 |
| Easter Egg by Marion 2010 |
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Grandmothers
Cousin Loretta's story about her maternal grandmother made me think of mine. Her name was Elizabeth Ellen, but Grandpa called her Liz or Lizzie, my aunts and uncles called her Ma or Mom, and we grandchildren called her Grandma W.
Grandma was a force to reckon with, and sooner or later, she becomes the topic of conversation. When two or more members of the family are together for any length of time they often recount stories and share memories about her, although it has been many years since she passed away.
Grandma held a reverential distinction apart from our other relatives; she was part American Indian. We all take great pride in that jewel of kinship, although its importance fades as new generations come along.
My family lived some distance from Grandma and since we did not own a car, we rarely had the opportunity of visiting her. One rare visit came about during the great depression when Uncle Matt and Aunt Nettie, who had purchased a used auto, came to see us. They offered to drive us all to Grandma's for a visit. It was dark by the time we started the trip. Traffic was light and there were long stretches of highway between seeing the headlights of other vehicles coming or going. We eight children ranged in age from 1 to 11, and being small, Mom and Dad and Aunt Nettie held the youngest on their laps and the rest of us squeezed into niches between the adults. In those days the vehicles had mechanical brakes and no one had ever heard of seat belts. Uncle Matt drove at what was considered a fast speed and as we drove over the low rolling hills, my stomach would do a flip. In all probability, the speed was not excessive, but we children felt like we were flying, and the adult comments of 'making good time', added to the impression. I don't remember our arrival nor how long the visit was.
One year during the great depression we eight children went to spend the summer with Grandma. I remember the rooms of the two story house built into the side of a hill. A kitchen, dining room and a day room was down stairs and opened out onto a level area which was the back yard. The house entrance was on the street level and was the upper story where the front room, grandma's bedroom, bathroom and 4 more bedrooms were.
There was always a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast and we children ate our meals at a round oak table in the kitchen. The adults ate at the long dining table in the dining room. I helped Elizabeth set the table and serve the pitchers of iced tea. Grandma had cut glass bowls and pitchers and each place had a cut glass salt cellar.
On summer nights, after all the little children were in bed asleep, Grandma would take a chair and sit on the front porch in the cool of the evening while Adeline and I sat on the steps to keep her company. Sometimes we could prevail upon her to sing for us. She sang hymns like Rock of Ages and Little Brown Church in the Vale, and folk songs. Our favorite was Jessie James; she knew all the verses.
Thinking back on those days, I wonder how Grandma managed to run the house and care for us. She had given birth to 16 children so she knew how to supervise our eight. One of her secrets was that the older children helped to look after the younger ones. I remember always playing in a group. If we went to the empty stadium to play among the bleachers and run the track or sat on the floor and played card games like Fish and Michigan Rummy, we always played in a group. Even when we walked across town to see Aunt Rita and her new baby, we went as a group.
Being at Grandma's house was always exciting. We admired her two colorful love birds and loved her dog Penny, an American Spitz. We liked running errands to the post office or the day old bakery for loaves of bread. We liked playing in the park where a large statue of Chief Mahaska stood. We especially liked it when she made home made peach ice cream in the old hand cranked freezer. Best of all, we liked seeing cousins and Aunts and Uncles when they stopped by or came for a visit.
Grandma was a force to reckon with, and sooner or later, she becomes the topic of conversation. When two or more members of the family are together for any length of time they often recount stories and share memories about her, although it has been many years since she passed away.
Grandma held a reverential distinction apart from our other relatives; she was part American Indian. We all take great pride in that jewel of kinship, although its importance fades as new generations come along.
My family lived some distance from Grandma and since we did not own a car, we rarely had the opportunity of visiting her. One rare visit came about during the great depression when Uncle Matt and Aunt Nettie, who had purchased a used auto, came to see us. They offered to drive us all to Grandma's for a visit. It was dark by the time we started the trip. Traffic was light and there were long stretches of highway between seeing the headlights of other vehicles coming or going. We eight children ranged in age from 1 to 11, and being small, Mom and Dad and Aunt Nettie held the youngest on their laps and the rest of us squeezed into niches between the adults. In those days the vehicles had mechanical brakes and no one had ever heard of seat belts. Uncle Matt drove at what was considered a fast speed and as we drove over the low rolling hills, my stomach would do a flip. In all probability, the speed was not excessive, but we children felt like we were flying, and the adult comments of 'making good time', added to the impression. I don't remember our arrival nor how long the visit was.
One year during the great depression we eight children went to spend the summer with Grandma. I remember the rooms of the two story house built into the side of a hill. A kitchen, dining room and a day room was down stairs and opened out onto a level area which was the back yard. The house entrance was on the street level and was the upper story where the front room, grandma's bedroom, bathroom and 4 more bedrooms were.
There was always a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast and we children ate our meals at a round oak table in the kitchen. The adults ate at the long dining table in the dining room. I helped Elizabeth set the table and serve the pitchers of iced tea. Grandma had cut glass bowls and pitchers and each place had a cut glass salt cellar.
On summer nights, after all the little children were in bed asleep, Grandma would take a chair and sit on the front porch in the cool of the evening while Adeline and I sat on the steps to keep her company. Sometimes we could prevail upon her to sing for us. She sang hymns like Rock of Ages and Little Brown Church in the Vale, and folk songs. Our favorite was Jessie James; she knew all the verses.
Thinking back on those days, I wonder how Grandma managed to run the house and care for us. She had given birth to 16 children so she knew how to supervise our eight. One of her secrets was that the older children helped to look after the younger ones. I remember always playing in a group. If we went to the empty stadium to play among the bleachers and run the track or sat on the floor and played card games like Fish and Michigan Rummy, we always played in a group. Even when we walked across town to see Aunt Rita and her new baby, we went as a group.
Being at Grandma's house was always exciting. We admired her two colorful love birds and loved her dog Penny, an American Spitz. We liked running errands to the post office or the day old bakery for loaves of bread. We liked playing in the park where a large statue of Chief Mahaska stood. We especially liked it when she made home made peach ice cream in the old hand cranked freezer. Best of all, we liked seeing cousins and Aunts and Uncles when they stopped by or came for a visit.
 |
| peach ice cream |
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Unexpected Blessings by Gigi
[Editor's Note: We want to introduce a new poster to the blog: Gigi. Gigi is MrsB's niece. We hope that everyone will enjoy her stories as much as we do. There are more details about Gigi at the bottom of the posting for those interested in family ties.]
My cousin KimB and Aunt Marion asked if I had anything I would like to add to the family blog. Today it came to me. :)
October 16, 2010 I was flying home from a lovely cruise out of New York. I had a wonderful time and was able to visit with friends I had met a few years ago and had sailed with in the past. It was wonderful to see them again. But this is really about how wonderful the Lord has been to me in protecting me and watching my back. My son was to drive my car to LAX to pick me up but the car would not start. He took his car instead and told me in the baggage claim area that my car wouldn’t start. We speculated on what it could be and I groaned a bit......
On Monday he started the car and it turned over, he drove it to the local repair shop and asked them to check it out. It turned out that one of the battery cells would not charge and the battery needed replacing. A simple fix.
Now the way I see this is that my Lord protected me by the car not starting and then our being stranded at LAX late at night having to call the Auto Club to tow my car back to my local area which is a good hour and forty minutes away from the airport. Truly a Blessing!
This is the second time in less thirty days He has been my protector. In September I left my car parked in a lot for the week. When I returned to my car a week later I discovered I had left my driver side window down and nothing was missing from the car. I have never done this before and was upset with myself for being so careless, then I realized that I had been protected by my Lord. Again a Blessing. Truly a reason to say Thank You Lord!!!!!!!
[Who is Gigi? MrsB's late sister was Adeline. Gigi is the daughter of Adeline and Larry. She is MrsB's niece and cousin to all the children of Adeline's brothers and sisters: MrsB, Esther, Richard, Jerry, Elbert, Charles and Mickey.]
