How I Got Religion

So, how did you learn your religion? I’ve heard of people who got theirs from Sunday School and a few who had parents or grandparents who read the Bible every evening. But I think I got my grounding by singing hymns and carols.

One of the first songs I learned was “Jesus Loves Me,” and I’ve discovered that my little Sunday-schooled grandchildren have learned it also. When I played the piano at a nursing home, everyone, no matter what their age or mental state, could and did sing “Jesus Loves Me.” I still believe that He loves me, and nothing that has happened to me in life has disabused me of that belief.

“What a Friend We Have in Jesus” was popular at our Sunday School, but it was also one that my grandmother played and sang. I have no memory for poetry, but I know most of the words to this hymn, and it’s theology hangs in my head even when people tell me that God couldn’t possibly listen to what all us myriad people have to say.

Grandma loved “The Old Rugged Cross,” and I do, too. There’s something haunting and yet satisfying about the words, and the music is just right. She also sang “Abide With Me,” “May the Lower Lights Be Shining,” and “In the Garden.” I think they are universal favorites.

Until recently every school child learned Christmas carols at school as well as at church. “Silent Night” is the most oft recorded song in the world, and the picture it makes of Jesus’ birth is just “how it was,” as far as most are concerned. Where was Jesus born? In the little town of Bethlehem, of course. Who came to see him? Harald angels, shepherds watching their flocks by night, and wise men traveling from afar.

When I was 14 I started taking piano lessons from Miss Johnson who was the music director and organist at a Christian Church in my city. She got me into the youth choir, and for four years I sang choir music, even participating in Handel’s Messiah four times. (I still think the alto part is the tune.) One of the songs we sang was “For God So Love the World,” and I loved that song! I can sing it today, albeit with the alto as melody.

One of my most embarrassing moments came when I was quite grown and had been “out of the church” for 13 years. One time some of my church friends kept mentioning John 3:16, and I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. Finally I demanded, “What IS John 3:16?” They looked at me like I was a yokel, couldn’t believe I wouldn’t know it. When they repeated it, I said, “Oh, I know that one!” And I did. From singing it as an anthem.

I’ve had a lifetime of studying the Bible and theology, but I think the basis of all my religion is what I learned by singing with others the hymns, carols and anthems of our faith.

Probabilities and Certainties

When I was in psychology 101 at Bradley University, Dr. Smith told us about his experiment with predicting heads or tails in coin tosses. He said that he and some others took 1,000 pennies and flipped them one by one and then tallied the results. And the result was that there were 500 heads and 500 tails. I don't really remember what he was trying to teach with that anecdote, but it stuck in my memory as the gospel truth.
Fast forward to today and the problem of certainties. For example, the saying goes that the bread always falls jelly-side down. I've had occasion to test that out, and I'd say it was more like an 80% likelihood, but others would argue with me. I'm not about to get 1,000 slices of jelly bread to try it out.
I do have one certainty, however. When you put your cup of coffee in the microwave and start it up, the turn table will revolve and will come to a stop with the cup on the far side of the oven. Jim and I have tested it hundreds of times, and it always works out that way!

Intended Consequences

Thinking about unintended consequences brought me to an intended consequence.

People who write sentences where they substitute the letter "n" or "the n word" instead of writing it all out think they are being very caring and discerning, but what they are really doing is making me be the one saying the bad word!

And if they write "f--k" they know I'll have to say the darned word outloud in my head, thereby making me be the curser!

So if they want to say the words, just say them, just write them down, just get on with it and stop pretending to be nicey-nice!

Unintended Consequences

For many years the Chinese have restricted the number of children their marrieds can have in the interest of curbing their population growth. I've always been quietly proud that we have not had to live with such an edict, but lately I've given thought to another form of child-limitation laws.

For most people in the U.S.A. there is a limit on how many children any couple can have. In practical terms it is eight. In even more practical terms it is four. But for most people, the limit is three.

So, you say, "There's no law like that in our country!" Yup, there is. It's one of those pesky "unintended consequences" that my hubby is always warning about.

Every child under the age of four (I think that's the age, but I may be wrong) has to sit in an approved child restraint seat. Every other person in the auto has to be seatbelted. So, count the seatbelts in an ordinary car. The answer is _______, (making the limit 2 adults and three children).

If you have four children, your vehicle must seat ____, which means you have to own a minivan.

The upper limit, unless you want to drive a school bus or take two cars everywhere, is eight, and you have to buy, maintain, and gas up a full-sized van.

I'm not proposing that we change any safety law. Goodness knows seatbelts and child restraint seats have saved countless lives and prevented a myriad of injuries. But, when we're criticizing China for their limiting law, we must also recognize that we live with some limitations ourselves.

Profanity 101

I remember when I decided I was old enough to swear. I’d spent 16 years using only darn and heck, and shortly after I turned 16 I allowed myself to say damn and hell. It was such a major step toward what I considered to be maturity. I watched my adult family smoke, but never considered smoking a badge of maturity. Swearing was something else again.

The adults in my family honed their swear-word vocabulary and used the power words and phrases liberally. Hardly any of them could or would complete a sentence without a g-damn or sob (they didn’t abbreviate them, of course). The words wafted around the dinner tables, casual conversations, political arguments, anecdotes, jokes, and so forth. It seemed to me that grownups had this separate and unequal language that was reserved for them….and I kind of wanted to be mature like that.

I was too much of a “good girl” to use such language, however. At 16 it was time to stretch out. I don’t recall exactly when I first used a damn in the presence of my mother, but bless her heart, she didn’t bat an eye. Damn and hell became okay words, and I reveled in being able to use them.

I think it was several years later when I added ---- (chit, as cousin Joy says in print). I have always thought it a vulgar word, and regret that I ever started using it. But some of the funniest lines extant are those that use this useful if despicable word. I was always careful to reserve the word to private conversations. I remember one time at a church dinner one of the girls spilled a whole glass of milk on the table. I said, “Oh shoot!” Our minister was impressed. He said that not many people would have been able to resist the obvious swear word to fit the occasion.

Using profanity at home was usual. I didn’t realize how ubiquitous it was, until the day my 3-year old son and I stepped out the side door, and caught sight of a blooming plant. He said, “I wonder what the hell kind of plant that is?” Ooops! Time to clean up the family language, and I did.

Almost everyone remembers the first time their offspring correctly used profanity. Three year old grandson Robbie was trying to pull up a beet, and his mother heard him say to himself, “How the hell do you get this damn fing outa here!”

And now those swear words that gave me such pleasure have been eclipsed by “the queen mother of all swear words.” And the power of that all-purpose word has been diluted until its as common as the word “the.” It’s a word I’ve never learned to use freely, and I think I’ll keep it that way. I reserve it for really serious situations where I need the most powerful of profane words to express or release the tension. But I guess I’m old-fashioned.

