Big Brothers
Big Brothers Do
Big Brothers Show
Big Brothers Know
Big Brothers Do
Big Brothers Care
Big Brothers Share
Big Brothers Do
Big Brothers Ward
Big Brothers Guard
Big Brothers Do
Big Brothers First
Big Brothers Last
Big Brothers Do
Big Brothers Nosh
Big Brothers Wash
Big Brothers Do
Big Brothers Cry
Big Brothers Sigh
Big Brothers Do
Big Brothers Hug
Big Brothers Love
Little Sisters are Lucky
KimB 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Big Brothers by KimB
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Snow on the Grapevine
I sat up and took notice when CNN showed a scene of snow on the grapevine in California. If a person could be said to have a favorite highway, the grapevine is mine.
My favorites used to be route 66 and highway 40 when there were few and far between theme motels built like wigwams and long stretches of highway thru free range country.
The grapevine, also known as Tejon Pass, is a 4,100 foot-high road across the Tehachapi Mountains, 50 miles northwest of Los Angeles, California.
I first rode the grapevine on a hot sunny day in summer of 1945. My husband and I drove from Riverside, California to Redwood City in northern California in our model A Ford. We bought the vehicle ‘as is’ for $100 during WWII. It was cut down, (meaning the top had been removed), and the dashboard remodeled to look like one in an airplane.
Neither of us had driven the route before, having only traveled it by train. The views were magnificent, and we enjoyed watching the many condors as they swooped overhead. We were amazed at their tremendous size never having seen birds larger than robins except in a zoo.
Over the years I have driven the grapevine many times alone, often with family, on occasion with friends, and in all kinds of weather. Elevation signs along the highway pinpoint particular views that are like friends we are happy to see again. The mountain peaks on each side of the highway as you climb higher and higher never fails to astonish. The changing views glimpsed as you round curves are a delight, and the magnificent view of the valley as you descend always takes your breath away.
We always took note of the trucker’s emergency turn off on the way down in case a semi lost brakes. We always reminded ourselves to get out of the way and let the trucker have the road if he came from behind you with his horns blasting. It meant he was ‘ridin’ his truck without brakes and gaining speed on the way down! Everyone has heard or been told about truckers who had been forced to make the descent the hard way.
One holiday season I drove the grapevine in my Corvair van on the way to New Cuyama to spend Christmas at the ranch with the family. Bad weather was predicted so I left Los Angeles a couple of days ahead of the predicted weather but still had to contend with strong winds. I was barely able to keep the van in my lane when the wind gusts hit the side surface of the van.
Another time, Adeline, Mickey and I drove the grapevine on our way to New Cuyama when we heard on the car radio a forest fire had jumped a mountain and was rapidly burning its way toward the grapevine. We could see the fire in the far distance but we were never in any danger.
One of my most memorable trips on the grapevine was when Aunt Nettie, and Uncle Ray and I were on our way home after spending a week with the folks at the ranch in New Cuyama. Nettie had driven her new black Cadillac coming, but she asked if I would like to drive on the way back. I said of course I would and took the wheel.
As usual when two or more of our tribe was together, there was talk of family doin’s and Ray and Nettie began telling me of a particular event. Night had fallen. The ribbons of traffic lights were brilliant; a white ribbon on the opposite side of the highway, and red one ahead in our lanes. As the car ate the miles, the ride was so smooth it was like floating. It was a pleasure having the wheel responding at the lightest touch. I was aware of passing vehicles in the slower lanes and that I was making good time.
I was really enjoying driving Nettie’s car and listening to the conversation. I took a quick glance at the speedometer and did a double take. I asked Nettie if the speedometer said what I thought it said. She said yes and I almost had a heart attack! I was driving over 90 miles and hour and never realized it.
I asked her why she hadn’t warned me or said something. She said she just thought I knew what I was doing! She must have concluded that I was like the rest of the family, a fast driver when the opportunity presented itself. I’m certain that Nettie herself had driven many a mile at that speed if not faster on her many trips from the west coast to the old home place in Oskaloosa, Iowa.
My favorites used to be route 66 and highway 40 when there were few and far between theme motels built like wigwams and long stretches of highway thru free range country.
The grapevine, also known as Tejon Pass, is a 4,100 foot-high road across the Tehachapi Mountains, 50 miles northwest of Los Angeles, California.