My cousin KimB and Aunt Marion asked if I had anything I would like to add to the family blog. Today it came to me. :)
October 16, 2010 I was flying home from a lovely cruise out of New York. I had a wonderful time and was able to visit with friends I had met a few years ago and had sailed with in the past. It was wonderful to see them again. But this is really about how wonderful the Lord has been to me in protecting me and watching my back. My son was to drive my car to LAX to pick me up but the car would not start. He took his car instead and told me in the baggage claim area that my car wouldn’t start. We speculated on what it could be and I groaned a bit......
On Monday he started the car and it turned over, he drove it to the local repair shop and asked them to check it out. It turned out that one of the battery cells would not charge and the battery needed replacing. A simple fix.
Now the way I see this is that my Lord protected me by the car not starting and then our being stranded at LAX late at night having to call the Auto Club to tow my car back to my local area which is a good hour and forty minutes away from the airport. Truly a Blessing!
This is the second time in less thirty days He has been my protector. In September I left my car parked in a lot for the week. When I returned to my car a week later I discovered I had left my driver side window down and nothing was missing from the car. I have never done this before and was upset with myself for being so careless, then I realized that I had been protected by my Lord. Again a Blessing. Truly a reason to say Thank You Lord!!!!!!!
[Who is Gigi? MrsB's late sister was Adeline. Gigi is the daughter of Adeline and Larry. She is MrsB's niece and cousin to all the children of Adeline's brothers and sisters: MrsB, Esther, Richard, Jerry, Elbert, Charles and Mickey.]
 |
| Car Battery |
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
At The Sky Ranch by Esther
[Editor's note: This story was written by Esther]
Mom and Dad bought a place on top of the mountain near Redwood City, California about year after I was married to Vernon. They called it The Sky Ranch. It was always a place where the family could gather and spend time visiting. We helped Mom do work around the house or helped Dad as he added on to the building.
Dad was going to build under the house. Part of the house was on top of the mountain and the rest of it was over lapping down the side of the hill. They thought it would help to have more rooms when they had company over.
At that time Marion, Robert and son were staying in the cabin. Vernon and I were camping in a chuck wagon on the property, which was fine for us. Marion was able to cook in her cabin. It was nice for the baby too, as there was so much activity going on, it provided some quite at nap time.
Vernon started to look for work but there were not many jobs available. World War II was over and jobs were not easy to get. So he was able to help with all the different jobs needed to keep things running well.
The first thing he and Dad did was to trim some redwood trees so the sun would shine and help to dry the fog when it was so thick and it was great to have the sun shinning to keep it warmer in the cold damp weather
When it was warmer, Dad started removing the dirt to begin working on the new rooms. As that job was getting done, Dad started doing the fittings for the water pipes and the plumbing for the bathroom fixtures. Sometimes I would help or some of the boys would have free time and were there to grab a shovel or hammer or even a saw to work with us while Dad told them what to do. There was five brothers plus Robert and Vernon.
There was Mickey, Charles, Elbert, Richard and Jerry. It was Elbert and Vernon that always had the notion to get a deer and have a great feast and get everyone over to eat and to spend the day helping Dad. Mom would work right along with them and they may not have worked fast, but they did have a great time doing it.
That year was a memorable Christmas. By this time, Marion and Robert had moved to a nice home just short distant from the Sky Ranch and Vernon and I moved in to the cabin. I loved having a bath room. Marion would make lovely decorations to trim the tree and make a scene of an old fashion country house with Christmas holiday trim. She had the small trees to fit the size of the log house and it look like a picture post card. Marion invited everyone to celebrate Christmas dinner at her house, and she was a wonderful hostess. Robert carved the turkey.
It was along this time that Mom and Dad bought another house in Redwood City. Vernon found a job at Bethlehem steel in South San Francisco. And I found a job at a nursing home. We rented a room from a wonderful lady and we struck out on our own.
We spent every day we had free at the Sky Ranch. 'Till we left and moved to Baton Rouge where Vernon was raised in an old country house. The old country house in Baton Rouge had some huge very old Oak Trees planted along both sides of the drive way to the house.
I never knew what home sickness was like till I moved there. I really liked it there but I missed Mom so much. Vernon and his family were very good to me but I would wake up crying. After several times, Vernon said he would take me home. It was good to get back home.
After that I never was home sick again. It was not too long when Vernon said he was going back and I was ready to go with him. It was after we went back to Baton Rouge that we heard from the family that an earthquake had disturbed water well and the well had gone dry.
I loved that place and remember so many good days that we spent there with everyone having a great time.
 |
| Skyline Boulevard Redwood City CA |
Dad was going to build under the house. Part of the house was on top of the mountain and the rest of it was over lapping down the side of the hill. They thought it would help to have more rooms when they had company over.
At that time Marion, Robert and son were staying in the cabin. Vernon and I were camping in a chuck wagon on the property, which was fine for us. Marion was able to cook in her cabin. It was nice for the baby too, as there was so much activity going on, it provided some quite at nap time.
Vernon started to look for work but there were not many jobs available. World War II was over and jobs were not easy to get. So he was able to help with all the different jobs needed to keep things running well.
 |
| Skyline Boulevard Redwood City CA |
When it was warmer, Dad started removing the dirt to begin working on the new rooms. As that job was getting done, Dad started doing the fittings for the water pipes and the plumbing for the bathroom fixtures. Sometimes I would help or some of the boys would have free time and were there to grab a shovel or hammer or even a saw to work with us while Dad told them what to do. There was five brothers plus Robert and Vernon.
There was Mickey, Charles, Elbert, Richard and Jerry. It was Elbert and Vernon that always had the notion to get a deer and have a great feast and get everyone over to eat and to spend the day helping Dad. Mom would work right along with them and they may not have worked fast, but they did have a great time doing it.
That year was a memorable Christmas. By this time, Marion and Robert had moved to a nice home just short distant from the Sky Ranch and Vernon and I moved in to the cabin. I loved having a bath room. Marion would make lovely decorations to trim the tree and make a scene of an old fashion country house with Christmas holiday trim. She had the small trees to fit the size of the log house and it look like a picture post card. Marion invited everyone to celebrate Christmas dinner at her house, and she was a wonderful hostess. Robert carved the turkey.
It was along this time that Mom and Dad bought another house in Redwood City. Vernon found a job at Bethlehem steel in South San Francisco. And I found a job at a nursing home. We rented a room from a wonderful lady and we struck out on our own.
We spent every day we had free at the Sky Ranch. 'Till we left and moved to Baton Rouge where Vernon was raised in an old country house. The old country house in Baton Rouge had some huge very old Oak Trees planted along both sides of the drive way to the house.
I never knew what home sickness was like till I moved there. I really liked it there but I missed Mom so much. Vernon and his family were very good to me but I would wake up crying. After several times, Vernon said he would take me home. It was good to get back home.
After that I never was home sick again. It was not too long when Vernon said he was going back and I was ready to go with him. It was after we went back to Baton Rouge that we heard from the family that an earthquake had disturbed water well and the well had gone dry.
I loved that place and remember so many good days that we spent there with everyone having a great time.
 |
| Skyline Boulevard Redwood City CA |
Monday, October 18, 2010
Rescued Miners
As I watched television coverage of the miraculous rescue of the 33 miners in chile, I was totally absorbed in the human drama being played out on the TV screen. For weeks I had followed the news of the painfully slow drilling progress of a small hole that allowed communication between the miners trapped a mile below ground and rescuers, who were overjoyed to know the men were alive.
Trapped for seventeen days, not knowing if they would, or could, be rescued, I can only imagine their euphoria when communication was made. Cameras and lights were rigged so that the world could see pictures of the miners as they received foods and medicine. Notes were sent back and forth from miners and families, who camped near the drilling sight day and night, as the rescue was underway.
