Do you remember way back in May when I began this little blogging diary of mine?
About the fourth entry was on May 18th, and it had to do with the cable guys coming
to install at our neighbors. However, the light pole on which cable lines are attached is located in our yard. If you recall these same cable guys proceeded to
paint a lovely, meandering flourescent orange line all around our yard to show where other lines are buried, so things could be avoided when they started digging to install Bill and Mary's line.
After painting the lovely flourescent orange path, they surrounded the path with many, many orange flags so as to catch the diggers' attention, I assume. Then these same cable guys disappeared never to be seen again. As you can imagine, after two or three lawn mowings the paint was no longer there. Then, after a month the flags disappeared. Now, I'm not saying that Don threw them away, but one of our trash bags had a suspicious orange tint as it went sailing into the trash truck.
Early this week the telephone rang. A neighbor across the street called to say he was concerned because a truck had just pulled up and two guys with shovels were wandering around in our yard. As you can see from this dated blog, it was now
September 18th. Let me see, I believe it has been four months, and the diggers have arrived. Yep, when Don went out, they readily admitted that they were the cable line
diggers, and where, they wondered was their lovely little path.
So Don showed them where he remembered the path to run (it was indelibly etched in his memory). They did their digging, buried the lines, left some lines hanging limply on the light pole, and went happily on their way. Their part of the job is apparently finished. Installers must come now to do the hook-up.
Let's see, according to the cable time table, they should be here about January 18th.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
M3 - Many, Many, Many Cats
Strangely enough, Don and I always considered ourselves dog people. We both always have had dogs as pets. And we raised our children more years with a dog in the house than with a cat. Although, the children did bring home cats who lived at our house from time to time as they grew up. I think Smokey lived with us the longest until he chose to move to my mother's house where things were quiet and peaceful for an old cat.
The pet we had for the longest time was Scot, THE BEST DOG IN THE WORLD EVER, who lived with us for 16 or 17 years. He was a shepherd mix who was an abandoned puppy that followed Don all around the Highland Scot football field as Don mowed one day. Then he came home to live with us for the rest of his life. He was sweet, smart, well behaved and fun. All in all an excellent family member.
The summer after Scot died we brought two cats, Frankie and Johnny, home from the lake. I've told the story before how they were born on our porch and marched straight into our hearts and lives. They were totally misnamed. When Frank was a new baby I looked into his baby blue eyes and started calling him "Old Blue Eyes."
Of course, that was Frank Sinatra's nick name, so we started calling the kitten Frankie. When we were looking for a name for his sister, we thought of the song,
"Frankie and Johnny." Later on, as Frank grew, his eyes turned green. I guess all baby cats have blue eyes. And in the song, Frankie is the girl and Johnny is the boy. So they were totally misnamed. Johnny died a few years ago of diabetes, so we now just live with Frankie.
Frankie is skinny, his fur is rough, he has brown spots on his nose, so I may be the only person who thinks he is beautiful. Don loves him because he is so low maintenance: he doesn't eat much, he doesn't drink much, he doesn't use the litter box much, he sleeps a lot, and has never been sick. See, you would think he is beautiful, too, if he lived at your house. He likes to sit on my lap and be loved.
The peculiar thing is that all our children upon leaving home and marrying, have become definite cat people. They not only have one cat, but have multiples.
Elaine, Randy, and girls have had several cats, and I really can't remember all their names. Where they live, the yard and outdoors is a kitty wonderland of huge trees, a overgrown ravine, and many little wild critters to chase. So this Smith family has always allowed their cats to go outside as they please. But they have not had very good cat luck. Their cats have left them through accidents, fights, and sicknesses. I think that right now they just have one cat name Algernon, or Algie. as they call him. He is a lively, smart, and always curious cat. His strangest behavior is to go out the second story window and climb to the high roof.
From there he surveys his kingdom, chases squirrels and things, and looks over the edge of the roof to taunt anyone trying to entice him inside.
