts. I would ask folks if they had voted, and a common response was .. "I voted for historic change last week" [early voting] ... or 'I'm voting for history today' ... several die hard republicans even said .. they had never voted for a Democrat, but had voted for Obama. It was quite inspiring, and wonderful how everyone seemed to be pulling together. I had not experienced anything like it since the stirring days right after 9-11 when everyone was 'one'.

President Obama will have a tough path. I think we all put the expectations of an FDR on him. I want him to live up to those expectations... but he is one man. I liked his appeal to all Americans to work together... from the ground up... I have always believed that kind of change - from the people upward - is stronger and more lasting. This country needs a lot of fixing.Obama has called on all of us to participate in the repair. All my energy and hopes are with our new President. I am even more proud to be an American today! I would love to shake his hand!

A man walks up to the guard at the White House and says ... "I'd like to see George Bush".

The guard says ... "I'm sorry, but he doesn't live here anymore."

Next day .. the same guy walks up to the guard and says .. "I'd like to see George Bush"

The guard - a bit peeved - says "I told you .. he doesn't live here anymore"!

This goes on for the next 2 days .. and the guard is getting steamed!

Finally the guard explodes and says .."SIR .. I told you George Bush doesn't live here anymore!!!!"

The man says ... "Oh I know that .. but don't you just love hearing it !!"

The guard says .. "Oh .. absolutely ...then I'll see you tomorrow ?" ..

Kim’s Stories:

Growing up on the West Coast, I was mostly unaware that there was any significance to skin color. My many cousins lived in many parts of the US and when we got together for family reunions skin color had no impact on our play time.

Traveling with my mother to Mexico and living there also never made any impact on me, except that being white made me the target of hoots and hollers from young men as I went about my day.

But when my Mom took me to live in Louisiana for a while, I got my first confused glimpse of a time that is slowly fading from living memories. We had just crossed the border into Louisiana when my Mom stopped for gas. I headed for the restrooms and was confused by the three doors: White Men, White Women, and Colored Men & Women. I had to ask my Mom which door to use.

My Mom rented a house out in the country side and almost daily we got together with my Aunt and her family; my only regular playmates were my cousins. But on days that we did not get together, I had to play by myself. It was not long before I found a family living a good walk from our house in the country. Sometimes I would go there and stand across the street waiting for an invitation to play. I could see there were several kids my age and they had a big tire swing that looked like it would be great fun. I went there a number of times waiting for an invitation but it never came. It was not until much later that I realized that the family was black and I was never going to get the invitation to play with them because it would have been too dangerous for them, as the Civil Rights Movement heated up in the South.

During my lifetime things have changed a lot, and things that seem easy now, were not so easy a few decades ago. As a young person working those “character building” jobs that we never put on our resumes, I had the opportunity to learn to cook in a small cafeteria in the JCPenny Department Store. I had wonderful mentors in my Uncles who were cooks and when I had mastered most of the basics, they urged me to move on to the next level: cooking in a coffee shop. This was a big step for me, the pay would be twice what I was making and I was scared when I went to apply for position advertised in the local News Paper. The manager was very polite when I told him that I wanted to apply for the "cook’s grave yard position", but after a brief conversation, he said “No”. I went home and Mom asked “Did you get the job?” and when I told her that they didn’t give it to me she said “You go back there and tell them to give you that job!” So, I got back into the car and went back and asked to see the Manager again. When he came to talk to me, I asked him “Why didn’t you give me the position?” he replied that he was very glad I had come back and that I was hired and to come in at 11 pm. He told me they had never hired a woman cook before and that it was a bit awkward hiring me. I worked there for a number of years and for a long time I was one of two women cooks working for that coffee shop chain.

The election of Barak Obama is only the beginning of changes that will ripple through this society and the world. History has been changed forever. There is no going back to a time that only white men could work, hold political office and make decisions. Each tick forward is on a ratchet that can never be unwound. It doesn’t matter if there are great successes or miserable failures, the ratchet has been clicked forward and new dynamics have been unleashed. Barak Obama has been given the position that was advertised through out the country. He is now the first on the road and leads the way for everyone who has ever heard the word “No”.

Mimi Cat

By the time the full moon rose over Houston, Texas on the 15th of September, 2008, the city had been 4 days into an electrical outage caused by the hurricane IKE. The outage was to continue for many weeks along with other deprivations.