When the realization that the rescue would take several months, it was decided to tell the men how long it would take. To keep their spirits high, knowledge, gained from other rescued miners, along with suggestions from psychiatrists, and NASA's experiences with astronauts, was employed to ease the emotional strain the miners suffered.
The accomplishment of such a rescue is mind boggling. Never before had there been a rescue a mile below ground and thru solid rock, with the miners having the distinction of surviving the longest in trapped conditions, both before, and after, rescue. Well wishers around the globe sent their prayers and congratulations to the miners as well as the citizens of Chile for having organized and executed this historical rescue. It will be discussed and remembered for many years to come.
Trapped for seventeen days, not knowing if they would, or could, be rescued, I can only imagine their euphoria when communication was made. Cameras and lights were rigged so that the world could see pictures of the miners as they received foods and medicine. Notes were sent back and forth from miners and families, who camped near the drilling sight day and night, as the rescue was underway.
When the realization that the rescue would take several months, it was decided to tell the men how long it would take. To keep their spirits high, knowledge, gained from other rescued miners, along with suggestions from psychiatrists, and NASA's experiences with astronauts, was employed to ease the emotional strain the miners suffered.
The accomplishment of such a rescue is mind boggling. Never before had there been a rescue a mile below ground and thru solid rock, with the miners having the distinction of surviving the longest in trapped conditions, both before, and after, rescue. Well wishers around the globe sent their prayers and congratulations to the miners as well as the citizens of Chile for having organized and executed this historical rescue. It will be discussed and remembered for many years to come.
Photos of the Rescued Chilean Miners
Friday, October 15, 2010
Flying Saucers by Loretta
[Editor's Note: This story was written by Loretta]
If you lived in the 40s and 50s, you will probably remember certain things: like when buying gas, you received a dish of some kind when filling up your tank . Dad always brought a plate, saucer, cup or glass home each week. Enough to make a set of them. Larry (my brother) and I were talking about what happened to those dishes and the memories came flooding back.
My mother had quite an anger issue. Sometimes when arguing, mom would pick up any dish she could find and throw it at my dad . She could hit any standing object within her throwing range. When their arguments got serious, each of us kids grabbed our favorite plates to keep them out of harms way. Mine had flowers in the center and petals on the edges. Each of us had certain memories of the dishes we rescued.
Now when mom was throwing, dad was dodging. He was always a moving target and harder to hit. After the cleanup and we were sure all was well, we’d relinquish our dishes and dad would start the process of getting more dishes all over. Because of her tirades we never had a complete set of any one pattern. After the flying saucer episodes, mom and dad acted like nothing was wrong.
I remember one particular incident when we were living in a two story house in Des Moines. Our bedrooms were up on the second floor. To get to them you had to go through the dinning room, open a door to the stairs and up you’d go. Mom had sent us to bed when an argument ensued with Dad. He wanted to move to California; Mom didn’t. She informed him she wouldn’t leave. We all snuck down and listened at the door.
The dishes had been washed and put away but all mom had to do was open a cabinet door and boom, our plates would be no more. Instead she told my dad to leave. He said “No”. Mom started for the phone but Dad had hidden it. So, when he told her to go ahead and call, he knew full well she wouldn’t be able to find it. Well, after a while, things calmed down and all was well. And guess what? Within a few months we were living in California.
I had my plate all through school and when I moved out on my own, I left the plate behind. To this day, I’m not sure what happened to it.
If you lived in the 40s and 50s, you will probably remember certain things: like when buying gas, you received a dish of some kind when filling up your tank . Dad always brought a plate, saucer, cup or glass home each week. Enough to make a set of them. Larry (my brother) and I were talking about what happened to those dishes and the memories came flooding back.
My mother had quite an anger issue. Sometimes when arguing, mom would pick up any dish she could find and throw it at my dad . She could hit any standing object within her throwing range. When their arguments got serious, each of us kids grabbed our favorite plates to keep them out of harms way. Mine had flowers in the center and petals on the edges. Each of us had certain memories of the dishes we rescued.
Now when mom was throwing, dad was dodging. He was always a moving target and harder to hit. After the cleanup and we were sure all was well, we’d relinquish our dishes and dad would start the process of getting more dishes all over. Because of her tirades we never had a complete set of any one pattern. After the flying saucer episodes, mom and dad acted like nothing was wrong.
I remember one particular incident when we were living in a two story house in Des Moines. Our bedrooms were up on the second floor. To get to them you had to go through the dinning room, open a door to the stairs and up you’d go. Mom had sent us to bed when an argument ensued with Dad. He wanted to move to California; Mom didn’t. She informed him she wouldn’t leave. We all snuck down and listened at the door.
The dishes had been washed and put away but all mom had to do was open a cabinet door and boom, our plates would be no more. Instead she told my dad to leave. He said “No”. Mom started for the phone but Dad had hidden it. So, when he told her to go ahead and call, he knew full well she wouldn’t be able to find it. Well, after a while, things calmed down and all was well. And guess what? Within a few months we were living in California.
I had my plate all through school and when I moved out on my own, I left the plate behind. To this day, I’m not sure what happened to it.
 |
| Pile of Broken Dishes |
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Horse Racing
 |
| Ben Hur Chariot Race |
The choreography of the accident scenes leave one stunned and gasping for breath as the chariots careen and break apart while the race continues at break neck speed. One couldn't help but wonder if any of the actors were injured or killed during filming.
The beauty of horses captivate us and they deserve the attention and adulation we lavish on them. As much as I like horses, I am a bit afraid of them. I admire jockeys who seem to be fearless as they sit on a postage stamp saddle and ride hell bent for leather in a race to the finish line.
Some race horses have become legends with books and movies about them. Their names spark memories of their exploits, Man o' War and Seabiscuit.
 |
| Seabiscuit with George Woolf Up |
 |
| Man O'War |
Most of my knowledge of horse racing comes from watching the Kentucky Derby on TV, which is to say I don't know very much. I just pick out a horse as they parade in front of the stands and root for it. If my selection wins, I begin to think I'm a good judge of horse flesh, but if my selection comes in last, I face reality and admit I was only guessing.
Seabiscuit vs. War Admiral - 1938 Match Race (Pimlico Special)
Friday, October 08, 2010
Coin Collecting by Loretta
[Editor's Note: This story was written by Loretta]
I was talking to my cousin on the phone today and it reminded me of the different things that happened when I was growing up.
When I was about eight years old, Mom and I decided to save money and walk to town, which was quite a trek. On our journey, I had the habit of looking down toward the ground to see what treasures I could find. One day, there on the ground, was an Indian head nickel! I was so delighted because I had never seen one before. I think that was the start of my coin collection. As the years went by, I’d find old coins and put them away for safe keeping.
When I graduated from High school, I had various jobs but the one I liked the most was cashiering in a small store. There, I could examine all the change and at the end of my shift the owner would let me pick out and exchange some of the old coins. In those early, days people didn’t save old coins like they do today; so it was easier finding them.
As the years went on, I'd save all the silver certificates I could find and by the mid to late sixties, the federal reserve said it would be our last chance to trade silver certificates for silver bars at the Federal Mint. But as usual, I couldn’t find a way to travel to San Francisco; so I still have those certificates. Just my luck.
In the late sixties, I got a job in a large chain market and that was truly the start of my coin collection. From silver dollars to wheat pennies, nothing was too small and as the years progressed, I’d order sets of coins from the Mint: gold as well as silver. I became a bookkeeper and when I’d order change for the stores, I’d go through it and find silver coins. God, I was in heaven.
There was this one person who came into our store to exchange coins for bills. We had a machine that counted coins for the customers use but was broken. So the manager asked me to do it by hand. When I saw the coins, I mentioned to the man about the old coins in his bag but he wasn’t interested. So, I counted out about one hundred dollars worth of coins; about a third of them were old. I bought his change and separated it that same night. That was the high light of my career, finding so much in one day.
I still save coins but when I retired, I lost some interest in it, plus it's a lot harder finding old coins. The advantage of my position is gone forever. The only thing I’m collecting today is dust.