Debra and Rod live in a rural area. The have three HUGE indoor Maine Coon cats: Windy, Sparky, and Rags. They are beautiful, long-haired cats who would like to rule the roost. Now, living in the country, Debra and Rod feed several outdoor cats that have been dumped in the road by nasty people. Of course, these poor creatures have a hard time surviving even though they get fed. So, from time to time, Debra and Rod have taken these strays to the vet, and have brought them inside to convalesce. Hoopsy, a coal black female came inside when she had suffered in a fight, and was also pregnant. Guess what? She still lives inside. Her kittens, Peanut Butter and Jelly, also lived there until they were adopted by friends. Now
Hoops lives in the lap of luxury where she eats her food and everybody else's that she can steal! Having starved for so long as a stray, she simply cannot get enough to eat. So she has turned into one very fat menopausal middle aged lady. I can identify. On the other hand, Rags spends his life harrassing her.
Rod and Debra also doctored a sweet grey and white cat they call Little bit, I think.
Little Bit was in the house while recovering from injuries, but has been forced now to live on the front porch. There really is a limit to litter box capacity. However, Little Bit, spends all the time peering in the window looking pitiful and wanting back inside. Just be patient, Little Bit. When it gets cold enough, Debra and Rod will weaken.
Then there is the Holloman family. Our daughter has the softest heart of all. She adopted their dog, Hunter, because the neighbors didn't want him and mistreated him.
They adopted their cat, Ditto, because it showed up at Rod and Debra's while Taylor was working there in the studio. Taylor begged and begged until he was allowed to bring her home. She is a very beautiful coal black cat with bright green eyes. Taylor named her Ditto because she looked like Hoopsie who lives in Rod's studio.
Rather than call her Hoopsie II, they call her Ditto. She is the princess of the household, who loves to strike a pretty pose and be admired. Truly, she knows how beautiful she is, and fully expects to be admired. But, like any beautiful woman, she has a wicked side. Cheryl calls her a Ninja cat. She will chase anything that she spies outdoors, does some wild gymnastic moves, and will fetch anything as many times as someone will throw it.
Then during August a male Tom cat showed up at Cheryl and Jon's. Well, he actually showed up next door where the six Martin kids live. The Martin kids loved this orange, good-looking cat, and played with it, loved on it, and begged Mom and Dad to adopt it. But, Brian and Heidi are extemely wise and determined. They not only did not adopt the cat, but absolutely refused to feed and water it. They KNOW what that gets you.
After watching the poor cat beg for anything for a week, Cheryl couldn't stand it any longer. YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID, DON'T YOU. Of course, she started leaving food and water on her deck. Then she started sitting on the deck in the evening holding the sweet cat in her lap, and driving Hunter the dog, and Ditto the cat crazy. Then she started calling sweet cat, Mellow Yellow, because he was so laid back and calm.
Jon asked her how she knew that Mellow Yellow was a male Tom cat. Cheryl said because he had a ball sack. From then on, Jon called the sweet cat, Ballsack.
Yes, he did.
Aunt Jane, another soft touch where cats are concerned, said she would pay for Ball sack to be neutered. Cheryl said, "How can I take him to the vet where they will ask what his name is, and I have to say, Ballsack?"
I said, "Well, at least give it the foreign spelling, Balzac, like the famous author."
Aunt Jane said, "I am going to call him Zac."
Cheryl said, "I am going to call him Ballsie." (And that is any better?}
Don said, "What was wrong with Mellow Yellow?"
Taylor said, "I feel used. All he wants from us is that food dish."
Well, today the above mentioned cat went to the veterinarian for his little surgery.
Cheryl told them his name is Zack. They removed that part of his body for which he has been named.
So I guess we can now call him Zackless.
The pet we had for the longest time was Scot, THE BEST DOG IN THE WORLD EVER, who lived with us for 16 or 17 years. He was a shepherd mix who was an abandoned puppy that followed Don all around the Highland Scot football field as Don mowed one day. Then he came home to live with us for the rest of his life. He was sweet, smart, well behaved and fun. All in all an excellent family member.
The summer after Scot died we brought two cats, Frankie and Johnny, home from the lake. I've told the story before how they were born on our porch and marched straight into our hearts and lives. They were totally misnamed. When Frank was a new baby I looked into his baby blue eyes and started calling him "Old Blue Eyes."
Of course, that was Frank Sinatra's nick name, so we started calling the kitten Frankie. When we were looking for a name for his sister, we thought of the song,
"Frankie and Johnny." Later on, as Frank grew, his eyes turned green. I guess all baby cats have blue eyes. And in the song, Frankie is the girl and Johnny is the boy. So they were totally misnamed. Johnny died a few years ago of diabetes, so we now just live with Frankie.