My son’s apartment is near mine in the same complex and we are able to enjoy living near each other. We were well stocked for emergencies; we had flashlights, and battery operated radios, food and water for ourselves and pets, land line phones, and a full tank of gasoline in my son’s van. My son also had a tiny battery operated television.

During the days after Ike came ashore in all it’s fury, my son and I developed routines for passing the hours while sheltering in place. Daylight allowed activities that didn’t require electricity, but when the sun went down, the light faded quickly from dusk to a blackness of such intensity that one literally could not see their hand in front of their face.

One evening not long after he had said good night to me, my son returned to my apartment saying he wanted to show me something. Holding my hand, he helped me walk thru the darkness, beyond the patio and the hanging foliage of the trees into the parking area. There it was; a moon in full glory! The radiance was breathtaking. The glow, filling the sky, faded to silver as it touched the concrete of the parking lot. What a delightful moment to stand and admire such beauty knowing that destruction of dreadful proportion had occurred as hurricane IKE swept over land.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized Mimi wasn’t hiding in one of her secret lairs but that she must have slipped out the door when I went to see the full moon. I deplored her leaving and could only hope she would find her way back. I thought that maybe the hurricane winds had blown the usual odors of the area away and left behind strange ones that might confuse Mimi if she was inclined to return to captivity.

I was told stories, claiming to be truthful, of cats returning weeks, even months, and in one case, a year later. As hope of such a tale being the case with me, I got used to walking from room to room without having to step over a sleeping cat that refused to move out of the way. I began to enjoy having the whole bed to myself when sleeping and not having to share with a cat that liked to sleep in the middle of the bed. It was a relief not to keep food and water dishes clean and full.
As the weeks passed I began to miss Mimi’s presence. Little by little I began to miss her curiosity and her antics when she found a new box to hide in. I missed her alertness to all the sounds in and outside the apartment. She was like a watch dog. I could tell by the way she reacted to noises, whether it should be investigated or ignored.

A month passed. I was being encouraged to get a replacement cat but I was reluctant to give that suggestion any credence. In fact, I considered my computer a replacement.

Yesterday, my son spied a cat sleeping in a pile of leaves in a neighbor’s yard. It was Mimi! A tall cyclone fence separated the properties preventing us walking over to her and picking her up. Mimi was disoriented and hesitant to come to the fence but with coaxing she made the effort. She was too weak from starvation to climb or jump the fence. We fed her thru the holes in the fence but the problem was trying to get her to our side and home again.

My son got the brilliant idea of taking the cat tree from the apartment and putting it over the fence so Mimi could climb up and we could catch her. I could hardly believe Mimi was home again! She was in bad shape, nearly starved to death, dirty and stinking to high heaven. But she had enough energy to purr and purr and purr as we held her.

We took her to the vet’s the next morning to be treated for fleas however the vet discovered she had a temperature and was given antibiotic shots instead. She is also taking an elixir of vitamins to help in regaining her health, but the flea treatment has to be delayed.

She seems very happy to be home again. She follows me everywhere and now wants to be held and petted whereas before the great ‘escape’ she did not tolerate being held and stroked too often. I am happy to share the bed again and have accepted the fact that she is back in charge and I am the ‘lady in waiting’ ready to attend her every whim.

Homemade Pies

In our daily IM chats my sister Esther and I frequently talk about food. She lives with her son and cooks for the two of them. Dinner is usually waiting for him when he comes home from work, but her diet is quite restrictive so her meals are different from the ones she serves him. Recently she made a blackberry cobbler and when I asked her how it turned out, she said it was really good. I reminded her that blackberry pie was a favorite of Dad’s and that got us reminiscing about Mom’s pies.

Some years ago, when the folks lived on Calera St in Covina, California, an acquaintance offered to buy a coconut cream pie from Mom if she would make it. Mom hesitated, but after being coaxed, she agreed. Mom took special pains to make certain her reputation for good pies held and she did a top notch job for her friend. The pie was served that night and the friend was so pleased she phoned Mom and ordered two more, one coconut and one banana. At $5 per pie Mom was suddenly in the pie business! Over the next several days Mom filled her friend’s order for both cream and fruit pies. Surprisingly, Mom began to get phone calls from the woman’s co-workers asking if they could order pies. Mom was so tickled about her new found fame as a pie maker and actually earning money baking them that she continued filling orders as they came in.
Her baking schedule depended on how many pies she had to have ready for pick up by 5 in the afternoon. It wasn’t long before the whole morning was taken up baking pies. The fillings were all made from scratch as was the pie crust and as the work progressed, pies, tagged with names of customers sat cooling on every available table top and shelf. As word spread about Mom’s homemade pies, orders increased. The pies were baked in the oven of the kitchen stove and only so many could be baked at one time. Soon the afternoons were given over to baking and many times a customer picked up a pie as it came out of the oven. Dad, always a great one to help Mom in her various endeavors, became her assistant. My sister Adeline and I often came to help. In the evenings Aunt Margret and Uncle Chester and Uncle Lester would drop for a visit and to hear how the pie business was going. Of course pie was served as refreshment.