I was talking to my cousin on the phone today and it reminded me of the different things that happened when I was growing up.
When I was about eight years old, Mom and I decided to save money and walk to town, which was quite a trek. On our journey, I had the habit of looking down toward the ground to see what treasures I could find. One day, there on the ground, was an Indian head nickel! I was so delighted because I had never seen one before. I think that was the start of my coin collection. As the years went by, I’d find old coins and put them away for safe keeping.
When I graduated from High school, I had various jobs but the one I liked the most was cashiering in a small store. There, I could examine all the change and at the end of my shift the owner would let me pick out and exchange some of the old coins. In those early, days people didn’t save old coins like they do today; so it was easier finding them.
As the years went on, I'd save all the silver certificates I could find and by the mid to late sixties, the federal reserve said it would be our last chance to trade silver certificates for silver bars at the Federal Mint. But as usual, I couldn’t find a way to travel to San Francisco; so I still have those certificates. Just my luck.
In the late sixties, I got a job in a large chain market and that was truly the start of my coin collection. From silver dollars to wheat pennies, nothing was too small and as the years progressed, I’d order sets of coins from the Mint: gold as well as silver. I became a bookkeeper and when I’d order change for the stores, I’d go through it and find silver coins. God, I was in heaven.
There was this one person who came into our store to exchange coins for bills. We had a machine that counted coins for the customers use but was broken. So the manager asked me to do it by hand. When I saw the coins, I mentioned to the man about the old coins in his bag but he wasn’t interested. So, I counted out about one hundred dollars worth of coins; about a third of them were old. I bought his change and separated it that same night. That was the high light of my career, finding so much in one day.
I still save coins but when I retired, I lost some interest in it, plus it's a lot harder finding old coins. The advantage of my position is gone forever. The only thing I’m collecting today is dust.
 |
| Old US Coins |
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Friday, October 01, 2010
The Magnificent Torta and How it Saved the Cinema Part 2 of 2 by KimB
[Editor's Note: This story was written by KimB]
Other adventures took place too as we wandered around Mexico City. It was a wonderful place to be and everywhere there was something different or unique to see or experience.
After some time my brother had to return to the USA and Mom and I continued to live in Mexico City. We soon learned how to get around and how to get from one local to another on the bus lines. The buses where all color-coded and had different colored stripes indicating their routes. Bus travel was very cheap and the primary mode of transportation for most everyone.
We took “bus trips” by riding the bus to the end of the line and back again to our starting spot. One of our favorite jumping off spots was near the Plaza de la Revolución in the down town area. We would catch a bus, being sure to ask if it returned to the same spot and would get a wonderful tour of the city. We traveled to the outskirts of the city and thru many neighborhoods and saw places most visitors never go. Hardly a week went by without one of our scenic excursions.
Around the plaza were many shops and one in particular my Mom had come to know about. It was “The Torta” shop. That's what I called it anyway. It was a small standing room only store front that made torta sandwiches. And after our bus excursions, we always stopped at The Torta Shop before heading home.
Tortas are made from wonderful french rolls called "bolillos" and can be made in many many varieties. But we always got the same thing: Ham, avocado, Mexican cheese, a few pieces of onion, mayonnaise and NO lettuce. We would watch while they made the sandwiches and slather them with avocado and generous portions of ham. The sandwiches where enormous and were enough to keep us going for the rest of the day. Mom was always particular about where and what we ate and we only ate tortas from that shop and never anywhere else.
One activity that was a multi-week occurrence was going to the local cinema. In our neighborhood, we had several movie houses and my favorite one showed a TRIPLE feature every night. Movies started at @ 3:00 pm and got out after 10:00 pm or later depending on the movies being shown. Most of the movies where in English with Spanish subtitles and most were really awful. Lots of old B movies from the USA but I didn't care it was wonderful fun! The movies were inexpensive and Mom took me to them several times a week or more if I'd been extra good.
There was an upstairs concession stand and there were hawkers walking up and down the aisles selling popcorn [palomitas]. I would go upstairs and buy two bottles of coke and we would get a bag of popcorn and settle in for the long long evening of old bad John Wayne westerns (from before he was famous) or old gangster movies with James Cagney.
In Mexico City, the big meal of the day is eaten in the early afternoon and you don't eat much later on because the altitude makes it hard to digest food and you will get a belly ache if you eat too late in the day. One afternoon Mom rushed to take me to the movies and skipped the meal so we could get there on time. We got our cokes and popcorn and settled in for the long evening.
Shortly after the movie started, Mom started to feel the effects of skipping the meal. She whispered to me that she was unwell and that I would have to help her back to the hotel. But when she tried to stand up, she could not. Her blood sugar had crashed and she needed food.
Of course, I didn't know any of that, as I was only 10 years old but I DID know she needed to eat something and FAST. I thought quickly and ran upstairs to the concession stand. I knew they had tortas there and I ask for 2 ham ones. They handed me two tortas wrapped in wax paper and I made my way back down to the dark theater where Mom was sitting slumped in the seat.
I unwrapped one of the tortas and shoved it in her hand and said “Eat!”. She asked what it was and I told her it was a ham torta I'd gotten from the concession stand. She shook her head “no” and tried to push it away. I pushed it back and said “Eat it!” With great reluctance, she took a bite and then another and another! When she'd finished that one, I gave her the second one and she ate that one as well! In only a few moments, she was fully recovered and we both hugged each other and she said it was the best torta she'd ever eaten! We then settled back to watched the rest of the movies.
After that, when we went to the movies we got our two bottles of coke, popcorn and two ham tortas but we never ever took them out of their wrappers until the movie house was completely dark. Mom said they were the BEST she'd ever eaten and she never wanted to know what was inside because she didn't want risk Rule 1 coming between her and the “Magnificent Torta that Saved the Cinema”.
[End of Part 2]
Other adventures took place too as we wandered around Mexico City. It was a wonderful place to be and everywhere there was something different or unique to see or experience.
After some time my brother had to return to the USA and Mom and I continued to live in Mexico City. We soon learned how to get around and how to get from one local to another on the bus lines. The buses where all color-coded and had different colored stripes indicating their routes. Bus travel was very cheap and the primary mode of transportation for most everyone.
We took “bus trips” by riding the bus to the end of the line and back again to our starting spot. One of our favorite jumping off spots was near the Plaza de la Revolución in the down town area. We would catch a bus, being sure to ask if it returned to the same spot and would get a wonderful tour of the city. We traveled to the outskirts of the city and thru many neighborhoods and saw places most visitors never go. Hardly a week went by without one of our scenic excursions.
 |
| Ham Torta with Avocado |
Tortas are made from wonderful french rolls called "bolillos" and can be made in many many varieties. But we always got the same thing: Ham, avocado, Mexican cheese, a few pieces of onion, mayonnaise and NO lettuce. We would watch while they made the sandwiches and slather them with avocado and generous portions of ham. The sandwiches where enormous and were enough to keep us going for the rest of the day. Mom was always particular about where and what we ate and we only ate tortas from that shop and never anywhere else.
One activity that was a multi-week occurrence was going to the local cinema. In our neighborhood, we had several movie houses and my favorite one showed a TRIPLE feature every night. Movies started at @ 3:00 pm and got out after 10:00 pm or later depending on the movies being shown. Most of the movies where in English with Spanish subtitles and most were really awful. Lots of old B movies from the USA but I didn't care it was wonderful fun! The movies were inexpensive and Mom took me to them several times a week or more if I'd been extra good.
There was an upstairs concession stand and there were hawkers walking up and down the aisles selling popcorn [palomitas]. I would go upstairs and buy two bottles of coke and we would get a bag of popcorn and settle in for the long long evening of old bad John Wayne westerns (from before he was famous) or old gangster movies with James Cagney.