Frankie is skinny, his fur is rough, he has brown spots on his nose, so I may be the only person who thinks he is beautiful. Don loves him because he is so low maintenance: he doesn't eat much, he doesn't drink much, he doesn't use the litter box much, he sleeps a lot, and has never been sick. See, you would think he is beautiful, too, if he lived at your house. He likes to sit on my lap and be loved.
The peculiar thing is that all our children upon leaving home and marrying, have become definite cat people. They not only have one cat, but have multiples.
Elaine, Randy, and girls have had several cats, and I really can't remember all their names. Where they live, the yard and outdoors is a kitty wonderland of huge trees, a overgrown ravine, and many little wild critters to chase. So this Smith family has always allowed their cats to go outside as they please. But they have not had very good cat luck. Their cats have left them through accidents, fights, and sicknesses. I think that right now they just have one cat name Algernon, or Algie. as they call him. He is a lively, smart, and always curious cat. His strangest behavior is to go out the second story window and climb to the high roof.
From there he surveys his kingdom, chases squirrels and things, and looks over the edge of the roof to taunt anyone trying to entice him inside.
Debra and Rod live in a rural area. The have three HUGE indoor Maine Coon cats: Windy, Sparky, and Rags. They are beautiful, long-haired cats who would like to rule the roost. Now, living in the country, Debra and Rod feed several outdoor cats that have been dumped in the road by nasty people. Of course, these poor creatures have a hard time surviving even though they get fed. So, from time to time, Debra and Rod have taken these strays to the vet, and have brought them inside to convalesce. Hoopsy, a coal black female came inside when she had suffered in a fight, and was also pregnant. Guess what? She still lives inside. Her kittens, Peanut Butter and Jelly, also lived there until they were adopted by friends. Now
Hoops lives in the lap of luxury where she eats her food and everybody else's that she can steal! Having starved for so long as a stray, she simply cannot get enough to eat. So she has turned into one very fat menopausal middle aged lady. I can identify. On the other hand, Rags spends his life harrassing her.
Rod and Debra also doctored a sweet grey and white cat they call Little bit, I think.
Little Bit was in the house while recovering from injuries, but has been forced now to live on the front porch. There really is a limit to litter box capacity. However, Little Bit, spends all the time peering in the window looking pitiful and wanting back inside. Just be patient, Little Bit. When it gets cold enough, Debra and Rod will weaken.
Then there is the Holloman family. Our daughter has the softest heart of all. She adopted their dog, Hunter, because the neighbors didn't want him and mistreated him.
They adopted their cat, Ditto, because it showed up at Rod and Debra's while Taylor was working there in the studio. Taylor begged and begged until he was allowed to bring her home. She is a very beautiful coal black cat with bright green eyes. Taylor named her Ditto because she looked like Hoopsie who lives in Rod's studio.
Rather than call her Hoopsie II, they call her Ditto. She is the princess of the household, who loves to strike a pretty pose and be admired. Truly, she knows how beautiful she is, and fully expects to be admired. But, like any beautiful woman, she has a wicked side. Cheryl calls her a Ninja cat. She will chase anything that she spies outdoors, does some wild gymnastic moves, and will fetch anything as many times as someone will throw it.
Then during August a male Tom cat showed up at Cheryl and Jon's. Well, he actually showed up next door where the six Martin kids live. The Martin kids loved this orange, good-looking cat, and played with it, loved on it, and begged Mom and Dad to adopt it. But, Brian and Heidi are extemely wise and determined. They not only did not adopt the cat, but absolutely refused to feed and water it. They KNOW what that gets you.
After watching the poor cat beg for anything for a week, Cheryl couldn't stand it any longer. YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DID, DON'T YOU. Of course, she started leaving food and water on her deck. Then she started sitting on the deck in the evening holding the sweet cat in her lap, and driving Hunter the dog, and Ditto the cat crazy. Then she started calling sweet cat, Mellow Yellow, because he was so laid back and calm.
Jon asked her how she knew that Mellow Yellow was a male Tom cat. Cheryl said because he had a ball sack. From then on, Jon called the sweet cat, Ballsack.
Yes, he did.
Aunt Jane, another soft touch where cats are concerned, said she would pay for Ball sack to be neutered. Cheryl said, "How can I take him to the vet where they will ask what his name is, and I have to say, Ballsack?"
I said, "Well, at least give it the foreign spelling, Balzac, like the famous author."