Nine Months to Learn to Knit

Feeling motherly when I discovered I was pregnant with my first baby, I decided I'd knit it a sweater (In those days we had to do things the old fashioned way, and I didn't know if "it" was a boy or a girl). I got one of those "How to Knit" books at the Ben Franklin store and a couple of hanks of light yellow baby yarn. It was slow learning, but I had nine months to do it in. I got all the pieces done, sleeves, back, fronts, but I never got it put together which is just as well, because by that time I was sick of that color of yellow.

However, by then I had the knitting bug, and for the next 5 years I knitted sweater after sweater for my kids, a girl and a boy eventually.

I even knitted a sweater for my father-in-law who said one January that no one had ever knitted him a sweater. It turns out that the sweater was too big, and I don't think he ever wore it, but he liked the idea that I had done it for him. When he died, my youngest daughter glommed on to that sweater and probably still has it.

I knit argyle socks for my father in nylon yarn. They were a blast to knit! And he WORE them! Eventually one of my daughters got those, too.

There were some flops along the way. I knitted a heather blue sweater for my mother that got into deep trouble with the cowl collar. Even she couldn't figure out how to finish that sweater, and she was an excellent knitter. A couple of years ago I set out to knit sweaters for my two- and one-year-old granddaughters. I think I got one finished, but the other one is languishing and will probably never be completed. That doesn't bother me really. The part of knitting I like is the DOING of it!

You've Got to Wonder

In the wake of the election of the Obama, the developing trend is disturbing.

You know, if anyone were trying to undermine the government of the U.S.A., what they need to do is get elected president and then appoint the very worst examples to major posts.

For example, they might start by naming John Kerry as Secretary of State. Another good choice would be the most partisan Democrat to the post of Chief of Staff. And to take a famous general and make him Secretary of Education.

It wouldn't be hard to come up with the people who would be most likely to fail, to louse things up. Looks like the good old U.S.A. has some tumultous and maybe disastrous times ahead.

I've never read The Manchurian Candidate, but maybe it's time that I did.

Bur Battle

I thought I knew every bur-bearing plant there was. When I was a kid living on the sandy bluff known as New Boston, IL., I steered clear of sandburs. Those little devils really hurt when you’re bare-footed, and it even hurts to pull them off of your skin. Then there were “stick tights,” tiny black sticks with a bunch of quills sticking out of one end. They were aptly named.

When I moved to Eureka, I was introduced to cockleburs. I think their only redeeming feature is that the guy who invented Velcro got his idea from cockleburs. Oh yes, I guess the Japanese eat the plant some way or other. ---A neighbor told me that there was a cocklebur plant growing in front of her house. A Japanese college student was walking by and exclaimed “A bur plant!” (She said it in Japanese, however) She was all excited and took part of the plant back to her room to cook it.--- I’ve learned that cockleburs are VERY disease, insect, and Round-up resistant. The latter just beads up on the leaves, and it’s almost totally ineffective. You never see damage to a leaf that means some insect is dining or living on it. Digging out the roots is a hard job, even when the plant is young.

A couple of years ago I discovered “bedstraw.” How it got that name, I don’t know. It’s a fragile-looking, pretty plant with pretty little leaves, and sticks like glue! I first found it in my cats’ fur. They walked under the plant and it latched on. I’ve grubbed it out of my yard and yank it out of the neighbors’ yard whenever I see it.

And now I have found “bursage.” It’s a kind of ragweed. I was pulling bindweed from the bushes and redbud tree in front of the house, and suddenly I was COVERED with tiny green burs! I looked closer and discovered this innocent-looking plant with 4-inch, limber twigs with little green globs on it. By the time I saw the darned thing, I was covered with those burs. Those who know me know that I wear an elastic sleeve to control my lymphodema. There must have been 200 little burs stuck to that sleeve! And another 300 stuck to my shirt! And another 100 or so stuck to my pants! And another 50 stuck to my shoe laces! I started pulling them off and discovered that it is nearly impossible to get all of the stickery things off. I’d pull off a bur, and there would be one or two 1/8 inch, “limbs” that were left stuck into the fibers of my clothing, and every one of those teeny limbs could stick to anything that came near. The sleeve was a total loss, and those things cost $75 a piece! My shirt was a loss. Fortunately it was an old one. I worked long and hard on the pants and finally got it bur-free, ditto my shoes.

I went online and think I’ve identified the wicked plant as “bursage,” a low-growing relative of ragweed. The sites I was on didn’t give me a really good chance to identify the plant, however, and I don’t know where my ‘plant key” is from my college botany course.

I was hard put to figure a way to get rid of that bunch of plants (a grouping about 3 ft. in diameter). Last night as I was trying to go to sleep I decided to encase myself in plastic bags, pull the stuff up and seal it in a plastic garbage bag. This morning Jim helped me tape a plastic grocery bag to my sleeved arm, and a black plastic garbage bag as a skirt. I went out and carefully pulled the offending weed up and stuffed it into another bag. I was doing pretty well until a skinnier branch flang back on me and nailed my shirt, an old one that I could do without if things went bad. I got all 50 burs out of my shirt and the 10 or so that were on my shoe laces. Now I have to make a note in my datebook for next spring to be sure to use Round-up on any plant in that area that doesn’t look familiar. I’m already on patrol for stinging nettles. Now I’ve added bursage to my battle list. (I should have had Jim take a picture of me in my bur battle dress.)

When I Retire...

I remember the year I decided to retire. I had been working for seven years so we would have insurance. Good enough reason, eh? But age 65 was approaching and I thought, “Hey, I don’t need to work for insurance anymore. I think I’ll retire!” And I did. Sort of.

I didn’t go in to work any longer. I had every day, all day to do as I wanted…and I got a pay check anyway. What a hoot!

I was all set to enjoy the retired life. And then I found out that it isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. First off I found that instead of my husband and I doing things separately, we began to do them together. Have an appointment to see a doctor in Peoria? We go together. Need to go to Barnes and Noble? We go together. Volunteering to help some group out? We do it together. So instead of two people doing two different things, there were two people doing one thing.

Next eye opener was that I was available for babysitting. Now, don’t get me wrong. I LOVE my grandchildren! And I’m willing to babysit* anytime I’m asked. If it weren’t for babysitting, I would hardly know those wonderful little people. We’ve become friends, and that’s downright precious. But it did cut into my “free” time.

Then there was a personality problem. I am absolutely incapable of belonging to a group and not DOING something! I can’t keep my mouth shut. I can’t keep my hand down. I can’t say “no.” So pretty soon I was up to my neck in volunteerism.** I’ve had to make some hard choices, and one of them is to simply not go to any new meetings. I know that if I do, I’ll be right in the midst of running them, and life’s too short for that. I’ve had to choose a couple that I really like, and say no to all the rest. It sounds like I have that all under control, but not so. I’m still in too many organizations and over-volunteered.

I’ve made a big decision. I’m going to retire! I’m going to do what I want to do when I want to do it! Yeah, right.

* In yesterday’s blog I talked about spell-check. My mighty computer doesn’t like my spelling of “babysit.” It wants to put in a hyphen. It doesn’t even know that “blog” exists! I guess it’s not so smart after all.
** My mighty computer DID know “volunteerism”, however. You gotta be impressed!