In Mexico City, the big meal of the day is eaten in the early afternoon and you don't eat much later on because the altitude makes it hard to digest food and you will get a belly ache if you eat too late in the day. One afternoon Mom rushed to take me to the movies and skipped the meal so we could get there on time. We got our cokes and popcorn and settled in for the long evening.
Shortly after the movie started, Mom started to feel the effects of skipping the meal. She whispered to me that she was unwell and that I would have to help her back to the hotel. But when she tried to stand up, she could not. Her blood sugar had crashed and she needed food.
Of course, I didn't know any of that, as I was only 10 years old but I DID know she needed to eat something and FAST. I thought quickly and ran upstairs to the concession stand. I knew they had tortas there and I ask for 2 ham ones. They handed me two tortas wrapped in wax paper and I made my way back down to the dark theater where Mom was sitting slumped in the seat.
I unwrapped one of the tortas and shoved it in her hand and said “Eat!”. She asked what it was and I told her it was a ham torta I'd gotten from the concession stand. She shook her head “no” and tried to push it away. I pushed it back and said “Eat it!” With great reluctance, she took a bite and then another and another! When she'd finished that one, I gave her the second one and she ate that one as well! In only a few moments, she was fully recovered and we both hugged each other and she said it was the best torta she'd ever eaten! We then settled back to watched the rest of the movies.
After that, when we went to the movies we got our two bottles of coke, popcorn and two ham tortas but we never ever took them out of their wrappers until the movie house was completely dark. Mom said they were the BEST she'd ever eaten and she never wanted to know what was inside because she didn't want risk Rule 1 coming between her and the “Magnificent Torta that Saved the Cinema”.
[End of Part 2]
 |
| Torta in Wrapper |
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Magnificent Torta and How it Saved the Cinema Part 1 of 2 by KimB
[Editor's Note: This story was written by KimB]
While many people are familiar with the more common Mexican dishes like tacos and enchiladas, not everyone has had the joy of encountering a Torta. A Torta is a Mexican sandwich on a french roll. It is unlike any other sandwich you might have met.
When Mexico was part of the French Empire, they learned and mastered the art of making french bread. And while tortillas are the main staple throughout Mexico, french rolls called “bolillos” are a wonderful discovery.
My first encounter with a bolillo was on my first trip to Mexico. Mom, my Brother and I arrived in Mexico City and of course an adventure happened. Not one we wanted though. Although there were many parts of this adventure, the encounter with the bolillo is what I will focus on for this story.
As in all adventures, something had gone wrong. What had gone wrong was: the money transfer my Mom had made from the USA to the local Mexican Bank had "gone awry" and when she went to the Bank, the money wasn't there. And as this was way way before Debit Cards and 1-800-Call-Your-Bank-For-Help, we had to wait for: The Mail. Not only did we have to wait for the mail, we had limited funds to cover us for the 2 weeks needed for the mail messages to go back and forth.
Neither my Mom, my Brother nor I were strangers with having to "make do" with limited funds and peanut butter was a staple in our household. Unfortunately, peanut butter is not a staple in Mexico and coupled with Rule 1 about food, we had a serious challenge. There wasn't anything we could eat that we could afford.
We hit the local Mercado (outdoor market) and bought bananas. I love bananas but we had to ration them between the 3 of us. It was really tough looking at bananas and not eating one! We went out during the day sight seeing and did whatever we could to entertain ourselves, as long as, of course, it cost nothing.
Mom took us see some of the nearby shops and one was a bakery. There were all sorts of sweets and cookies in the window but all we could do was sniff. I spoke almost no Spanish at the time and wandered towards the back end of the small store. There were three large bins full of “somethings”. Each bin had a “something” of a particular size. Small ones on the right, Medium ones in the middle and Large ones on the left. I had no idea what they were. I watched as people came to the bins and took out the “somethings” and paid for them.
Mom and Brother had already moved along to the next store and I stopped to ask in my poor Spanish: “What is it?” [¿Que es?] and how much the “somethings” cost [¿Cuánto cuesta?]. The Bakers gave me a small one to try [ ¡Cómalo!] and told me it was 10 centavos.
It was Heaven! It was the most delicious bread I'd ever tasted. I might have been just a bit prejudiced since I'd only had bananas for a few days. I raced to tell my Mom and Brother about this wonderful discovery!
Soon, I had dragged them both back to the bakery and showed them the bins of bread. I told them they were only 10 cents each and we could buy TEN for 1 peso! THAT was definitely IN the budget and Mom promptly bought enough for all of us to enjoy.
Every morning, until the Bank mix up was resolved, Mom sent me and my brother to the bakery with 1 peso to buy 10 bolillos to go with our bananas.
[End of Part 1]
While many people are familiar with the more common Mexican dishes like tacos and enchiladas, not everyone has had the joy of encountering a Torta. A Torta is a Mexican sandwich on a french roll. It is unlike any other sandwich you might have met.
When Mexico was part of the French Empire, they learned and mastered the art of making french bread. And while tortillas are the main staple throughout Mexico, french rolls called “bolillos” are a wonderful discovery.
My first encounter with a bolillo was on my first trip to Mexico. Mom, my Brother and I arrived in Mexico City and of course an adventure happened. Not one we wanted though. Although there were many parts of this adventure, the encounter with the bolillo is what I will focus on for this story.
As in all adventures, something had gone wrong. What had gone wrong was: the money transfer my Mom had made from the USA to the local Mexican Bank had "gone awry" and when she went to the Bank, the money wasn't there. And as this was way way before Debit Cards and 1-800-Call-Your-Bank-For-Help, we had to wait for: The Mail. Not only did we have to wait for the mail, we had limited funds to cover us for the 2 weeks needed for the mail messages to go back and forth.
Neither my Mom, my Brother nor I were strangers with having to "make do" with limited funds and peanut butter was a staple in our household. Unfortunately, peanut butter is not a staple in Mexico and coupled with Rule 1 about food, we had a serious challenge. There wasn't anything we could eat that we could afford.
We hit the local Mercado (outdoor market) and bought bananas. I love bananas but we had to ration them between the 3 of us. It was really tough looking at bananas and not eating one! We went out during the day sight seeing and did whatever we could to entertain ourselves, as long as, of course, it cost nothing.
Mom took us see some of the nearby shops and one was a bakery. There were all sorts of sweets and cookies in the window but all we could do was sniff. I spoke almost no Spanish at the time and wandered towards the back end of the small store. There were three large bins full of “somethings”. Each bin had a “something” of a particular size. Small ones on the right, Medium ones in the middle and Large ones on the left. I had no idea what they were. I watched as people came to the bins and took out the “somethings” and paid for them.
Mom and Brother had already moved along to the next store and I stopped to ask in my poor Spanish: “What is it?” [¿Que es?] and how much the “somethings” cost [¿Cuánto cuesta?]. The Bakers gave me a small one to try [ ¡Cómalo!] and told me it was 10 centavos.
It was Heaven! It was the most delicious bread I'd ever tasted. I might have been just a bit prejudiced since I'd only had bananas for a few days. I raced to tell my Mom and Brother about this wonderful discovery!
Soon, I had dragged them both back to the bakery and showed them the bins of bread. I told them they were only 10 cents each and we could buy TEN for 1 peso! THAT was definitely IN the budget and Mom promptly bought enough for all of us to enjoy.
Every morning, until the Bank mix up was resolved, Mom sent me and my brother to the bakery with 1 peso to buy 10 bolillos to go with our bananas.
[End of Part 1]
 |
| Bolillos |
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Visiting Grandma by Loretta
[Editor's Note: This story was written by Loretta]
From the time I can remember, I hated visiting my grandmother on my mother's side. She was German, decent and very strict. Children were to be seen and not heard. When we came to visit, Dad had to drive 60 miles to Oskaloosa from Fort Des Moines and it took about two hours driving time. In those days they didn’t drive like a bat out of hell.
When we arrived we had to sit on a leather divan, not speak, just sit. It took about a half hour to get up the courage and ask if we could go down to the school play ground and swing and ride the merry go round. We would stay there if we could but mom always gave us a time limit.