Aunt Jane said, "I am going to call him Zac."
Cheryl said, "I am going to call him Ballsie." (And that is any better?}
Don said, "What was wrong with Mellow Yellow?"
Taylor said, "I feel used. All he wants from us is that food dish."
Well, today the above mentioned cat went to the veterinarian for his little surgery.
Cheryl told them his name is Zack. They removed that part of his body for which he has been named.
So I guess we can now call him Zackless.
Monday, September 13, 2010
L3 - Have I Lost My Lust for Blogging?
It seems the days between blog entries is growing longer and longer. I really don't know why, except that I am enjoying my newly reacquired office/craft room soooo much that I have started several (make that many) craft projects that have been holding my interest into the wee hours of the night.
The craft demonstrations/tutorials at the Friends of the Library sale last Friday and Saturday went pretty well. Several customers participated and seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. We had good feedback, and several requests to repeat with another demo in October. We will see. It does require a lot of planning, experimenting, gathering of materials, and my working both days of the sale. Before I have always worked just one day as do most of the volunteers.
It was fun though. Sarah sat with me most of the afternoon on Friday, and she is well on her way to becoming paper bead maker extradonaire! She wants to make some jewelry for Christmas gifts. The beads really are very pretty. Amazing that old magazine pages can be recycled in such a glamorous way. I am researching some further refinements to the craft. I am considering ordering a fancy little tool and the waterproofing/ glossy finish medium that puts that shiny finish on the beads.
So pretty!
On Saturday I had several children learn to make beads, and they were so sweet - such good bead makers too. Each went home with a finished necklace or bracelet. One little girl was quite a challenge. She tried to paint my Cutting mat with Elmer's Glue. But she did stop her actions when I asked her to. It was just a little frantic keeping one step in front of her. I understand she is a special needs student. I did send her off with a finished bracelet of which she was most proud, and received a blown kiss in return. Awww - it was worth the effort. Little
Ilea who worked at the same time was so patient with her, too. She was a most precious child, and finished a necklace that was very nice.
Next month we may try to make Christmas trees from folded magazine pages. They are very pretty when finished, and the one magazine is the only material needed. They do take some time to complete, so I will have to decide if this project is plausible.
We will see.
Hmmm. I intended to write about all the cats that live in our extended families, but I certainly got off on a different track. Well, there's always next time. Besides I have trouble remembering all my Grandcats' names, there are so many. But I do have an interesting story about the new Grandcat named Ballsack. I'm sure you want to hear that!
The craft demonstrations/tutorials at the Friends of the Library sale last Friday and Saturday went pretty well. Several customers participated and seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. We had good feedback, and several requests to repeat with another demo in October. We will see. It does require a lot of planning, experimenting, gathering of materials, and my working both days of the sale. Before I have always worked just one day as do most of the volunteers.
It was fun though. Sarah sat with me most of the afternoon on Friday, and she is well on her way to becoming paper bead maker extradonaire! She wants to make some jewelry for Christmas gifts. The beads really are very pretty. Amazing that old magazine pages can be recycled in such a glamorous way. I am researching some further refinements to the craft. I am considering ordering a fancy little tool and the waterproofing/ glossy finish medium that puts that shiny finish on the beads.
So pretty!
On Saturday I had several children learn to make beads, and they were so sweet - such good bead makers too. Each went home with a finished necklace or bracelet. One little girl was quite a challenge. She tried to paint my Cutting mat with Elmer's Glue. But she did stop her actions when I asked her to. It was just a little frantic keeping one step in front of her. I understand she is a special needs student. I did send her off with a finished bracelet of which she was most proud, and received a blown kiss in return. Awww - it was worth the effort. Little
Ilea who worked at the same time was so patient with her, too. She was a most precious child, and finished a necklace that was very nice.
Next month we may try to make Christmas trees from folded magazine pages. They are very pretty when finished, and the one magazine is the only material needed. They do take some time to complete, so I will have to decide if this project is plausible.
We will see.
Hmmm. I intended to write about all the cats that live in our extended families, but I certainly got off on a different track. Well, there's always next time. Besides I have trouble remembering all my Grandcats' names, there are so many. But I do have an interesting story about the new Grandcat named Ballsack. I'm sure you want to hear that!
Monday, September 6, 2010
K3 - Kids and Pastimes
I'm considering another question from the book "Reflections from a Mother's Heart."