Smart Computers and Me

I know my computer is really smart. It thinks, you see. When I do something wrong, it immediately tells me about it. Smart little booger. It’s especially fond of little wiggly red lines that it sprinkles across everything I type. Now, of course, it’s gotten even smarter, and it puts little squiggly green lines under words here and there. Sometimes I can even figure out what it thinks I have done wrong.
There is a problem though. It sometimes does things I don’t want it to do! And I’m not smart enough to figure out how to stop it. For example, if I type something like “No. 1” it thinks, “Ah ha! My person is making a list!” and it immediately indents the stuff I’ve just typed and adds a “2”. Fine and dandy, but I didn’t WANT a 2! I didn’t want it indented either. I know how to slap it’s hand and change things to the way I want them, but I get really tired of doing it over and over.
Then there’s the little box that flashes up at the end of a name when I’m making an index. It wants to do some formatting all on its own, and I don’t want it that way. The other day I finally got around to experimenting, and I found the place where I could turn off the automatic formatting. I still haven’t found out whether or not I have to change that setting on every new document.
Then there’s automatic spell checking. Last week Jim was typing up a story about the Eureka Reagan Fest. Our two new-car dealers had their new cars downtown on a side street. Jim typed in that “Leman Chevrolet” was in attendance. I was watching over his shoulder, and I said, “Leman Shovelers?” Turns out that his intelligent computer didn’t know what Chevrolet was, and it substituted its closest alternate. Shovelers???
Now, MY computer doesn’t know what “shovelers” is. I know because there’s this little red squiggly line under it.

Pie In the Face Is Not Funny

I keep hoping and hoping that the “Got Milk” magazine ads will go away, but they don’t. In my new issue of Better Homes and Gardens, there’s this woman in a black leotard with that gosh-awful white stuff painted over her upper lip. Gross! I guess I’m supposed to know who the woman is and be impressed that she drinks milk. All those ads do for me is to make me turn the page fast so I don’t have to look at them.

A few pages before that milk ad there was one of a baby in a high chair with food smeared all over his/her face, hair, hands, arms, and the chair. It’s supposed to be funny and cute. I found it repulsive. I couldn’t stand looking at it long enough to figure out that it was advertising some kind of paper towel. Jim figured that out for me when I griped to him about the ad.

Which brings me to all those “cute” photos of babies and their first birthday cakes. What’s cute about making fun of a little kid’s inexperience and inability to managed forks? I don’t have any pictures like that of my kids, because I didn’t think it was something they would want to be reminded of when they were teenagers. I wonder if they appreciate my thoughtfulness?

And since I’m on this soap box, I’m going to have my say about those awful wedding reception shots where the bride or groom crams the cake all over the face of his/her new spouse. Personally, I don’t think that bodes well for their relationship. Any groom who would so mess up his wife’s make-up at a time when she really needs to be pretty is not likely to be caring and thoughtful during their married lives. And any bride who would so demean her new husband is a fool. It takes a lot of kindness and thoughtfulness to make a marriage work, and a couple can never start that learning process too soon.

Remember the pie-in-the face gags? Why do people think they're funny? If that were to happen to me, I would be infuriated. I could watch Soupy Sales or Sid Caesar until they got to plastering some boob with a pie, and then I used my ultimate weapon. I changed the station.

Note to friends and family: Don't EVER even consider pitching something into my face!

Teenagers Are Good For Something!

So Where Did They Go?
Or The Mysterious Disappearances at Our House

I’m beginning to see that there are definite advantages to having kids living here. At least, there is one advantage: they can take the blame for things that disappear.

Case in point: I have already told you about thinning out my plastic kitchen storage containers. (It hurt to throw those odd lids away, but I did it!) I went to the store and bought all Ziplock storage containers. That way I wouldn’t have to search for a lid to fit a container. There are just 3 sizes of lids and they fit 4 sizes of containers. It’s a great plan and it ought to have brought me great peace of mind: Select a container, open the drawer with the lids, pick out a lid, and put it on the container.

Well, it doesn’t seem to work that way. Tonight I needed a small container for one serving of creamed peas and potatoes. (Yes, I will eat this leftover.) I found the little round container (one of three identical containers on the shelf), opened the lid drawer, and there’s no lid that size. There was a smaller round lid, but no container that it matches. Now where did it come from? So what happened to the three round lids? And where’s the smaller container? And why are there only 3 round containers when I bought them in a set of 4. (Ordinarily I would think I had some stuff stored in the container in the refrigerator, undoubtedly growing lovely hair, but I just emptied all the stored stuff from the refrigerator 2 days ago.)

Second case in point: When Middle Daughter was at Wesleyan, we got her a set of cheap-o silverware with dark green plastic handles. (Or was it Youngest Daughter at Millikin??) Anyway, when the girl (whichever one it was) graduated, she brought the things home and they got mixed in with our other silverware. Jim decided that these particular spoons were perfect for eating cereal in the morning. At first there were 6 of them. Then there were 5, but Boy Child was still living here, and he probably lost it in his room somewhere. Ditto #4. But then Boy Child left, and slowly but surely the spoons are disappearing. There’s only one left. So where did the others go?

You see how handy it is to have kids around. You never have to worry your mind over where things have gone. “The kids have them.” “The kids lost them.” “The kids probably dumped them in the can when they scraped their plates into the garbage” Wait. That won’t work. They NEVER cleaned their plates off! That would be too close to doing dishes, and that’s strictly someone else’s job.

So you who still have kids at home and who are counting the days until they are gone and peace returns to your lives, remember that there is at least one good thing that comes from having them live with you. This isn't enough to make them worth it, but it is a little consolation.

Ongepotchket

I sometimes get to feeling like I have a pretty good vocabulary. Then I come upon a word that I have never even seen before let along having used it or knowing what it means. The latest word to add to my list is Ongepotchket.

Mitzi in The Poet's Funeral (by John M. Daniel) named her publishing company Ongepotchket. It took me half the book to figure out that the word had a meaning besides what it was given by the author. So after I finished reading the book, I Googled the word. In Yiddish it means decorating something up so much that it's ugly. The concept certainly isn't foreign to me. I think I've even been guilty of ongepotchket a few times in my life. Maybe my annual Christmas tree is an example. Certainly the typical "tourist purse" of the 60s and 70s was ongepotchket. Remember all the rhinestones, flowers, kittens and other trim that adorned those monstrosities? Incidentally, those gaudy items bring hefty prices at auctions these days.

Sometimes I hear a new word and for days I'll see that word pop up everywhere. I'll bet this will not be one of those times. What do you think?

Pokeweed

Mrs. Child (The Frugal American Housewife) has this to say about poke-root:

“Poke-root, boiled in water and mixed with a good quantity of molasses, set about the kitchen, the pantry, &c in large deep plates, will kill cockroaches in great numbers, and finally rid the house of them. The Indians say that poke-root boiled into a soft poultice is a cure for the bite of a snake. I have heard of a fine horse saved by it.”