I remember mom left us with grandma for a day and grandma made mush for breakfast and set a bowl in front of each of us. My youngest brother, Mark, decided he didn’t like it but I was such a coward in those days, I ate mine. Lunch time came grandma made soup and set us all down to eat but Mark had mush. Mark still turned it down but we ate our soup. Dinner time came and you guessed it, Mark got mush; we got Goulash. Mark never did eat that day. That’s how stubborn he was. Thank god, mom came for us or Mark would have starved.
On our way home from Oskaloosa, we drove through Pella a Dutch town. Mom always stopped at a butcher shop and bought a ring of Pella bologna and the following day she would make potato soup with chunks of bologna in it. To this day, I still remember how good it tasted. I make potato cheese soup on cold winter days and also home made chicken soup. They're alright but they don’t compare to my memory of mom's cooking. You don’t realize until its to late sometimes, that writing down certain things would be very important to have later in life.
I’ll always remember when I was 13 and Louise my older sister got married, Grandma and Aunt Louise (my mother's sister) came for the wedding. Grandma was in her late seventies and over the years lost quite a bit of weight, she was frail and very petite. Looking at her then, I wondered why I was so scared when I was younger.
When it comes to respect, I guess size doesn’t matter.
From the time I can remember, I hated visiting my grandmother on my mother's side. She was German, decent and very strict. Children were to be seen and not heard. When we came to visit, Dad had to drive 60 miles to Oskaloosa from Fort Des Moines and it took about two hours driving time. In those days they didn’t drive like a bat out of hell.
When we arrived we had to sit on a leather divan, not speak, just sit. It took about a half hour to get up the courage and ask if we could go down to the school play ground and swing and ride the merry go round. We would stay there if we could but mom always gave us a time limit.
I remember mom left us with grandma for a day and grandma made mush for breakfast and set a bowl in front of each of us. My youngest brother, Mark, decided he didn’t like it but I was such a coward in those days, I ate mine. Lunch time came grandma made soup and set us all down to eat but Mark had mush. Mark still turned it down but we ate our soup. Dinner time came and you guessed it, Mark got mush; we got Goulash. Mark never did eat that day. That’s how stubborn he was. Thank god, mom came for us or Mark would have starved.
On our way home from Oskaloosa, we drove through Pella a Dutch town. Mom always stopped at a butcher shop and bought a ring of Pella bologna and the following day she would make potato soup with chunks of bologna in it. To this day, I still remember how good it tasted. I make potato cheese soup on cold winter days and also home made chicken soup. They're alright but they don’t compare to my memory of mom's cooking. You don’t realize until its to late sometimes, that writing down certain things would be very important to have later in life.
I’ll always remember when I was 13 and Louise my older sister got married, Grandma and Aunt Louise (my mother's sister) came for the wedding. Grandma was in her late seventies and over the years lost quite a bit of weight, she was frail and very petite. Looking at her then, I wondered why I was so scared when I was younger.
When it comes to respect, I guess size doesn’t matter.
 |
| Pella Bologna |
Thursday, September 23, 2010
New Computer
I recently found myself without a working computer due to malware and viruses. The full shock of the situation didn't hit me until some days later. When I called for help from both my son and daughter, (both more computer literate than I), they advised letting my virus program run a scan which would take care of the problem.
Considering I pay a hefty sum for such protection, I was relieved to realize the cure was so simple. I had just finished eating supper and the evening was still young. Since the anti virus company worked 24/7, I picked up the phone and dialed their number. I knew the company had secret ways of riding computers of all manner of 'infections', and I would be back online in short order. EZPZ. Right?
At the first sound of English being spoken with an Indian accent, I knew I was in for lots of repetitive requests from both ends of the phone connection, with my end being the first to start things off. I lost track of how many times I asked the technician to repeat what turned out to be his name. He also explained that I would have to fork over a chunk of money in order for him to fix the problem. I must say, he was extremely courteous and assured me it was his pleasure to serve me. The session lasted a bit longer than I had anticipated so I decided to turn the computer off and go watch TV to relieve the stress and anxiety I had experienced.
The next morning when I turned on the computer a 'pop up' appeared that I couldn't X out so I phoned my anti virus company. They did another scan and did some magic maneuvers as I watched them drive my computer. Before they logged out of my computer, they said all was AOK and I was a happy camper even if it had taken a long time to fix the 'whatever'. I knew they were sincere in their taking pleasure in serving me, and I hoped they were as happy as I at not having to repeat every word.
The third technician I called to correct something was a woman whose professionalism was apparent from the first moment she came on the phone, but she too had to go thru the business of repeating instructions. She finished the session and all went well that day. I had the idea that maybe the women technicians were a tad superior in their ability to log into a clients computer, drive it and fix things.
When I complained to my son and daughter that the sessions were long and stressful they said some of the viruses and malware were very hard to get rid of and the problem had become universal.
The forth technician accidentally wiped out my operating system and when he asked me to insert the XP disk, I knew things had gone to HELL IN A HAND BASKET. !!!!
At this point, my virus program and I parted ways. I took my laptop to a pc store and said 'fix it'. While it was in the repair shop, my daughter and her husband surprised me by giving me a new computer which would be delivered the same day my repaired one would be ready for pick up.
My cup runneth over!!!
Considering I pay a hefty sum for such protection, I was relieved to realize the cure was so simple. I had just finished eating supper and the evening was still young. Since the anti virus company worked 24/7, I picked up the phone and dialed their number. I knew the company had secret ways of riding computers of all manner of 'infections', and I would be back online in short order. EZPZ. Right?
At the first sound of English being spoken with an Indian accent, I knew I was in for lots of repetitive requests from both ends of the phone connection, with my end being the first to start things off. I lost track of how many times I asked the technician to repeat what turned out to be his name. He also explained that I would have to fork over a chunk of money in order for him to fix the problem. I must say, he was extremely courteous and assured me it was his pleasure to serve me. The session lasted a bit longer than I had anticipated so I decided to turn the computer off and go watch TV to relieve the stress and anxiety I had experienced. 
The third technician I called to correct something was a woman whose professionalism was apparent from the first moment she came on the phone, but she too had to go thru the business of repeating instructions. She finished the session and all went well that day. I had the idea that maybe the women technicians were a tad superior in their ability to log into a clients computer, drive it and fix things.
When I complained to my son and daughter that the sessions were long and stressful they said some of the viruses and malware were very hard to get rid of and the problem had become universal.
The forth technician accidentally wiped out my operating system and when he asked me to insert the XP disk, I knew things had gone to HELL IN A HAND BASKET. !!!!
At this point, my virus program and I parted ways. I took my laptop to a pc store and said 'fix it'. While it was in the repair shop, my daughter and her husband surprised me by giving me a new computer which would be delivered the same day my repaired one would be ready for pick up.
My cup runneth over!!!
 |
| My cup runneth over!!! |
Monday, September 20, 2010
Two Cats by KimB
Two Cats
"I'm different from you!"
"You're not the same as me!"
Argued the two cats up in the tree.
One was above,
The other up high,
Both of their noses stuck up at the sky.
One's tail was limp.
The other's hung down.
One looked unhappy while the other one frowned.
They looked at each other,
And then looked away,
Wishing the strange one would just go away.
Together they perched,
And stared at the ground,
Lamenting apiece, they'd no way to get down.
They sat and they sat,
All thru the day,
Waiting for someone to happen their way.
As the day gave way,
And the night came along,
Hunger Pangs were their Even-Song.
With a swish and a flick.
As fast as can be.
With a mighty leap, they jumped from the tree.
Together they walked,
With nothing amiss.
Their noses touched in quiet friendship.
"You're just like me!"
"You're my own cat's wish!"
Then together they ate from the same food dish.
KimB 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Gardening by Loretta
[Editor's Note: This story was written by Loretta]
Oh, the memories! We have always had a garden. In Iowa, mom and dad had two gardens: one down by the house and the other at the end of our property.