I first rode the grapevine on a hot sunny day in summer of 1945. My husband and I drove from Riverside, California to Redwood City in northern California in our model A Ford. We bought the vehicle ‘as is’ for $100 during WWII. It was cut down, (meaning the top had been removed), and the dashboard remodeled to look like one in an airplane.
Neither of us had driven the route before, having only traveled it by train. The views were magnificent, and we enjoyed watching the many condors as they swooped overhead. We were amazed at their tremendous size never having seen birds larger than robins except in a zoo.
Over the years I have driven the grapevine many times alone, often with family, on occasion with friends, and in all kinds of weather. Elevation signs along the highway pinpoint particular views that are like friends we are happy to see again. The mountain peaks on each side of the highway as you climb higher and higher never fails to astonish. The changing views glimpsed as you round curves are a delight, and the magnificent view of the valley as you descend always takes your breath away.
We always took note of the trucker’s emergency turn off on the way down in case a semi lost brakes. We always reminded ourselves to get out of the way and let the trucker have the road if he came from behind you with his horns blasting. It meant he was ‘ridin’ his truck without brakes and gaining speed on the way down! Everyone has heard or been told about truckers who had been forced to make the descent the hard way.
One holiday season I drove the grapevine in my Corvair van on the way to New Cuyama to spend Christmas at the ranch with the family. Bad weather was predicted so I left Los Angeles a couple of days ahead of the predicted weather but still had to contend with strong winds. I was barely able to keep the van in my lane when the wind gusts hit the side surface of the van.
Another time, Adeline, Mickey and I drove the grapevine on our way to New Cuyama when we heard on the car radio a forest fire had jumped a mountain and was rapidly burning its way toward the grapevine. We could see the fire in the far distance but we were never in any danger.
One of my most memorable trips on the grapevine was when Aunt Nettie, and Uncle Ray and I were on our way home after spending a week with the folks at the ranch in New Cuyama. Nettie had driven her new black Cadillac coming, but she asked if I would like to drive on the way back. I said of course I would and took the wheel.
As usual when two or more of our tribe was together, there was talk of family doin’s and Ray and Nettie began telling me of a particular event. Night had fallen. The ribbons of traffic lights were brilliant; a white ribbon on the opposite side of the highway, and red one ahead in our lanes. As the car ate the miles, the ride was so smooth it was like floating. It was a pleasure having the wheel responding at the lightest touch. I was aware of passing vehicles in the slower lanes and that I was making good time.
I was really enjoying driving Nettie’s car and listening to the conversation. I took a quick glance at the speedometer and did a double take. I asked Nettie if the speedometer said what I thought it said. She said yes and I almost had a heart attack! I was driving over 90 miles and hour and never realized it.
I asked her why she hadn’t warned me or said something. She said she just thought I knew what I was doing! She must have concluded that I was like the rest of the family, a fast driver when the opportunity presented itself. I’m certain that Nettie herself had driven many a mile at that speed if not faster on her many trips from the west coast to the old home place in Oskaloosa, Iowa.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Haiti Earthquake
The quake devastation in Haiti is so overwhelming and incomprehensible I can only take the TV news coverage in small bits. During the first hours of coverage, I compared the scenes with my own experiences, but quickly began to realize this earthquake was beyond comparison.
Scenes of destruction affecting 3 million people and projected numbers of fatalities didn’t really sink in as I watched people roaming the streets until the first responders began to report great numbers of dead just being left lying on the streets.
Cries of anguish, screams for help and frantic searches for loved ones are stretching into days of repetition while teams of search and rescue work as best they can without heavy equipment. Doctors are reduced to ‘civil war’ or ‘jungle’ medicine, having run out of medicines and lacking facilities for treating the seriously injured.
Thirst and hunger add to the frustration of waiting for aid. Security is beginning to be a concern as looting and pockets of violence occur as stronger persons use force to take what they want.
Ex-presidents Clinton and Bush are heading a long term relief fund similar to the one held for Tsunami victims several years ago. People around the globe are making donations of money and sending personnel to meet the immediate needs of Haitians.
In the meantime work is progressing although at a snails pace because roads have to be cleared as well as the airport and the fuel port have to be constructed for planes and ships before the needed aid items get to the people.