If you ever have poke weed poke its way into your garden, you will learn to hate it. It’s a plant that looks pretty when it comes up. It’s so vital and fresh and green. It grows so luxuriantly and makes a fine-looking bush. Its flowers are ornamental and prolific, and the dark purple berries that follow are really lovely. What a nice bush it is! But appearances are deceiving. Once it gets a toehold, it’s exceptionally hard to get rid of. Round-up will seem to kill it, but given a couple of months, the weed will come up twice as strong. There’s a big patch on our neighbor’s farm and we all wish he would get rid of it....maybe with a flame thrower.

I did a little research on poke weed, enough to know that it’s very dangerous. Even “boiling in two waters” isn’t enough to remove all the toxins, and every year it claims some lives in the South where people still think it’s good to eat. The berries are attractive to children, and extremely deadly. If you have children, get rid of the pokeweed NOW. Even handling the plant is dangerous. Wear protective clothing and gloves when you’re pulling it up. (It has a tap root that is strong and long.)

On the other hand, in Wikipedia I learned some interesting facts. “Pokeweed berries yield a red ink or dye, which was once used by Native Americans to decorate their horses. The United States Declaration of Independence was written in fermented pokeberry juice (hence the common name 'inkberry'). Many letters written home during the American Civil War were written in pokeberry ink; the writing in these surviving letters appears brown. The red juice has also been used to symbolize blood, as in the anti-slavery protest of Benjamin Lay. A rich brown dye can be made by soaking fabrics in fermenting berries in a hollowed-out pumpkin.

So reading an 1830 book is interesting, but following its advice without some research can be harmful to your health.

Cucumbers Then and Now

It’s been awhile since I have commented on Mrs. Child’s book, the Frugal American Housewife. It’s time to remedy that lapse. On page 18 she continues her advice for the 1830 housewife:

“It is thought to be a preventive to the unhealthy influence of cucumbers to cut the slices very thin, and drop each one into cold water as you cut it. A few minutes in the water takes out a large portion of the slimy matter, so injurious to health. They should be eaten with high seasoning.”

Now, I don’t know that I’ve really thought about the “slimy substance” before. I guess the jelly-like stuff around the seeds could be called slimy though. And don’t you wonder how the cucumber gained the reputation for being injurious to your health?

In my grandparents day cucumbers were always served peeled. Jim’s grandmother, Mertie Donoho Greenwalt said that the “peelings would kill ‘ya!” She would be appalled to see sliced cucumbers served with a rim of dark green peeling still on them.

I don’t know what Mrs. Child meant by “high seasoning,” but I know that most of the people in days gone by sliced cucumbers and onions into a brine of vinegar, salt and water. Some added sugar, but our family didn’t. For years my husband wouldn’t eat a raw cucumber, but he loved the brined ones his mother made.

Have you noticed that vegetables today that are often eaten raw would never have been served uncooked in the first half the 20th Century? Think about broccoli, asparagus, mushrooms, cauliflower, and squash. Today we eat them raw as often as we eat them cooked. How times have changed!

What My Husband Isn't and Is

We’ve been married for almost 49 years, and I think we’re pretty happy with each other. I doubt that either of us would say we’re perfect, but we’ve managed to mesh together well. We’ve learned to ignore things we don’t like and really enjoy the things we do like. A few years ago it was popular to list what a “real man is,” and I began to mentally compile a list of the things I really liked about Jim. I’ve added to it over time, and I’ll undoubtedly add a few more as I think of them. Here’s a partial list:

I’m glad my husband doesn’t:
Drink
Smoke
Gamble
Run around with other women
Have nights out with the guys
Ride a motorcycle
Golf
Go fishing
Go camping
Go hunting
Vacation at the beach
Own a boat
Cook in my kitchen
Wear plaid pants or white shoes
Tell dirty jokes (he leaves that to me)
Swear in public
Waste money sending me flowers



Now what do I like about my husband? I’m glad he:

Has a great sense of humor (the first trait I noticed and liked when we met)
Is a good father
Is a good role model
Is kind and thoughtful
Is generous
Is a computer guru (how else would I keep my computer working?)
Is easy to talk to
Stops whenever I need a pee break when we’re traveling
Will stop and ask for directions if we’re lost
Likes family get-togethers
Adores his grandchildren
Likes cats (and a few specific dogs)
Has a wonderful set of siblings
Will eat anything I cook as long as it doesn’t have broccoli, Brussels sprouts, asparagus or cauliflower in it.

Birthday Parties, a Comparison

I got to thinking awhile back that birthday parties "ain't what they used to be." Now I'm wondering if everyone else has the same disconnect between the parties they were given as a child and parties kids enjoy today.

I'll have to admit that I don't recall a specific birthday party when I was little. I know there was some sort of celebration. My Grandma Hammond would never pass up the chance to be festive. But I simply don't have any vivid images of those events. I remember a little about parties in general back then.

There would be just a few kids invited, maybe 6 or 8 at the most. There would be cake and ice cream, and everyone would bring a wrapped gift to the birthday kid. Then there would be organized games: pin the tail on the donkey, spin the bottle, who's got the thinble, etc. The gifts were never very elaborate or expensive. Even the host family didn't give the birthday child more than 2 presents. The whole party would last a little over an hour and then the other kids would go home.

That was birthday parties in the 40's and 50's. In the 60's when my children were little, parties were a little more elaborate. I had read in a Family Circle or Woman's Day (the sources of much of my knowledge in those days) that you could set a rule that each child could invite as many children as he/she was old. So a 6-year-old would invite 6 children; a thirteen-year-old would invite 13. We used that rule for all our kids, and it worked out quite well. When the kids were small and more or less unruly, you'd have few of them to contend with. As they got older you could handle more bodies, because they were more able to take care of themselves. I was never very good at organizing games kids liked to play, so the parties weren't quite as "managed" as they had been when I was little. The kids just did whatever they thought was fun (within reason, of course). There was still cake and ice cream, but now we tended to give our children more gifts, and it was not uncommon to give each guest a small token to take home with him/her.

Birthdays in our family today have taken on a whole 'nother atmosphere. They are BIG productions! They're an excuse for a family reunion and a reason for friends to gather. At least that's what they have morphed into in our family. Every member of the family, extended or otherwise, is invited. Friends of the parents are welcome. Children abound. It's not unusual for these fetes to have 30 people present. There's lots of food, not just ice cream and cake. In fact, the cake seems almost an afterthought. Everyone eats, talks, laughs, and has a great old time. Kids go off to play in the toy fields of the host family. There are more presents for the birthday child than there are at Christmas, and those presents are not "token" gifts either. Everyone has a wonderful time, and the birthday child knows that his/her day was something special.

I wonder if anyone in our family today would tolerate the meager party trappings of the birthday celebrations that I had as a child. I’m personally not unhappy with the changes, but it seems to me that big blow-outs like we currently stage are awfully hard on the hosting family …to say nothing of their budgets. That said, I’m always going to try to be present for birthday parties. They’re a blast.