In the summer time, mom marched us out to the garden, handed us a hoe and showed us to the rows of veggies. She gave us each so many rows to take care of. No one was allowed to leave until all the rows were done. Mine were never done. Louise always finished first and mom had her help the rest of us finish ours. She use to get pissed because she had to do twice as many rows as us. I guess you can say, we fooled around until help showed up. All the people living in the area were basically in the same boat we were: mini-farmers and all the kids had the same duties we had.
When I lived in California, I used to have a garden too. I remember one particular year, I was so proud of how my garden was looking. You know, standing there with admiration when all of a sudden, one of my plants disappeared in front of my eyes! A gopher had burrowed under my garden and was devouring my veggies. I lost half my garden to that little guy.
Needless to say, we had a war on our hands. I finally got him or one of his relatives. I was weeding around the Rose bushes and other flowers when I pulled up a gopher on the end of a plant! First, he scared the "blank" out of me but then I recovered. I grabbed my shovel and beat him to death and threw him in the trash can. It was MY victory! He might have won most of the battles but I won the war.
I’m having similar wars now with my garden. Something is burrowing under my garden, we're always filling in holes but apparently whatever it is, doesn’t like chili plants.
Tonight, part of dinner was a large salad made up of bell pepper, tomatoes and cucumber, which were home grown. Plus onion, lettuce and avocado bought in a store. Very good, if I say so myself. Our cucumbers, both Japanese and regular, are growing so fast I’ve got six of them on my kitchen counter right now and I'm looking in cook books for any kind of recipe that appeals to me.
Last week, my niece's husband decided that one of the watermelons was ready to pick. When it was cut open, we realized it wasn’t and it needed a another few weeks to ripen. Still it was sweet, it just lacked color and time. My beefsteak tomatoes turned out really small. I think someone must have changed the tags.
As far as gardening, I might not be the best, but I'm still trying.
Oh, the memories! We have always had a garden. In Iowa, mom and dad had two gardens: one down by the house and the other at the end of our property.
In the summer time, mom marched us out to the garden, handed us a hoe and showed us to the rows of veggies. She gave us each so many rows to take care of. No one was allowed to leave until all the rows were done. Mine were never done. Louise always finished first and mom had her help the rest of us finish ours. She use to get pissed because she had to do twice as many rows as us. I guess you can say, we fooled around until help showed up. All the people living in the area were basically in the same boat we were: mini-farmers and all the kids had the same duties we had.
When I lived in California, I used to have a garden too. I remember one particular year, I was so proud of how my garden was looking. You know, standing there with admiration when all of a sudden, one of my plants disappeared in front of my eyes! A gopher had burrowed under my garden and was devouring my veggies. I lost half my garden to that little guy.
Needless to say, we had a war on our hands. I finally got him or one of his relatives. I was weeding around the Rose bushes and other flowers when I pulled up a gopher on the end of a plant! First, he scared the "blank" out of me but then I recovered. I grabbed my shovel and beat him to death and threw him in the trash can. It was MY victory! He might have won most of the battles but I won the war.
I’m having similar wars now with my garden. Something is burrowing under my garden, we're always filling in holes but apparently whatever it is, doesn’t like chili plants.
Tonight, part of dinner was a large salad made up of bell pepper, tomatoes and cucumber, which were home grown. Plus onion, lettuce and avocado bought in a store. Very good, if I say so myself. Our cucumbers, both Japanese and regular, are growing so fast I’ve got six of them on my kitchen counter right now and I'm looking in cook books for any kind of recipe that appeals to me.
Last week, my niece's husband decided that one of the watermelons was ready to pick. When it was cut open, we realized it wasn’t and it needed a another few weeks to ripen. Still it was sweet, it just lacked color and time. My beefsteak tomatoes turned out really small. I think someone must have changed the tags.
As far as gardening, I might not be the best, but I'm still trying.
 |
| Pocket Gopher |
Friday, September 10, 2010
The Park on the Corner by KimB
[Editor's Note: This story was written by KimB]
Mom and I lived in the suburbs of Mexico City for a long time. We lived in a hotel that was a short bus trip from the downtown. Mom spent her days painting and I spent mine exploring or reading and trying not to get into too much trouble.
Our room had no TV or radio and no telephone either, although the main desk could take messages for us. This was a long time before cell phones and text-messaging. But we didn't mind as we could always find an adventure to keep us busy.
The neighborhood had many small shops and a wonderful park. The park was actually a famous one but not one who's history is known to many visitors. It had a wonderful bandstand and in the summer, concerts would be played and everyone who could, would come to the park to listen to the music.
Summertime can be very hot in Mexico City and when the concerts would happen many vendors and street hawkers would come to the park to sell all kinds of things to the people there. They would sell toys and balloons and ice cream to the many families that came to hear the music. But our favorites were the Fresh Fruit Sellers.
They would pull small wagons with big blocks of ice on them and have lots of bins of fresh fruit. There was watermelon, pineapple, banana, jÃcama and other exotic fruits to select from and for a few pesos we could buy any selection we wanted. The vendor would take a large piece of butcher paper and roll it into a cone. The size of the cone depended on the size ordered. Then he would cut big chunks of the fresh ice cold fruit and start to fill the cone. When it got near the top he would place sticks of jÃcama around the edge to extend the size of the cone and continue filling it with more fruit.
We loved to sit on the benches in the afternoon listening to the band and eating the ice cold fruit. I loved watching all the people come to park, some dressed up and some not. The children were given toys and balloons to play with and the adults would tap their toes in rhythm with music.
I knew Mexico City very well and often friends would ask me to take their visitors on tours around the city. One place I would take them was to see the famous mural in the Del Prado Hotel(1) by Diego Rivera: “Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in the Central Alameda.” [Sueno de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central] The mural was famous because for many years it was covered up and not viewable by the public. Rivera had painted in text and originally titled his work: "Dios no existe" [God does not exist]. In 1958 he painted over the words. When it became viewable by the public, it was one of the major pieces of art work that I took the visitors to see.
I would show them the mural and explain a bit about it but I was most proud and always pointed out Our Bandstand in the background.
1.The mural was badly damaged in the Mexico City earthquake 1985 and was moved from the Del Prado which was demolished and is now in the Museo Mural Diego Rivera.
Mom and I lived in the suburbs of Mexico City for a long time. We lived in a hotel that was a short bus trip from the downtown. Mom spent her days painting and I spent mine exploring or reading and trying not to get into too much trouble.
Our room had no TV or radio and no telephone either, although the main desk could take messages for us. This was a long time before cell phones and text-messaging. But we didn't mind as we could always find an adventure to keep us busy.
The neighborhood had many small shops and a wonderful park. The park was actually a famous one but not one who's history is known to many visitors. It had a wonderful bandstand and in the summer, concerts would be played and everyone who could, would come to the park to listen to the music.
Summertime can be very hot in Mexico City and when the concerts would happen many vendors and street hawkers would come to the park to sell all kinds of things to the people there. They would sell toys and balloons and ice cream to the many families that came to hear the music. But our favorites were the Fresh Fruit Sellers.
They would pull small wagons with big blocks of ice on them and have lots of bins of fresh fruit. There was watermelon, pineapple, banana, jÃcama and other exotic fruits to select from and for a few pesos we could buy any selection we wanted. The vendor would take a large piece of butcher paper and roll it into a cone. The size of the cone depended on the size ordered. Then he would cut big chunks of the fresh ice cold fruit and start to fill the cone. When it got near the top he would place sticks of jÃcama around the edge to extend the size of the cone and continue filling it with more fruit.
We loved to sit on the benches in the afternoon listening to the band and eating the ice cold fruit. I loved watching all the people come to park, some dressed up and some not. The children were given toys and balloons to play with and the adults would tap their toes in rhythm with music.