The question asked was, "What were your favorite pastimes as a kid?"
You need to know that there were five kids in our family, and very little money. These two circumstances certainly set limits on the pastime possibilities. It caused us to be pretty creative in finding things to do. For instance, I never had a bike of my own until I retired from teaching - almost too late. Now, I couldn't begin to ride a bike. Although I did ride mine around Redbud for a few years into retirement. We also didn't have transportaion of other kinds. For several years at the end of World War II, we had no car. My dad rode the city bus to work, and we walked to school.
The time frame that remains upper most in my mind when I think about my childhood, were the years of middle elementary school, a time that we lived in a rental house on south Meridian Street. Being the only girl and the youngest in the family, I had to follow around after my brothers a lot of the time. In the summer David and I would walk from where we lived at 23rd and Meridian to the city swimming pool on
East 8th Street in Park Place. That is a good long walk! I think we swam most every nice day all summer. We never rode the bus there. If we used the money to ride the bus, we couldn't afford to pay to get into the pool. I remember that it took me a couple of weeks every summer to get up enough nerve to go down the big slide into the water. Then, after the first time, I did this over and over. David and I would also throw something into the water, and dive down to find it. This required that we keep our eyes open under water. Our eyes would be so sore from chlorine all evening that we couldn't keep our eyes open. Hmmm, maybe this is one reason we both have such bad eye sight now.
The magical summer there on Meridian Street was when Clare
Windsor moved in across the street. Clare was really smart, and really imaginative. We spent several weeks in their attic arranging all their attic stuff into "artful arrangememts" and pretending that the attic was a gift shop, and we were the proprietors. Clare's older sister, Prudence, made marionettes. Not puppets, but real marionettes with strings and all. Of course, we were not allowed to touch them. But I loved to go into her room and look at all of them.
Clare, my brothers, Dan and Dave, and I then fixed a stage (I don't know how) in our garage. Clare wrote a whole show. We rigged up costumes, made scenery, made and sold tickets, and had the neighborhood kids there one evening for our production.
You know, I don't remember what the show was about, or what role I played. I think Clare did most of the show. My brothers rounded up kids and acted like fools. I think, being younger than the rest, I was just awe struck by the show biz glamour!
What fun it was!
In the winter, unless there was snow for playing, we mostly stayed indoors. We listened to the radio: The Shadow, Jack Armstrong, One Man's Family, Fibber McGee and Molly, and Gildersleeve. We had no television. Actually there was no television yet. But I was entranced by those radio shows. I can tell you exactly what all those people looked like, what their houses looked like, and the streets where they lived. Even though those visions only existed in my mind.
David and I made a lot of cookies. Mother had a recipe book with something called Hermit cookies. We made them a lot because they were pretty plain, and we usually had all the ingredients. As I recall, they weren't terribly good to eat, but we dunked them in our hot chocolate that we made from the recipe on the Hershey chocolate powder can. We also made Mother's "Never-Fail Fudge" from that same cook book. Sometimes it was scrumptious. But sometimes it did fail, let me tell you.
We dropped lots of drops of fudge into a glass with cold water to test for the right doneness and we could quit stirring and pour it onto a plate to set up. Yum! Maybe that's why our teeth aren't so good.
I went bare foot all summer. Did cart wheels and back bends in the yard. I would get poison ivy at least once a summer, and could hardly stand putting on shoes when school started. I dreamed a lot that someone would give me lots of beautiful hand- me- down clothes, so that I would have more than two outfits to wear to school each year. I envied my friends who had older sisters and received the hand-me-downs that they so hated. That never happened. Although when we finally moved to a house where I actually had a bedroom of my own, Mrs. Canaday gave me her married daughter's beautiful long vanity with a pink sateen skirt and a long mirror, frilly lamps, and matching drapes. I was in heaven. I felt like a real princess. I slept with those in my room until I got married and moved away from home.
All in all, not a bad childhood.
The question asked was, "What were your favorite pastimes as a kid?"
You need to know that there were five kids in our family, and very little money. These two circumstances certainly set limits on the pastime possibilities. It caused us to be pretty creative in finding things to do. For instance, I never had a bike of my own until I retired from teaching - almost too late. Now, I couldn't begin to ride a bike. Although I did ride mine around Redbud for a few years into retirement. We also didn't have transportaion of other kinds. For several years at the end of World War II, we had no car. My dad rode the city bus to work, and we walked to school.