In's and Out's of Language

The way language changes fascinates me. This article is funny and enlightening.

The Last Page – Smithsonian Magazine, March 2008-p.112
Electrocybertronics: Marketing Through Pseudoscience by Alex Boese

Want to put your company or product on the cutting edge of science? Simple. Add a trendy prefix or suffix to its name. But beware: what linguistic fashion raises up, it can also bring down.
Electric. In the 19th century, electricity represented the future, so marketers affixed “electro” prefixes to any and everything. Consumers could purchase Dr. Hallock’s Electric Polishing Powder for touching up your silver. Such products shared a common trait: they had absolutely nothing to do with electricity, though just thinking about the Galvano-Electric Regenerator (“a certain cure for Spermatorrhea, Impotency, Seminal Losses, etc.”) must have caused some to feel tingly all over. At least electro-lumps—a marketer’s brainstorm for coal—could actually generate electric current.
-ex. How or why the “-ex” suffix came to be associated with things scientific has baffled researchers. (One theory holds that it evokes such highbrow, Latin-derived technical terms as “convex” and “cortex.”) During the first half of the 20th century, -ex’s multiplied like wire hangers in a coat closet: Pyrex, Sinex, Playtex—and let’s not forget Kleenex. But progress marches on and recent decades have favored a new and improved version: “-ix.” Thus, we now have Technix (a manufacturer of rubber and plastic products) and even --double or nothing—Solarix Intellectronix (a search engine). In 2005, a European court dismissed a trademark infringement case brought by publishers of the Asterix comic strip against MobiliX software project. With this legal hurdle cleared, ixpect an –ix-filled insistence.
-ola. During the early 20th century, manufacturers decided that “-ola” would add a warm glow of technological competence to audio and electronic products—despite an unfortunate association with such infectious diseases as rubeola. The fad began with a player piano trademarked in 1900 as Pianola. (Arthur Loesser, a piano historian, said the suffix “sounded easily mechanical, playfully pleasant.”) Then, along came Victrola, Radiola, Rock-Ola, Moviola and Motorola. But “ola” fell out of favor during the “payola” radio scandals of the 1960s (until the food industry resurrected it for a range of wholesome, nutritious wannabes such as Bran’nola and canola).
-tronics. In its April 1961 issue, Time magazine noted that “a stock whose name suggests either electronics or technical mystery seems sure to have a jump in price.” Certainly “-tronics” were everywhere: Radiatronics, Eltronics and Powerton Ultrasonics. This magical suffix did not prevent many of such companies from short-circuiting when the –tronics stock bubble ultimately burst in 1962.
Cyber-. Author William Gibson is usually credited, or blamed, for the “cyber” prefix because he introduced the concept of “cyberspace” in his 1984 novel Neuromancer. By the mid-1990s, cyber-mania was in full swing, producing such oddities as Chanel’s Cyber Glow cosmetics and designer Betsey Johnson’s “Suzie Cyber” fashion line, despite, one journalist noted, that “in cyberspace no one can see what you’re wearing.” By the end of the decade, cyber-nausea had set in and overusers of the term were banished to Cyberia.
Nano- Lately the prefix trend has been shrinking. During the 1980s, “mini-“ gave way to “micro-,” which has yielded to “nano-.” In the new millennium, companies such as Nanometrics, Nanogen and NanoPierce Technologies have all embraced the prefix, despite complaints their products were hardly nano-scale (a billionth of a meter or smaller). Even Eddie Bauer sells stain-resistant nano-pants. (They’re available in extra-large” for the retailer’s not-so-nano customers.) Proceeding down the scale leads one inexorably to yocto-, a metric prefix meaning one-septillionth. If you’re thinking of trademarking yocto, you’d better move fast, before the iPod Yocto appears on store shelves.

Alex Boese is the author of Hippo Eats Dwarf: A Field Guide to Hoaxes and Other B. S. (Harcourt, 2006). He lives in San Diego.

Choose "Cool"

Whether you like Barack Obama or not, there is a gloss of celebrity that coats him. Can you believe that people would actually vote for someone because they think he's handsome? Well, yeah. They did it when Kennedy was running, didn't they?

The middle school kids at my grandson's school are all "for Obama." They "hate Clinton." Why? Well, because he's cool, and she's not. Unfortunately for our country there are a lot of grown-ups who are selecting our next president on the basis of "cool" alone.

World's Greatest Hand Cream

Every winter, all winter, I have problems with cracks in the skin of my thumb right beside the nail. I know you know what I mean, because everyone else has the same problem. Sometimes I have hangnails. Everyone knows about hangnails, too.

Well, there is a cure, a solution. The answer to a maiden's prayer ---oops, that's something else--is No-Crack Hand Cream. It's made by the Dumont Company (not DuPont) in LaCrosse, Wisconsin, and it's terrific.

I got my first jar of it many years ago at Smith's Drug Store in Peoria. It comes in three forms, All-Purpose, Day, and Night. They had little sample jars of the Day cream at Smith's Drugs for $.69 a jar. After I tried it out, I went back and bought enough to give everyone in my church a jar and put one in every Christmas stocking that year. About once a year since then I'd go back and buy another supply, even taking orders from people at church.

Well, now I'm just about out of the Night Cream, and Smith's Drug Store has gone out of business! It's not sold on-line as far as I can determine, and I'm trying to get a local beauty shop to stock it. There are three other places in Peoria that carry it, but all three are really inconvenient to get to.

If you're interested in ending your cracked winter skin or hangnail problem, go to the internet and look up nocrack.com to find out where it can be purchased near you. You'll be glad you did!

Sour Dough and I

I have a long love-affair with sourdough bread. Unfortunately, I don't have much luck getting my affair going again. Years ago I made bread and biscuits and pancakes all the time. The aroma was stunning.

I sent to Goldrush (through the internet) and got some starter yeast. It looked just like dried yeast. At first things went just fine, but then the whole thing seemed to slow to a crawl, and there weren't many bubbles. I thought maybe I was feeding it too often. Then maybe I wasn't using the right combination of flour/water/etc. Maybe it was too cool....or too warm. Or maybe I stirred it too much.

Today Mrs. Depleume sent me a site that is the cat's pajamas (to quote a new term). It's got pictures that show what the stuff is supposed to look like. And it tells how to get started, how to know if the stuff needs more food, and what each stage of the mixing of the bread should look like. There's also pictures of the finished product. Never in all my infatuation with Mr. Dough did I ever have a loaf that looked that beautiful!

I notice that she talks about a few pieces of equipment that I don't have: bell, stone, Wal-Mart plastic spoon, and a couple I don't recognize and can't recall. Maybe if I get all the equipment, I'll be successful again.

So tonight I fed my starter a hefty dose of flour and water and put it in the oven with the oven light on. Now that I know what Sour Dough likes, I may be able to have successful bread again.

For those of you who want to visit the wonderful sourdough bread site, I've included it in my list of good sites on the right pane of this blog.