I knew Mexico City very well and often friends would ask me to take their visitors on tours around the city. One place I would take them was to see the famous mural in the Del Prado Hotel(1) by Diego Rivera: “Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in the Central Alameda.” [Sueno de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central] The mural was famous because for many years it was covered up and not viewable by the public. Rivera had painted in text and originally titled his work: "Dios no existe" [God does not exist]. In 1958 he painted over the words. When it became viewable by the public, it was one of the major pieces of art work that I took the visitors to see.
I would show them the mural and explain a bit about it but I was most proud and always pointed out Our Bandstand in the background.
1.The mural was badly damaged in the Mexico City earthquake 1985 and was moved from the Del Prado which was demolished and is now in the Museo Mural Diego Rivera.
 |
| Sueno de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central by Diego Rivera 1947-48 |
Monday, September 06, 2010
Sewing
I seem to be spending my waking hours in an ameliorative state... I realized the other day that most of my interests and activities require pursuing some form of further practice, study and/or correction as in my latest project, sewing.
When my sister, Esther, asked if I would like a couple of muumuus like the ones she planned to make for her self using a McCalls pattern, I quickly accepted her offer. Esther is an accomplished seamstress having made clothes for her daughters, son and husband and I knew whatever she made on her sewing machine would be a delight to wear.
I volunteered to do the finishing of the muumuus she cut out for me if it would save her time and energy and she agreed to mail them to me after she did the basic fitting and cutting. Within a couple of days, they arrived at the post office and when I opened the package, I saw two beautiful muumuus, one a light green eyelet, the other blue with flowers. All I had to do was sew the pockets in the side seams of each. Simple, right?
I never thoroughly learned to operate my sewing machine. I do know how to turn it on and off, thread it and fill a bobbin, how to cut fabric using a pattern, but learning basic sewing 101 never got on my list of things to do, consequently, I never learned the tips that make sewing easy, but hey, side pockets don’t show and I can sew a straight seam.
I wasn’t the least perturbed about sewing pockets and after pinning the pieces and threading the machine, I began sewing. When I finished, I discovered the pockets had not been properly inserted, and I’d have to do some ripping. I spent the next 2 ½ hours undoing what I had just sewn in a few minutes.
Before sewing the pockets again I googled for directions on the internet. The videos showing how to sew pockets in side seams was so helpful, my spirits spiked and off I went to do a bang up job, determined to equal Esther’s talent. Again, I pinned and sewed, only to discover I had attached one pocket upside down and would have to rip again.
I was forced to suffer the reality of my inadequacy once again, but I eventually got the pockets inserted in the right place and in the right manner. The fact that I had spent approximately 4 hours on a sewing job that should have taken about 20 minutes is something I plan never divulge to my loving sister.
When my sister, Esther, asked if I would like a couple of muumuus like the ones she planned to make for her self using a McCalls pattern, I quickly accepted her offer. Esther is an accomplished seamstress having made clothes for her daughters, son and husband and I knew whatever she made on her sewing machine would be a delight to wear.
I volunteered to do the finishing of the muumuus she cut out for me if it would save her time and energy and she agreed to mail them to me after she did the basic fitting and cutting. Within a couple of days, they arrived at the post office and when I opened the package, I saw two beautiful muumuus, one a light green eyelet, the other blue with flowers. All I had to do was sew the pockets in the side seams of each. Simple, right?
I never thoroughly learned to operate my sewing machine. I do know how to turn it on and off, thread it and fill a bobbin, how to cut fabric using a pattern, but learning basic sewing 101 never got on my list of things to do, consequently, I never learned the tips that make sewing easy, but hey, side pockets don’t show and I can sew a straight seam.
I wasn’t the least perturbed about sewing pockets and after pinning the pieces and threading the machine, I began sewing. When I finished, I discovered the pockets had not been properly inserted, and I’d have to do some ripping. I spent the next 2 ½ hours undoing what I had just sewn in a few minutes.
Before sewing the pockets again I googled for directions on the internet. The videos showing how to sew pockets in side seams was so helpful, my spirits spiked and off I went to do a bang up job, determined to equal Esther’s talent. Again, I pinned and sewed, only to discover I had attached one pocket upside down and would have to rip again.
I was forced to suffer the reality of my inadequacy once again, but I eventually got the pockets inserted in the right place and in the right manner. The fact that I had spent approximately 4 hours on a sewing job that should have taken about 20 minutes is something I plan never divulge to my loving sister.
Friday, September 03, 2010
Times Remembered 4
[Editor's note: This will be a series of stories posted at irregular intervals]
Labor Day, (September 6th this year), marked the first day of school and the end of summer vacation when I was a child. On one hand we looked forward to having progressed to a higher grade with new teachers, new books and the wearing of new school clothes. On the other hand, it meant the end of long days of play, staying up late at night and going barefoot.
School books were provided by the school, but students purchased pencils and tablets.
Many of the children I went to school with did not live in town, but on farms in the surrounding area. They did not go home for lunch like students living in town. They brought lunches and ate them in the large assembly room during lunch hour. Sometimes in snowy weather, town students would bring lunch to school, the occasion being a treat from their usual school routine.
Being on time was a must and there was no dawdling getting dressed and breakfasted. Children living next door or down the street would join us as we walked pass their houses; the younger ones forming a group and we older ones walking together.
There was always homework and each year assignments increased. The load of books carried back and forth to school every day got heavier as the years progressed. Everyone had a desk in the assembly room where books and notebooks could be stored and if homework for a particular class was finished during ‘study time’, that particular book could be left at school.
After settling into the tedium of class routines, we anticipated school holidays. On November 11th, Armistice Day, (known today as Veterans Day), was celebrated by students being called to the assembly room to observe a minute of silent prayer at 11 O’clock. Classes were then canceled for the rest of the day. A two week vacation started a week before Christmas, ending New Years Day. Toward the end of May, each class scheduled a day of picnicking at one of the local parks.
Report cards detailing passing or failing work were sent home periodically for parents to sign and return. If school work had been satisfactory during the year, students were promoted to the next level. Sometimes promotion was contingent on being tutored in a particular subject during the summer.
We welcomed the three months of June, July and August with their seemingly unlimited days of fun and play, but the last days of August brought realization summer was over and it was back to school for another year.
Labor Day, (September 6th this year), marked the first day of school and the end of summer vacation when I was a child. On one hand we looked forward to having progressed to a higher grade with new teachers, new books and the wearing of new school clothes. On the other hand, it meant the end of long days of play, staying up late at night and going barefoot.
School books were provided by the school, but students purchased pencils and tablets.
Many of the children I went to school with did not live in town, but on farms in the surrounding area. They did not go home for lunch like students living in town. They brought lunches and ate them in the large assembly room during lunch hour. Sometimes in snowy weather, town students would bring lunch to school, the occasion being a treat from their usual school routine.
Being on time was a must and there was no dawdling getting dressed and breakfasted. Children living next door or down the street would join us as we walked pass their houses; the younger ones forming a group and we older ones walking together.
There was always homework and each year assignments increased. The load of books carried back and forth to school every day got heavier as the years progressed. Everyone had a desk in the assembly room where books and notebooks could be stored and if homework for a particular class was finished during ‘study time’, that particular book could be left at school.
After settling into the tedium of class routines, we anticipated school holidays. On November 11th, Armistice Day, (known today as Veterans Day), was celebrated by students being called to the assembly room to observe a minute of silent prayer at 11 O’clock. Classes were then canceled for the rest of the day. A two week vacation started a week before Christmas, ending New Years Day. Toward the end of May, each class scheduled a day of picnicking at one of the local parks.
Report cards detailing passing or failing work were sent home periodically for parents to sign and return. If school work had been satisfactory during the year, students were promoted to the next level. Sometimes promotion was contingent on being tutored in a particular subject during the summer.
We welcomed the three months of June, July and August with their seemingly unlimited days of fun and play, but the last days of August brought realization summer was over and it was back to school for another year.
 |
| Stack of old books |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