One day Mom realized she was spending all her time cooking and baking. She had enjoyed her little pie business, but the time had come to stop and smell the flowers and maybe spend some of the money she had been earning.

Many years later, when the folks and I lived next door to each other in Texas, we enjoyed morning coffee breaks with my brother Charles, who lived with them and worked with Dad in his antique repair business. During one of our breaks, Mom mentioned that her father’s favorite pie was Vinegar Pie. I asked if it tasted like lemon pie. Mom said yes, and that gave her the idea of making a Lemon pie for supper. I said that if she wanted, I’d make the pie but I’d rather make a Lemon Cream. Charles, who liked to stir the pot, suggested we have a contest to see who could make the best Lemon pie. Amid lots of laughing and sudden bragging, Mom and I accepted the challenge.

As the morning went by, Mom and I got busy with our pie making. Charles, acting as a double agent, came to give me a report on Mom’s progress and in turn gave Mom an update on mine. I never measured ingredients, always guessing amts and relying on sample tastes for my Lemon Cream filling. I had modified a recipe taken from a magazine and had never written down the changes, but I had made the pie so often I was confident that my pie would be sensational.

It was a fun day and everyone got into the spirit of the contest. After supper that night Mom and I brought out our respective pies and waited for oh’s and ahs. Small wedges were served and suspense increased when Dad and Charles asked for second samplings. Finally, it came time to vote. There was no question of who the winner would be. Even I had to vote for Mom’s pie. It really was superb. But of course I had to make out like the voting was rigged!!!!

The ability to bake delicious pies helped Aunt Bessie Ross earn a living during the great depression. She baked pies in her apartment and delivered them to the cafes that gave her standing orders for so many every morning. I often baby sat cousin Homer when she had to make deliveries. Over the years, she could always rely on baking and selling pies to help her over any financial hardship.

I once had a fling at baking and selling pies when my husband and I lived in Paris. I often baked American style apple pie for dessert when we invited other Americans to dinner. Occasionally I was offered money to bake an apple pie for a guest. The French make wonderful tarts but when some of our American friends longed for a slice of an old fashioned apple pie, I’d comply.

My favorite, when it comes to pie, is as changeable as the wind. As a young girl I liked rhubarb custard as only Mom could make it. A leftover slice of cold apple pie for breakfast is a delight but hot apple pie with melting vanilla ice cream is always on my favorite list. I grew up eating gooseberry pie and will order it when ever it’s on a menu when I eat out. Pumpkin is ok if there is lots of whipped cream. Pecan pie gives way to chocolate and coconut cream. Peach and berry cobblers have been favorites from time to time; they certainly have to be considered by any pie enthusiast.

Political Conventions

Our two dominate political parties, Republican and Democrat will soon be holding the 2008 presidential conventions; Democrats will meet August 25-27 in Denver, Colorado, Republicans, September 1-4 in Minneapolis-St Paul, Minnesota. Interest in choosing each party’s representative has been intense and bound to increase thru the election in November. It’s possible that a black man, Barack Obama, may be the first black elected President of the United States.

I am an enthusiastic viewer of televised political conventions. Some of the speeches are boring and too long, but generally speaking, I share the excitement of the delegates when momentous votes and roll calls are taken. My ‘interest’ in politics doesn’t denote an ‘expertise’ in all the whys and wherefores of party policies and platforms, but I try to be learned enough to know when laws and practices go astray of our constitution.