I'm Sick of Green

I’m sick of a lot of things: Barbie and Ken news commentators; scummy celebrities (from Prince Charles right on down); the way the minority rules in our country right now; a governor who is an embarrassment; a ribald joke of an ex-president; unbalanced reporting by the mainstream media, and “going green.”

It isn’t that I don’t like the color green. It’s one of my favorites, especially when it’s the color of leaves on trees (when I’m currently seeing nothing but winter-brown grass covered with snow and ice). I’m sick of this whole “green movement.”

An extreme example is the ridiculous concept of “carbon offsets.” The idea that you can go ahead and operate your billion-dollar corporate (or personal) jet to fly from here to there on a whim, and then you can offset that tremendous expenditure of carbon fuels and horrendous outpouring of exhaust gasses by simply paying some entity a big sum of money. Since when does lining someone’s pockets with money help to “save the environment”? And who is it that is getting the money? Peta? Whale watchers? Global Warming Enthusiasts? You can bet that it’s not reaching the rest of us who live ordinary lives and try our darndest to leave as small a footprint on this earth as we sensibly can.

I have yet to hear of a “green campaign” that didn’t turn out to be a hoax. Hybrid cars? They use up more fossil fuels providing the electricity that keeps them charged. Using dishes instead of disposable plates/cups/etc? So where do you think that dish-washing liquid comes from? Renewable sources of energy? Every one of them is more expensive to the environment once you dig beneath the surface statistics that are supposed to fool you. Gasahol? It’s nice for corn producers, but that corn has to be turned into alcohol, and that doesn’t happen with the flick of a wand. The list goes on and on.

And on a completely trivial and frivolous front, I don’t like the greens that are being forced on us as the “in” colors. Lime green and olive for living room walls? Come on! That’s a disgusting combination! Lime green and turquoise? We struggled through that combination in the 70s, and it’s no happier a marriage of color now than it was then.

I’d better quit this diatribe so I don’t have to go buy some carbon offsets for using up the airwaves (and the electricity it takes to run my laptop).

Smiles for Similes

There was a time when my Cousin Joy and I were stay-at-home moms, and we wrote to each other every week. We got so desparate for adult conversation that we set out to use big words as often as we could in our letters.

At some point we both decided to collect similies. Don't remember your literature? A simile is a comparison of two things using the words "like" or "as." A couple of examples are "slow as molasses in January," "She looked like the wrath of God," and "snug as a bug in a rug."

Over the years I wrote the similes I found in the margins of a book that was a collection of them. After I moved, I couldn't find the book, so I've just jotted them down on pieces of paper. Every once in awhile I come across one, and I get another chuckle out of it.

I remember when Jim's brother was going through his divorce, and he was so upset. He would visit us and unload about how he felt. It was very sad. The trouble was that he is a very humorous guy, and he would use these similes that would be so funny, I couldn't keep from bursting out laughing. My laughter was so inappropriate, but it was impossible not to laugh. The first one I remember was "slippery as snot on a glass door knob." Here I sit laughing so hard that tears have formed in my eyes. I wish I had recorded all of them that he said.

The other night I was finishing M. C. Beaton's book Death of a Gentle Lady, and up popped a simile I just had to save: “…her eyelashes were so heavily mascaraed, it looked as if two large spiders had found a home in her face.”

So now I'm starting over again to collect similes. Anyone want to join me?

Incidentally, if you can't get the comment thing to work, send your comments to my email, kdfyke@mchsi.com.

Oh, Those Orphaned Lids!

This frugality thing can be carried too far, especially for those of us who don’t routinely clear out our storage places.

This morning I tackled the plastic lid box. When we got new kitchen cabinets a few years ago, we bought roll-out racks on all the lower cabinets. As 2-year-old Pete says, “I lub ‘em.” To keep them “organized,” I put boxes or baskets on them to hold whatever is supposed to be on the shelf.

Over the years I’ve just tossed still-good plastic lids in a box on the lower shelf of a cabinet in the pantry. It got so I couldn’t find any lid I was looking for, so I added a counter-top box, which quickly filled to capacity. Today I weeded out about 7/8th of them, figuring I only needed 9 McDonalds large drink lids, 10 McDonalds coffee lids, 10 from Hucks, etc. I’m certain I don’t have many of the cups left…I hope.

In the process of sorting, I found the lids to several travel mugs. I thought those lids were long gone…..although I knew for certain that I had not intentionally thrown them away. Now those orphaned mugs can be put to use again. (Do I really NEED 7 plastic travel mugs???)

I also found about 20 sturdy lids that went to plastic containers of different sizes, shapes, and age. I can almost remember some of the containers, but I haven’t seen them in years. Now comes the hard part: I have to throw away those lids! And I KNOW that within a month I will find the container, and the lid will be gone.

Now, logic and common sense tell me that if I have not had lid+container in the recent past, I do not need that set. Still, my frugal (or crazy) nature abhors the thought of throwing those perfectly good lids away. But I’ll do it. Yes, I will. Yup, I’m on my way to the kitchen right now to pitch them in the trash…..or not. Tune in next time to find out if Karen still has a cupboard full of sturdy, orphaned lids!

Holy Ghost Lady

When I started this blog, I didn't really know much about blogs or what was expected of me. I could NOT think of a nifty name for my blog. Nothing sounded like ME. Well, now I've thought of something, and it's too late. I'm already signed on as Karendelane. Boring!

When we went to West Bluff Christian Church in West Peoria, IL, I taught a lot of Sunday School. I got the idea that we would teach the kids the Gloria Patri and the Doxology, since those were sung in every church service, and it seemed logical that kids would enjoy being able to join in. Naturally the words of those two song-lets are very unusual to kids.

After a few weeks we were making progress, and the kidlings were finally getting the hang of it. One Sunday I was absent, and one of the five-year-olds asked, "Where's the Holy Ghost Lady?"

Now, there's a good blog name! Holy Ghost Lady! Why didn't I think of that last year?

Well Water

“In winter, always set the handle of your pump as high as possible, before you go to bed. Except in very rigid weather, this keeps the handle from freezing. When there is reason to apprehend extreme cold do not forget to throw a rug or horse-blanket over your pump; a frozen pump is a comfortless preparation for a winter’s breakfast.” (Mrs. Child in American Frugal Housewife)

When I grew up in New Boston, we got our water from a pump. It stood on the lot line between our house and the neighbors’ so it was used by both. I remember how you had to work the handle up and down several times before it would start to bring up water, and I always worried that it wouldn’t work this time. Once you had the water coming, each time the handle was pushed down, water would gush from the spout into the bucket. It was beautiful!

And the water was the best I’ve ever tasted. New Boston sits on sand and near the Mississippi River. I don’t think the well was very deep at all, and all the sand served as a strainer and purifier, I guess. I wish that I had that kind of water in my house today!

Our well water was terrific, BUT you had to go get it, pump it, and bring the bucket back to the house. I like to think that I was in charge of bringing in the bucket every day, but I doubt if that was true. I got away with doing very few chores. Nevertheless it was common for Grandma to say, “Karen, go get a bucket of water,” and I don’t remember ever getting out of it.