The time frame that remains upper most in my mind when I think about my childhood, were the years of middle elementary school, a time that we lived in a rental house on south Meridian Street. Being the only girl and the youngest in the family, I had to follow around after my brothers a lot of the time. In the summer David and I would walk from where we lived at 23rd and Meridian to the city swimming pool on
East 8th Street in Park Place. That is a good long walk! I think we swam most every nice day all summer. We never rode the bus there. If we used the money to ride the bus, we couldn't afford to pay to get into the pool. I remember that it took me a couple of weeks every summer to get up enough nerve to go down the big slide into the water. Then, after the first time, I did this over and over. David and I would also throw something into the water, and dive down to find it. This required that we keep our eyes open under water. Our eyes would be so sore from chlorine all evening that we couldn't keep our eyes open. Hmmm, maybe this is one reason we both have such bad eye sight now.
The magical summer there on Meridian Street was when Clare
Windsor moved in across the street. Clare was really smart, and really imaginative. We spent several weeks in their attic arranging all their attic stuff into "artful arrangememts" and pretending that the attic was a gift shop, and we were the proprietors. Clare's older sister, Prudence, made marionettes. Not puppets, but real marionettes with strings and all. Of course, we were not allowed to touch them. But I loved to go into her room and look at all of them.
Clare, my brothers, Dan and Dave, and I then fixed a stage (I don't know how) in our garage. Clare wrote a whole show. We rigged up costumes, made scenery, made and sold tickets, and had the neighborhood kids there one evening for our production.
You know, I don't remember what the show was about, or what role I played. I think Clare did most of the show. My brothers rounded up kids and acted like fools. I think, being younger than the rest, I was just awe struck by the show biz glamour!
What fun it was!
In the winter, unless there was snow for playing, we mostly stayed indoors. We listened to the radio: The Shadow, Jack Armstrong, One Man's Family, Fibber McGee and Molly, and Gildersleeve. We had no television. Actually there was no television yet. But I was entranced by those radio shows. I can tell you exactly what all those people looked like, what their houses looked like, and the streets where they lived. Even though those visions only existed in my mind.
David and I made a lot of cookies. Mother had a recipe book with something called Hermit cookies. We made them a lot because they were pretty plain, and we usually had all the ingredients. As I recall, they weren't terribly good to eat, but we dunked them in our hot chocolate that we made from the recipe on the Hershey chocolate powder can. We also made Mother's "Never-Fail Fudge" from that same cook book. Sometimes it was scrumptious. But sometimes it did fail, let me tell you.
We dropped lots of drops of fudge into a glass with cold water to test for the right doneness and we could quit stirring and pour it onto a plate to set up. Yum! Maybe that's why our teeth aren't so good.
I went bare foot all summer. Did cart wheels and back bends in the yard. I would get poison ivy at least once a summer, and could hardly stand putting on shoes when school started. I dreamed a lot that someone would give me lots of beautiful hand- me- down clothes, so that I would have more than two outfits to wear to school each year. I envied my friends who had older sisters and received the hand-me-downs that they so hated. That never happened. Although when we finally moved to a house where I actually had a bedroom of my own, Mrs. Canaday gave me her married daughter's beautiful long vanity with a pink sateen skirt and a long mirror, frilly lamps, and matching drapes. I was in heaven. I felt like a real princess. I slept with those in my room until I got married and moved away from home.
All in all, not a bad childhood.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
J3 - Jotting Down Ideas from "A Mother's Heart"
Tonight I was looking through some old photo albums of Mother's (Don's Mother.) Tucked in with the albums was a tiny book that someone had given her called "Reflections from a Mother's Heart." It had a page for every day of the year.
Each page asked the Mother some question, and then there was space for the Mother to
write her response to the question.
Even years ago this kind of written response would have been difficult for Mother. She loved to talk, but didn't enjoy writing. I know that letters were quite a chore for her. Of course, now even talking has become a chore. I think there are some ideas left in that mind, but the right words simply cannot find there way out.
I looked through the little book. It says you should leave these reflections in written form for later generations to get to know what you were like. I know that I have a couple of my mother's diaries, and I love reading about her day by day life when she was a teenager.
Well, I have become more and more negligent about this blogging. Didn't I warn you about this? I have been really busy with other things: nursing home visits, volunteer work, and I've been having a lot of fun in my reclaimed office/craft room.