My husband and I lived in Stanford Village when we first registered with a political party. We had to go to Menlo Park to register and on the day we went, there was a long line of student friends and we joined them in waiting. When it came our turn, we were amused when a woman handed us a card and asked us to read it aloud. We knew it was a custom in the south that people of color had to prove they could read in order to vote, but we laughed and assured the woman that we knew how to read, and handed the cards back. The woman insisted, saying it was the law, but after hearing a word or two, she said that was enough. After a short discussion when we mentioned that we would probably vote for the ‘best person’ regardless of party, the woman suggested we register as Independents. We had not anticipated that possibility, but it allowed us to hedge any commitment. We registered as Independents, but by the time we actually had a chance to vote for a president, we had been re- registered as Democrats.

We knew that we would be out of the country during the national election in November because we planned a year abroad immediately after graduation. Consequently, our interest in politics dropped off dramatically when our attentions turned to other matters. We had made arrangements to share driving expenses with a student driving his car to the same Philadelphia area my husband’s family lived, and within hours of the graduation ceremonies, we were on the highway, heading east. My husband, our 2 year son and I would live with my husband’s family until our sailing on Queen Elizabeth in August.

The trip across country was a delightful one. It was enhanced by our friend’s congeniality, euphoria of graduation and anticipation of a year in Paris. We spent long hours in conversation and listening to the car radio. The radio stations faded in and out in strange ways. At times the frequencies from some distant station would be loud and clear while those near the car’s location would drift annoyingly. By chance we tuned into the Republican convention taking place in Philadelphia. When we realized what we were listening to, we made every effort to keep the dial tuned to the coverage until they adjourned.

Our trip ended a few days later. Wrapping up last minute details of our trip kept us busy, but when I learned that it was permissible to attend the Democrat convention, not as a delegate but as a visitor, I jumped at the chance. The convention was held at the Philadelphia Civic Center Convention Hall. There was no seating for anyone but the delegates; it was standing room only in the balcony but I was thrilled to be there. Crowds inside and outside the hall milled around while the balcony crowd stood shoulder to shoulder and pushed against each other to better their view of the doings on the floor below us.

The noise was deafening with band music, whooping and hollering. The delegates waved flags and balloons and wore decorated hats with pins and ribbons. When they perceived a favorable vote or introduction to a speaker, they marched en mass round and round the hall while speakers implored them to be seated. Speakers were rarely heard but loudly applauded. We had an opportunity to mingle with delegates out side the hall before they were called to order and after adjournment. We made a concerted effort to say hello to those representing states we had a claim to, namely, California, Pennsylvania Iowa, and Kentucky. As long as the convention was in session, a circus atmosphere permeated the hall but serious business was accomplished when all was said and done.

It was a wonderful experience to have been a visitor to that convention. The election of 1948 is considered the most historic in our history to date, although this year may out do that one if Obama wins. I’ve followed this year’s primaries with great interest and am looking forward to the coming conventions. I may miss some sleep, but I will definitely be watching TV for as long as events unfold.

Link to Wikipedia Artical about the 1948_Democratic_National_Convention

Vacations

It’s August and ‘vacation’ is the operative word. Congress has gone on vacation. Barack Obama, the democratic candidate for President of the United States, is vacationing in Hawaii. Grade school children are still on summer vacation. Friends have been returning from and/or starting vacations.

As a child I loved ‘going’ on family vacations. Dad always chose the month of October for his annual vacation from his job at the Telephone Company, and as the years passed, his vacation time increased from two weeks to three. We children loved October vacations because we got to miss school and never given homework to make up for the missed classes. We always drove to Kentucky to visit grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. During the year we often visited Mom’s people and they often came to visit us, but we only got to see Dad’s people during his vacation.

Dad’s vacations started on Mondays, but on the preceding Friday, when the office closed for the weekend, Mom and we children would be ready to travel to Kentucky when Dad left work at 5 o’clock sharp. At the time I was unaware of it but in looking back, it was a miracle the way Mom always had things organized to the ‘nth’ degree. There were eight of us children and Mom had to supervise all the preparations for the trip. Adeline and I helped to some degree, but Mom actually did most of the work. She made certain all the clothes needed for each of us for three weeks were clean, ironed and packed. On the day of departure, just making sure that each child was bathed was a huge chore by itself.

We did not have running water or inside plumbing on the asparagus farm. We had an outdoor privy that we referred to as the ‘outhouse’. We had well water with the pump a few feet from the kitchen door, but water had to be carried into the house for cooking and cleaning. Two big water reservoirs on the iron cook stove heated the water and a large tea kettle was always kept full and heating on top of the stove. A pail of drinking water and a long handled dipper was kept on a counter by the sink which had a drain, but no faucets.