Hygiene wasn’t the same then as it is now. The white enamel bucket sat on the corner of the counter with a long-handled enamel dipper placed in it. When you were thirsty, you drank right from the dipper. Sounds like everyone drinking from the same dipper is a nasty, dirty practice, but I don’t think we were any more likely to share germs that way than we were by living in the same enclosed airspace.

The place where that well was located is now in the middle of a carwash. I can't go back to get another drink of that wonderful water. Oh well.

1/4 PF + 1/3 wb + 1/4 hw = Too Much

Frugality is a good thing, but it takes practice. I managed to think of something to do with the 1/4 loaf of Pepperidge Farm bread, but then I found a 1/3 loaf of sliced white bread that had grown some mold. Win some, lose some. There's still a 1/4 loaf of honey wheat (boughten) bread there. I'm almost afraid to look to see if it's moldy. I need to get this bread GONE, so I can make some bread...in my bread machine, of course. I'm not too good on the kneading thing.

Tonight for supper I made up a small batch of sage dressing, poured cream of chicken soup over it and nestled two boneless chicken breasts on top. Baked it for about 40 minutes. Came out really tasty....and the Pepperidge Farm bread got used up before it molded. That's a first.

The birds (mostly starlings, of course) thought my bread plentitude was right on! They may get a bunch of honey wheat tomorrow...if I get up the courage to see if it's molded yet.

My mother (frugal to the bone) always kept her bread in the refrigerator (I almost said "ice box.") I think she got in the habit when Father was baking bread right and left, faster than they could eat it up. The bread didn't mold as quickly, but it always seemed drier than that left in plastic bags on the counter. After Father died, there was only her to eat up a loaf of bread, so into the frige it went. I never heard her complain, but I don't like refrigerator stored bread.

Mrs. Child on Bread

Now here’s an example of real frugality:

“As far as it is possible, have bits of bread eaten up before they become hard. Spread those that are not eaten, and let them dry, to be pounded for puddings, or soaked for brewis. Brewis is made of crusts and dry pieces of bread, soaked a good while in hot milk, mashed up, and salted, and buttered like toast. Above all, do not let crusts accumulate in such quantities that they cannot be used. With proper care, there is no need of losing a particle of bread, even in the hottest weather.” (p. 8 of American Frugal Housewife, 1833)

Right now on my counter are 2 partial loaves of bread, and I doubt if we will get them used before one or the other is infested with mold. I love bread! I want to try every loaf of bread on the store shelves. I want to make bread in my bread machine. I want to have buns on hand when I need them, and packages of Crescent rolls and Grands in the refrigerator. Trouble is that there are only two of us in the house, and both of us are supposed to be watching our weights.

My favorite bread was the sourdough bread I used to make when I still had the “starter.” The smell of that bread rising and baking was wonderful. Eventually I got tired of feeding the starter when I knew I wasn’t going to have time to make the bread, so I threw the starter out. I wish I hadn’t. It’s hard to get real sour dough starter going again. I’ve heard you can do it by putting yeast in some water and letting it sit out on the counter for a couple of days. I’ve also heard that this starter isn’t strong enough to support the weight of the bread. I suppose you can always add more regular yeast in addition to the sourdough starter, but I haven’t tried it yet.

When I’m pretty sure we’re not going to finish a partial loaf of bread or a lone roll, I crumble it up and put it out for the birds. Of course, the birds who mostly profit from this feast are starlings, but I don’t really care. They’re funny to watch, and if they didn’t congregate in such huge numbers, no one would mind them being around. More about starlings another day.

All in all, I’m glad I don’t live in the day when bread was so precious that we had to hoard every single crumb.

Nora's Doll Clothes

I admire frugality. That said, I didn't make Nora's birthday doll clothes out of scraps because it's frugal. The blue of the pants, jacket and skirt are blue flannel that I used to make Nigel's Superman suit last Halloween. The purple print that I used for the blouse as well as the one for the dress are the scraps from a dresses I made Nora last summer. You can buy nice doll clothes fabric, but you can't buy memories.

Furnishing Your Home the Frugal Way

Mrs. Child says, “If you are about to furnish a house, do not spend all your money, be it much or little. Do not let the beauty of this thing, and the cheapness of that, tempt you to buy unnecessary articles. …Buy merely enough to get along with at first. It is only by experience that you can tell what will be the wants of your family. If you spend all your money, you will find you have purchased many things you do not want, and have no means left to get many things which you do want. If you have enough, and more than enough, to get everything suitable to your situation, do not think you must spend it all, merely because you happen to have it. Begin humbly

“Neatness, tastefulness, and good sense, may be shown in the management of a small household, and the arrangement of a little furniture, as well as upon a larger scale; and these qualities are always praised, and always treated with respect and attention. The consideration which many purchase by living beyond their income, and of course living upon others, is not worth the trouble it costs.

“ To what are the increasing beggary and discouraged exertions of the present period [1832] owing? A multitude of causes have no doubt tended to increase the evil; but the root of the whole matter is the extravagance of all classes of people. … Let women do their share towards reformation—…Let them prove, by the exertion of ingenuity and economy, that neatness, good taste, and gentility, are attainable without great expense.”

I don’t think I ever set out to be thrifty in my purchases for the house. In fact, I can only think of a few things that we bought new. One was a hide-a-bed when we were first married, because our apartment was three rooms of a big old house and there was no proper bedroom. The color of the Nylon frise fabric was a light mauve, not our favorite for sure, but it’s all there was available at Cohen’s Furniture Store when we went shopping. We lugged that heavy old monster from place to place until finally we gave it to Jim's folks.

In Kansas City we bought a Boston rocker that was never really comfortable. I got it because I thought it would be good for rocking babies to sleep, but the darned thing tended to creep back as you rocked, which necessitated a baby-jarring lurch forward every once in awhile. We still have that chair, although one of the back rungs is broken. It's still not comfortable.

We also bought a desk from Montgomery Wards while we were in Kansas City. Jim was taking courses at the U. of Missouri at Kansas City and needed a place to study. One of the kids has that desk now.

When we lived in Kent, Ohio, we bought a table and chairs and another rocker. Robin has the table now, and most of the chairs are broken. They were the most comfortable of all our “kitchen” chairs though. The platform rocker was of a dark teal nylon fabric that was rough on un-sleeved elbows. The ball-bearing arrangement that made the chair swivel kept breaking. I think we replaced it 5 times. The last time Jim did it, he put in another board or something, and ever after that the chair let everyone in the house know it was being sat in. I’ve wanted to put it on the curb so someone can adopt it, but Bradley insists he wants it. He says it’s the perfect video game chair. Something about the arms being just the right height for holding the control gizmo.

In Kent Jim bought me a Baldwin piano. Oh, I have loved that piano! I gave it to Robin last year when he got me a Yamaha electric piano. In many ways the old one was best, but it sure is fun to have all those different sounds by just pushing buttons.