At our Friends of LIbrary we have been swamped with old magazines to sell by the sacks full. I mean BURIED in magazines. So I have been coming up with, and trying out crafts that use magazines as the raw material. It has been fun, and I plan a display and how-to demonstrations at our sale this coming Friday and Saturday. But it has been a lot of work getting this ready.
Anyway, I've decided that I will take some of the questions from Mother's little book and try to answer one at a time in my blog. Today's question is: "Who gave you your name? And did you ever have any nicknames?"
My mother told me that my arrival was quite a unique event in a family where there were only boys --- four of them! So my mother and dad let the boys name me. I'm not sure that it was such a good idea. Where in the world did they come up with the name, Phyllis? Although it may have been a popular name for say... a month? A day or two? I do know a few women my age who have the same name. They also brought people in from off the street to see this strange new creature. "What...A girl?
Can you believe it?" I'm sure the mail man was delighted. He had probably seen girls before.
I keep telling Don that I have a sure-fire way to take years off my life. All I need to do is change my name. What do you think? Maybe Madison? Or Tiffany? Or
Brittany? I'm sure it would make me seem like a much younger person.
Now, for the second half of the question. Did I have any nicknames? My mother was always calling me something like Harriet or Agnes, and she often called me by my initials - P.A. I have always signed any card, letter, or note that I give to Don with those initials, too. Once Taylor asked his Grandpa, "Pa, why does Grandma sign her cards "Love, Pa?"
My maiden name was Phyllis Ann Green. I had a friend in high school who always called me "Green Ann," instead of Phyllis Ann. She said that I was so horribly naive that Green suited me much better than Phyllis. Well, she did live a much faster life than I did. In fact, a snail probably lived a faster life than I did.
So maybe I deserved the name. I saw Sandy the other day. She still calls me
"Green Ann." And I still live a pretty tame life.
Each page asked the Mother some question, and then there was space for the Mother to
write her response to the question.
Even years ago this kind of written response would have been difficult for Mother. She loved to talk, but didn't enjoy writing. I know that letters were quite a chore for her. Of course, now even talking has become a chore. I think there are some ideas left in that mind, but the right words simply cannot find there way out.
I looked through the little book. It says you should leave these reflections in written form for later generations to get to know what you were like. I know that I have a couple of my mother's diaries, and I love reading about her day by day life when she was a teenager.
Well, I have become more and more negligent about this blogging. Didn't I warn you about this? I have been really busy with other things: nursing home visits, volunteer work, and I've been having a lot of fun in my reclaimed office/craft room.
At our Friends of LIbrary we have been swamped with old magazines to sell by the sacks full. I mean BURIED in magazines. So I have been coming up with, and trying out crafts that use magazines as the raw material. It has been fun, and I plan a display and how-to demonstrations at our sale this coming Friday and Saturday. But it has been a lot of work getting this ready.
Anyway, I've decided that I will take some of the questions from Mother's little book and try to answer one at a time in my blog. Today's question is: "Who gave you your name? And did you ever have any nicknames?"
My mother told me that my arrival was quite a unique event in a family where there were only boys --- four of them! So my mother and dad let the boys name me. I'm not sure that it was such a good idea. Where in the world did they come up with the name, Phyllis? Although it may have been a popular name for say... a month? A day or two? I do know a few women my age who have the same name. They also brought people in from off the street to see this strange new creature. "What...A girl?
Can you believe it?" I'm sure the mail man was delighted. He had probably seen girls before.
I keep telling Don that I have a sure-fire way to take years off my life. All I need to do is change my name. What do you think? Maybe Madison? Or Tiffany? Or
Brittany? I'm sure it would make me seem like a much younger person.
Now, for the second half of the question. Did I have any nicknames? My mother was always calling me something like Harriet or Agnes, and she often called me by my initials - P.A. I have always signed any card, letter, or note that I give to Don with those initials, too. Once Taylor asked his Grandpa, "Pa, why does Grandma sign her cards "Love, Pa?"
My maiden name was Phyllis Ann Green. I had a friend in high school who always called me "Green Ann," instead of Phyllis Ann. She said that I was so horribly naive that Green suited me much better than Phyllis. Well, she did live a much faster life than I did. In fact, a snail probably lived a faster life than I did.
So maybe I deserved the name. I saw Sandy the other day. She still calls me
"Green Ann." And I still live a pretty tame life.
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