We bathed in the kitchen which gave some privacy to the older persons. We took baths in a round galvanized tub that was also used to launder clothes. Hot water was cooled to the right bathing temperature by adding pails of cold water. The younger ones shared the same bath water by taking turns, but the tub had to be emptied and fresh water prepared for each of the remaining baths. We older ones had to sit in the water with our knees bent and we tried not to splash water on the floor. It took two people to empty the tub and by the time everyone finished bathing, the floor around the tub was wet with soap suds and had to be mopped.

On the Fridays our vacation trips began, Mom would drive Dad back to the office after lunch so she could keep the car. The boys, Jr. (later known as Mickey), Charles and Elbert had to vacuum the interior of the Terra Plane Hudson and wash the windshields and windows. Adeline and I helped Mom bathe and dress the little ones, Esther, Dick and Jerry. One by one we older ones bathed and dressed, then we all had to help keep the little ones from getting dirty while Mom finally got to take her bath and dress.

Our suitcases were loaded in the trunk of the car along with the jars of honey from our bee hives that would be given as presents. When it was time to pick up Dad, we climbed in the car and off we went. After Mom turned the steering wheel over to Dad, minor shuffling of seats took place and at that moment, we kids became captives of a ‘vacation excitement’ that lasted the full 3 weeks of Dad’s vacation.

Memories of those days are a tonic when Esther and I reminisce about our southern vacations and life on the asparagus farm. Living in the Corn Belt was so different from that of our cousins living in the tobacco belt. Their southern drawl in conversation was a music we only heard on those vacations. To visit Dad’s relatives, we had to drive the back roads and mountains of Kentucky, Tennessee and the Virginias.

I’ve had wonderful vacations, but the best and most memorable one was in Acapulco many years ago. My daughter, Kim and I planned the three day sightseeing trip as a diversion from work, but we spent most of the three days sleeping. We ended up reading and napping during the day, eating all our meals in the hotel dining room, and swimming in the hotel pool after dark. We had morning naps as well as afternoon naps. We did take a drive along the beach once but decided to return to the hotel for another nap. It’s the only vacation I’ve ever had where I really felt rested when it was over.

As Girl Scouts, Adeline and I spent lots of time camping and I have enjoyed many camping vacations over the years. I like camping and have been good at it. I have camped mountains, deserts and beaches. I’ve camped in France, Italy, Mexico and Canada. Of course I’ve camped in many of our American states. I’ve camped with tents and without tents. I know how to rough it. I know how to bake beans in a hole with hot rocks covered over with dirt and how to cook over a bon fire.

It was easy to camp when I had the Corvair van. Kim and I used to invite cousins Donna and Loretta to join us when we camped at the Long Beach pier. We could watch the huge ships as they sailed pass the cement parking area. We used the pier’s public rest rooms and ate at the all night café when ever we felt like walking to it.

One never gets too old for vacations but I no longer ‘rough it’ on camping vacations. Now, I vacation ‘in place’ when the Baton Rouge gang comes to Houston. They vacation ‘away’ from home, and I join them in seeing the usual vacation tourist spots and eating at the trendy restaurants. Nothing compares to having all the creature comforts when on vacation.

Electronic Medicine

How times have changed the way hospitals are run these days compared to way they were when I went to the hospital to have my children in 1946 and 1952. I was in St Luke’s hospital here in Houston a few days ago for a stress test and discovered an electronic world.

St Luke’s is the hospital that had the lower floors flooded when Allison stalled over the city and poured rain for 8 days. As I was wheeled thru the building, I was astonished at the renovation. The building looked brand new. I had seen the TV pictures of the flood damage and read about the destruction Allison caused but currently there isn’t a hint of such flood having taken place.

Humans carry, push, and roll the electronic gadgets and monitors from place to place and from room to room. As for the cameras and other electronic machines that have to remain stationary, patients are pushed, carried and rolled to them.

When vital statistics are required, patients are connected to the various electronic machines by cords which are attached to the body by adhesive snaps and suction cups and the data is determined electronically.

I had wheel chair rides to and from various departments and some of my ‘pushers’ were race drivers. What fun speeding down long, long empty corridors and turning corners to race in another direction. My room was on the 9th floor but the elevators only served a few floors. We had to go long distances to the opposite side of the hospital to get another elevator which would take us to the floor for my tests.