Stories of miraculous rescue are being reported; moments of joy in the midst of chaos.
Haiti needs as many such stories as possible.
Scenes of destruction affecting 3 million people and projected numbers of fatalities didn’t really sink in as I watched people roaming the streets until the first responders began to report great numbers of dead just being left lying on the streets.
Cries of anguish, screams for help and frantic searches for loved ones are stretching into days of repetition while teams of search and rescue work as best they can without heavy equipment. Doctors are reduced to ‘civil war’ or ‘jungle’ medicine, having run out of medicines and lacking facilities for treating the seriously injured.
Thirst and hunger add to the frustration of waiting for aid. Security is beginning to be a concern as looting and pockets of violence occur as stronger persons use force to take what they want.
Ex-presidents Clinton and Bush are heading a long term relief fund similar to the one held for Tsunami victims several years ago. People around the globe are making donations of money and sending personnel to meet the immediate needs of Haitians.
In the meantime work is progressing although at a snails pace because roads have to be cleared as well as the airport and the fuel port have to be constructed for planes and ships before the needed aid items get to the people.
Stories of miraculous rescue are being reported; moments of joy in the midst of chaos.
Haiti needs as many such stories as possible.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Sharing
My family is blessed with members, whose talents range far and wide, and friends, whose experiences have enriched my life in their telling. In order to share them, I plan to post them from time to time.
I hope you enjoy these additions as much as I do.
I hope you enjoy these additions as much as I do.
The Summer Wind by KimB
The Summer Wind
The summer wind sings the praise
of far off meadows, hills and ways
Feathered, furred and scaled creatures
with tiled, lined and embossed features
Twigs of sun and clouds cascade
through branches of a puzzle maze
Entanglements of tender traces
Steep the earth with warm embraces.
KimB circa 1997
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Baby Its Cold Outside !!!
Baby It's Cold Outside !!!
The whole country is experiencing extremely frigid temperatures! The northern states are reporting temperatures as low as 30 below zero. Houston is predicted to have temperatures as low as 16 and 19 degrees.
When Adeline and I went to Girl Scout summer camps and met girls from other cities and states, one of the things we all bragged about was how cold our particular towns got in the winter.
Children bragging on winter snow falls and low temperatures was obviously a form of proving how superiorly rugged we were and assuring ourselves that we could overcome nature’s obstacles.
That was then, but now: How will the homeless overcome nature’s obstacles?
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Mushrooms
It had not taken us long to become acquainted with the inhabitants of the little hamlet. They were friendly and generous with their time and advice. We gradually adjusted to living without all the amenities taken for granted back in the states, although I often became frustrated having to use the well as a cooler since we had no refrigeration.
One of the most enjoyable activities of ‘living off the land’ that we experienced while living in Marangis was gathering mushrooms. It came as a complete surprise as we had never contemplated such an activity, and once having done so, we took great delight in gathering them as often as possible. Taking our visitors on a mushroom hunt was always the highlight of their visit with us.
When the women living in the hamlet invited me to join them that first morning, I didn’t know what to expect. It was early morning, well before sunrise. After a few minutes walk, we reached the pasture where the mushrooms grew, but as I gazed across the meadow, I didn’t see any mushrooms.
The women spread out across the area and my neighbor explained that they would soon be popping up from the ground like pop corn. From the first moment we spotted a button mushroom, it was astonishing to see how fast they began popping up all around us. We filled our baskets well before sunrise when the mushrooms stopped growing.
I was hooked on mushroom hunting from that first day and went often with or without the other ladies. I often took my three year old son and the two of us had great fun finding the little mushrooms. On the way back to the house, I passed the home of an elderly man who was the local mushroom expert. I always stopped and had him check my basket. On occasion he would toss one or two away saying they were poison. Even though he showed me how to tell the good from the bad, I was never confident enough to by pass his place without his approval.
Our neighbor often told us about the large mushrooms to be had in the woods at Fontainebleau. They described them as being the size of dinner plates and we thought it an exaggeration, but hoped to see for ourselves one day.
A New York painter and his wife were spending a year in Paris and often came to the country to visit us. When we told them about our mushroom hunting in Marangis, and our neighbor’s declaration that huge ones were available in Fontainebleau, we decided to make a pilgrimage to look for them. We hired the adult son of the family who sold us milk to take us by horse and wagon to the woods where the mushrooms grew. The son was retarded but was reliable and trustworthy and his family often hired him out with their team and wagon if they were not being used in the fields.