Years ago one always knew doctors and nurses by what they wore. Doctors wore white coats and nurses wore uniforms and caps that had a code of colored stripes to distinguish RNs from Practical nurses. Now everyone dresses alike. I couldn’t tell who was a doctor and who was a technician. I was never certain if a doctor was describing a procedure or a technician was. Male nurses seemed to outnumber female nurses and I lost my modesty in a hurry when I had to get ‘hooked’ and ‘unhooked’ to another monitor or camera.

It’s really a marvelous thing to have a camera take photos of one’s heart from different angles while all one has to do is lay still and breathe normally for 21 minutes. Then I walked the treadmill to get my heart rate up high enough to please the technician. Since I had noticed an audience of about a dozen people watching me walk the treadmill, I naturally had to do my best walking. No way was I going to fail that test!!! Then it was back to the camera and normal breathing again for another 21 minutes.

I’m happy to say my stress test indicated all was well and when it came time to be discharged I was given pages and pages of printout describing everything in detail. All the pokes and prods and the time of each had been recorded, analysed and preserved for posterity

Now that I'm home, I am re-attached to all my own gadgets: My Laptop, the Internet, the International Chess Server, my Voice Activated Cell Phone and I've trained my Digital Camera on Miss Mimi, who doesn't seem to mind the attention at all.

One More Cast

In a teaser sound bite for Kevin Costner’s latest movie, SWING VOTE, he is shown casting for fish as he and his daughter sit on the bank. When the daughter asks to leave for school, Costner says, "Just one more cast".

I immediately remembered, and related to his wish to continue casting because I experienced the same years ago when I had an opportunity to fish the private lake at my sister and her husband’s property in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

One morning during my visit with them, Esther’s children, Marion, Cindy and ‘Mo’ (Vern, Jr.) took my daughter, Kim and me fishing. They furnished the fishing gear and tackle and while they collected rods and bait, Kim and I fixed a picnic lunch which included enough munchies to last the afternoon. Making sure that we had the mosquito repellant, the children, whose ages ranged from 10 to 14, piled into my Corvair van and off we went. Mo gave directions on how best to drive the pastures to avoid muddy or rocky spots until we reached a grove of trees along the waters edge.

Kim and I were novices at fishing but the girls and Mo gave us tips and made suggestions. As the morning passed, we had nothing to show for our efforts. We ate our picnic lunch and went back to fishing. We had lots of nibbles but no fish so we ate munchies and fished some more. The afternoon wore on without a single fish having been caught. One by one, the children started hiking back to the house leaving me to fish by myself. I told them I’d stay a while longer but I’d be along soon.

The sun went down, dusk settled in, and I was busy with, "one more cast". Dusk got duskier and when it was really on the verge of being dark, the headlights of my brother-in-law’s truck came shining thru the trees. He had come to drag me back to the house for supper.

While I put all the fishing paraphernalia into the Corvair, Vern took my fishing rod and cast ‘once’ just to see if the fish were biting. Suddenly, on the first strike, he had a big one on the line. While I stood with my mouth wide open, I watched him bring in a beautiful big mouth bass.

Breads

A friend, the chef of a catering firm here in Houston, brought my son and me a gift of the traditional St. Patrick’s Day Soda bread and some split pea soup to go with it. I didn’t know about Soda Bread being traditional. I always thought it was corned beef and cabbage.

My son thought Soda Bread would be a new taste experience for me but I had eaten it many times during the depression years when Grandma and Grandpa Abbott lived with us on the asparagus farm. Grandma and Mom baked it occasionally but the family really never cared for it so we didn’t have it often. The Soda Bread of my childhood was plain not fancy with nuts and raisins like ‘Chef’s’ present.

It took skill to bake things in the oven of our big cast iron kitchen range. We seemed to have developed a sixth sense when we baked pies, cakes, rolls and loaves of bread. The wood and coal fire would have heated the oven to an unknown degree and we had to guess at the baking time. We timed the baking of bread according to the color. When the crust turned a golden brown it was time to remove it from the oven.

When I got home from school in the afternoons, I often had to finish working up the bread dough Mom had made earlier in the day. The yeast dough would have risen to fill the container and it had to be punched down before forming it into loaves. If bread was needed for supper that night, I might make rolls as well as loaves. I often made ‘fried bread’ too for an after school snack.
I would stretch and pull a small pinch of raw dough until it was about the size of my palm and drop it into a skillet of hot oil. As soon as it was golden brown on one side it was browned on the other then drained on a paper towel.

The kids would hang around the kitchen yelling ‘dibs’ for the next piece and slather mounds of butter on it while it was still piping hot. They would juggle the bread from hand to hand until it cooled enough to eat.

Many years later some girl friends raved about eating ‘squaw bread' at an Indian pow wow and invited me to join them the following week. You can imagine my surprise when I saw that ‘squaw bread’ was nothing more than our ‘fried bread’. I told the girls I had been raised on the same and they refused to believe me.

When my sister, Esther, visited several weeks ago, my son took Esther and me to browse Central Market. When we came to the bakery, the choice of breads was over whelming. Every size, shape, color and ethnic preference was exhibited. The delicious odor of baking bread caused our eyes to get bigger than our stomachs and the three of us left the market with enough varieties to feed a platoon of Marine recruits.

I want to make Boston Brown Bread and have saved a lot of coffee cans to use when I get around to making the recipe. Mom used to make it often for the family and Esther remembers helping her but has forgotten the details. She recalled enough of the recipe and how the coffee cans were used, that I could surf the net for a recipe that fit Esther’s memory. Until I found the recipe I had been unaware that brown bread is cooked on top of the stove and not in an oven. The batter is poured into greased coffee cans, covered with aluminum foil and placed in a pan of water which is simmered on top of the stove.


My brother Mickey taught me how to make Angel Biscuits years ago when I lived in Palo Alto. He was spending the Christmas holidays with me on his weeks of R&R before returning to his job as cook on an oil rig off the coast of Alaska. Mickey was a gourmet cook and was a delight to work with in the kitchen. He was a lot of fun and enjoyed sharing his knowledge, but he could and did use every pot, pan and utensil in the kitchen to serve his purpose then steadfastly refuse to wash them and left the clean up to others.

I am not fond of biscuits and rarely eat them, but Mickey guaranteed that I would like his Angel Biscuits. I was doubtful, but was happy to hand him so and so and give him this and that when he asked. He was right! I was won over after the first bite! They were so delicious I asked him to make them several more times that Christmas holiday.

Recently I have discovered Bread sticks. There is a place here in Houston called, Café Express. They keep a large basket filled with imported Italian bread sticks on the condiment bar. Each packet holds 5 or 6 sticks each a foot long and half the diameter of a pencil. They are scrumptious and I thoroughly enjoy the way they ‘crunch’ as I nibble from one end to the other.

When I first discovered them I took to grabbing 3 or 4 of the packets to nibble on while we waited for our orders, but I made certain there was a packet or two left that I could take home when we finished eating. My purse is too small to hold bread sticks, so recently I graduated from nibbling them while eating there, to getting orders ‘to go’ which allows us to stop at the condiment bar on our way out to grab a really big handful of bread sticks. The other day as I was eating the last of the sticks I had at home, I wondered if there was some way I could, in easy conscience, exchange my purse for a tote bag the next time we go to Café Express. Perhaps the more prudent move would be ordering a case directly from the bakery in Italy.

I.E.

i.e.
Function- abbreviation
Etymology: Latin - id est
that is

‘i’ before ‘e’ except after ‘c’ and sounding like ‘a’ as in neighbor and weigh. I learned that rule in grade school spelling and it has certainly helped me with spelling thru the years. But it also has me reviewing the whys and wherefores of the English language since I’ve recently started to learn German. The rules of English grammar have been dormant in the back recesses of my mind, but now I have to drag them out and try to make sense of the new language constructions. The pronunciation of ‘ei’ in German is not like ‘a’ as in neighbor and weigh, but like ‘eye’.

My interest in German started when I began to play chess on a German chess server where players from around the world meet 24/7 to play chess. I am unrated and play for fun in the beginner’s room. I enjoy the game, win, lose or draw, and have an appreciation of my opponent’s ability to maneuver his pieces around the board. Many high rated players also play in the beginner’s room. They know all the tricks and practice their skill in unrated games with peons like me.

User names and the flag of their country identity each player and a rating is listed if the player has one. Players can choose to play either rated or unrated games. The number of players often peaks at over 6000 with the common language being chess. German dominates the chat line but players who know the smiley codes often type ‘sad’ or ‘happy’ text messages, which seem universal.