We took our neighbors with us and enough picnic foods to last the day and off we went. It was some miles to Fontainebleau but the distance was part of the adventure. When we reached the woods, we discovered the dinner size mushrooms for our selves. If I had not seen and picked them myself, I would never have believed it.
We made several more trips to the woods at Fontainebleau during the time we lived in Marangis. It was always a pleasure to share the enthusiasm of the ‘hunt’ with others.
One of the most enjoyable activities of ‘living off the land’ that we experienced while living in Marangis was gathering mushrooms. It came as a complete surprise as we had never contemplated such an activity, and once having done so, we took great delight in gathering them as often as possible. Taking our visitors on a mushroom hunt was always the highlight of their visit with us.
When the women living in the hamlet invited me to join them that first morning, I didn’t know what to expect. It was early morning, well before sunrise. After a few minutes walk, we reached the pasture where the mushrooms grew, but as I gazed across the meadow, I didn’t see any mushrooms.
The women spread out across the area and my neighbor explained that they would soon be popping up from the ground like pop corn. From the first moment we spotted a button mushroom, it was astonishing to see how fast they began popping up all around us. We filled our baskets well before sunrise when the mushrooms stopped growing.
I was hooked on mushroom hunting from that first day and went often with or without the other ladies. I often took my three year old son and the two of us had great fun finding the little mushrooms. On the way back to the house, I passed the home of an elderly man who was the local mushroom expert. I always stopped and had him check my basket. On occasion he would toss one or two away saying they were poison. Even though he showed me how to tell the good from the bad, I was never confident enough to by pass his place without his approval.
Our neighbor often told us about the large mushrooms to be had in the woods at Fontainebleau. They described them as being the size of dinner plates and we thought it an exaggeration, but hoped to see for ourselves one day.
A New York painter and his wife were spending a year in Paris and often came to the country to visit us. When we told them about our mushroom hunting in Marangis, and our neighbor’s declaration that huge ones were available in Fontainebleau, we decided to make a pilgrimage to look for them. We hired the adult son of the family who sold us milk to take us by horse and wagon to the woods where the mushrooms grew. The son was retarded but was reliable and trustworthy and his family often hired him out with their team and wagon if they were not being used in the fields.
We took our neighbors with us and enough picnic foods to last the day and off we went. It was some miles to Fontainebleau but the distance was part of the adventure. When we reached the woods, we discovered the dinner size mushrooms for our selves. If I had not seen and picked them myself, I would never have believed it.
We made several more trips to the woods at Fontainebleau during the time we lived in Marangis. It was always a pleasure to share the enthusiasm of the ‘hunt’ with others.
Friday, January 01, 2010
January 1, 2010
The New Year has begun and I’m looking forward to new adventures and making new friends. As the first day of the New Year progresses, I will make a list of resolutions and by this evening, I will probably have a list of 8 or 9, many of which I will actually keep.
Wishes of ‘Peace and Goodwill’ seem like empty words this year with the country involved in two wars, government agencies struggling to keep constant vigilance against home-grown terrorists, and the prevention of successful infiltration by extremists willing to commit suicide for their cause.
Such uncertainty leaves one in a state of bewilderment about the state of affairs and what to do about it. There is no end to the, Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda’s. I’m as perplexed as the next person and bemoan the loss of a culture that no longer exists, but I still make the resolutions and plan my daily routines as always.
I think of loved ones, near and far, and hope they too overcome any overwhelming events in their lives and can experience a peace and tranquility that brings them happiness.
Wishes of ‘Peace and Goodwill’ seem like empty words this year with the country involved in two wars, government agencies struggling to keep constant vigilance against home-grown terrorists, and the prevention of successful infiltration by extremists willing to commit suicide for their cause.
Such uncertainty leaves one in a state of bewilderment about the state of affairs and what to do about it. There is no end to the, Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda’s. I’m as perplexed as the next person and bemoan the loss of a culture that no longer exists, but I still make the resolutions and plan my daily routines as always.
I think of loved ones, near and far, and hope they too overcome any overwhelming events in their lives and can experience a peace and tranquility that brings them happiness.
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