I’ve kept a German to English translation page minimized behind the server screen so I could satisfy my curiosity about some of the remarks on the chat line. As my interest in the language increased, I bought a unique beginning German book by Charles Berlitz that has every sentence and dialog written three times, first in German, then in easy to read syllables that show how to pronounce it and finally in English. I also subscribed to the online BBC German course. I’ve made enough progress in the language to understand some of the words written in the chat line, but still have to use the translation web site to get the total meaning of a comment. I myself never chat or make remarks.

That is……. until now.

A high rated German player has begun a flirtation with me. He uses his first name followed by what I assume to be his age, 38. It started when he frequently challenged me to games which he consistently won. My chess playing is strictly trial and error and a win on my part is almost always by accident and tickles me no end!!! Eventually I did win a game or two and he began watching as I played other opponents.

One day he got my attention by sending me a bell tone and wanting to chat. I told him I didn’t speak German. He doesn’t speak English. He asked about my job and my age, but I ignored all his questions. Our dialogs began by his saying Hi and me replying Hi. My initial forays in German were phrases like, Gutten Tag, Gutten Abend, Danke and Bitte. I never refused to play him when he challenged me to a game but I never invited him to play. As the quality of my games improved our games lasted longer and I made him work for his wins. He was always courteous and sent smiley kisses.

That is…….

Until the day I won two games in a row. Up to this point we had played only one game on any given day. On this particular day my first win must have irritated him because he IMMEDIATELY challenged me to a second game. I happened to win the second game in short order which surprised me as much as it did him! I sent him the usual ‘thx’ for the win, but there was only silence from his end. 20 minutes later he posted a naughty word on the chat line which I knew was a reaction to his losses. I was shocked that he would let his losses cause him to react as he did. Three or four days went by before he spoke to me again.

Our greetings have been reduced to an exchange of ‘Hi’ but as of yesterday, I doubt seriously he will ever want to play chess with me again. Yesterday I won THREE games in a row from him and I haven’t stopped laughing. I think our flirtation is over. I’ll miss the bell tones, the chats and the smiley kisses.

I think if he knew I only took up chess as a diversion a couple of years ago, and that I was an old lady closer to being 86 than 85, he would really swear!!!!

Happy New Year

May all who read this blog enjoy prosperity, health and happiness during 2008! I’ve had the pleasure of a cheerful Christmas season and the joy of a wonderful visit from my dear sister Esther.

When Esther’s daughter and her husband, (Cindy and Arthur), bring Esther to visit, they book reservations for a week or more at a motel, but Esther stays with me in the extra bedroom we consider hers. This trip, Cindy and Arthur brought a friend, Joyce, with them who also stayed at the motel.

For weeks prior to the holidays, Esther and I planned on spending many hours beading and exchanging design ideas and techniques, but we cast those plans aside to tour Moody Gardens in Galveston. The holiday decorations of the three pyramids are exceptional and get prettier every year. From that point on, our time was filled with holiday activities.

My son, Bob, was chauffer for Esther and me when we wanted to go places not on the other’s agenda, but the group managed to spend quality time together exchanging gifts, eating in or out, shopping and sight seeing. One evening we enjoyed a live concert when Bob played guitar and a friend came with his mandolin.


A card game, Spite and Malice is usually played when we get together, but this year we chose Scrabble. Esther and Bob are the real Scrabble players. They both remember Esther’s win 3 years ago! She even remembers the two ‘a’ letters she had to work with. That particular game was my first time playing Scrabble and I had a hard time making words with the tiles I had, but this year I had beginner’s luck and won 2 games.

One of the highlights of our visit was chatting by phone with family members in other states. Because Esther’s hearing loss is so profound she doesn’t talk on the phone but when we are together she is able to talk to the person on the other end of the line and I tell her what they say. It’s such a delight hearing Esther’s voice. It’s surprisingly soft and sweet. She doesn’t have that quality of speaking too loud as many do when losing their hearing.

I have made a list of New Year Resolutions. This year they number 10. I usually make between 9 and 12 and actually keep a good portion of them. The top two are weight and exercise. They are the ones I Don’t keep. I don’t know why I continue to add them to the list and place them at the top, but guess it’s because HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL. That brings me to my latest poem…which I almost forgot to tell you.

Time

The eternal ring of time
Is a race twist moon and sun
The circle has no ending
The race is never won

In the last wee hours of morning
When moonlight’s race is run
The light of day comes dawning
To hail the golden sun

The cycle ever spinning
New days are begun
In the measured pace of turning
Another race is spun