After we moved back to Peoria I selected another hide-a-bed. This one is from Ethan Allen and we have it still….and I still like it. The cover is gray, but I don’t hold that against it.

I guess we’ve bought other new furniture: a studio bed for Susan, mattresses and springs, an “entertainment center,” etc. But most of the furniture that clogs my house is hand-me-downs or auction finds. I look at other people who buy complete sets of new furniture and I wonder if I could ever do that. I don’t think so. There’s something comforting about living with “found treasures.”

So, if you’re just starting out, don’t buy all new furniture. Like Mrs. Childs says, buy what you absolutely must have and add other things as you go along.

Save one-fourth of all you earn.

Page 4 of the American Frugal Housewife

“It is wise to keep an exact account of all you expend—even of a paper of pins. This answers two purposes; it makes you more careful in spending money, and it enables your husband to judge precisely whether his family live within his income. No false pride, or foolish ambition to appear as well as others, should ever induce a person to live one cent beyond the income of which he is certain. If you have two dollars a day, let nothing but sickness induce you to spend more than nine shillings; if you have one dollar a day, do not spend but seventy-five cents; if you have half a dollar a day, be satisfied to spend forty cents.”

Does it frighten you when you go shopping and see that you have spent $100 without really noticing it? Groceries, drug store items, pet supplies, laundry detergent, paper supplies…they add up so very fast. I once had a little clicker-dealie that would keep track of how much I had in my grocery cart. It was really low-tech, but it worked fine…as long as I didn’t get distracted and forget whether I had entered something or not. The same problem occurs with calculators. I suppose some people have little computers that will tell them what they’ve entered, but I don’t. I sometimes try to keep a mental rough tally. None of these things, however, keep me from buying things I don’t really need.

I think frugality in spending is a mind-set. If you feel well-off, you don’t need to keep track of things or say “no” to things. On the other hand, if you know that your financial situation is precarious, you’re more likely to think before you buy. I’m told that this kind of thinking becomes a habit. Living through the Great Depression certainly impressed this mind-set on my mother! She’d pick something up and look and the price, then put it back and say, “I don’t need that.” I don’t want to be as penny-pinching as she was, but I can certainly do better than I do.

Save one-fourth of our income? Whew! That’s asking a lot. I’ll have to do some powerful thinking on this item of Mrs. Child’s Frugal Housewife advice.

Children's Chores

Mrs. Child, that Frugal Housewife of 1832, advises us to have children do lots of things for themselves. She says,

“Children can early be taught to take all the care of their clothes.
They can knit garters, suspenders, and stockings; they can make patchwork and braid straw; they can make mats for the table, and mats for the floor; they can weed the garden, and pick cranberries from the meadow, to be carried to market.”

Well, that was 175 years ago, and things are a bit different now. I can tell you that I never let my kids get near the washer and dryer! Not because I didn’t like to do the job (see Jan. 31 blog), but because I didn’t want them to wreck those precious machines. My Aunt Mary said that every time she went by her dryer, she patted it and thanked it for being there. I understand totally. I never wanted the kids to use my iron either. I remember when I was a teenager and Mother was a registered nurse who wore starched white uniforms every day. She never wanted me to use (or abuse) the iron, and she DEFINITELY didn’t want me to iron her uniforms. So you can bet that’s exactly what I WANTED to do. Maybe that’s why I’ve always liked ironing?!

Anyway, how could kids today take care of their own clothing? I suppose it’s not too much to ask that they take their dirty laundry to the laundry room. I’ve tried that. When they were teens, I threatened that if they didn’t take the dirty clothes to the basement, they would not have any clean clothes to wear. For the most part I stuck with this one, but that doesn’t mean that they learned to “take care of their own clothes.” I could never get any of them into the habit of putting their clean clothes away. Mate socks? Never. Hang up their coats? Seldom. And I’m not a bit unusual. Most mothers have the same complaints. Mrs. Child where are you? We need you today!

On Raising Children

Mrs. Child author of The American Frugal Housewife (pub 1833) sets out a way of life that seems just right. She tells me to save, knit, and quilt. On page one she also tells how to raise children:

“In this country, we are apt to let children romp away their existence, till they get to be thirteen or fourteen. This is not well. It is not well for the purses and patience of parents; and it has a still worse effect on the morals and habits of children. Begin early is the great maxim for everything in education. A child of six years old can be made useful; and should be taught to consider every day lost in which some little thing has not been done to assist others.”

I have always worked under the principle that I didn’t ask someone to do a task that I didn’t like to do my self. Since I have always hated doing dishes, I didn’t ask my kids to do them. Since I didn’t like to clean the cat litter pan, I didn’t ask my kids to do that either. There’s a long, long list of things I didn’t make my children do, and I’m sorry that I didn’t read Mrs. Child 45 years ago. The best I can do now is to give this good advice to my children for the benefit of the grandchildren. I only hope they will follow Mrs. Child’s maxims and not my example.

Quilting Is Good

I've told you already that The Frugal American Housewife is a great book. Paragraph one told me to save stuff, paragraph two told me to knit, and paragraph three tells me to make quilts. Now what more could you ask?

Mrs. Child writes, "In this point of view, patchwork is good economy. It is indeed a foolish waste of time to tear cloth into bits for the sake of arranging it anew in fantastic figures; but a large family may be kept out of idleness, and a few shillings saved, by thus using scraps of gowns, curtains, etc."

I don't exactly know what she means about "fantastic figures," but I'm taking this paragraph to mean that making quilts is a good thing. That's all I need to know.

I started my first quilt (an old-fashioned flower garden design) before Jim and I were married. I used my mother's quilt for a pattern, and since she used pink as the outline color, I used green....mint green (That was my idea of rebellion). As it happens, I don't much like mint green anymore, but that's not why it took me 40+ years to finish it. The first snag I ran into was that I set the blocks incorrectly, and they went off at a slant. After a couple of years, I took the blocks apart and went at it more carefully. I got the top all finished many years later (I didn't work at it constantly, you understand) but then I lost track of it. One day I was at my mother's house and she was going through a box of stuff that she thought she should get rid of. She pulled out my quilt top, and said "I don't know when I did this one. I don't remember it at all." I said, "That's because you didn't do it. That's the one I made." By this time I was a member of a church where there was a quilting group, and I gave it to them to quilt. After I got it back, it took me awhile to get the edging on, but the quilt is now complete....and it is so precious to me that I won't use it. Now isn't that the pits! I'll bet Mrs. Child used her quilts!

Knitting Advice

Knitting Advice

Daughter Robin told me that the Frugal Housewife was a really good book, and now I know that she's absolutely right. Paragraph one of the book gave me permission to save everything. Paragraph two gives just the right advice about knitting:

"'Time is money.' For this reason, cheap as stockings are, it is good economy to knit them. Cotton and woollen yarn are both cheap; hose that are knit wear twice as long as woven ones; and they can be done at odd minutes of time, which would not be otherwise employed. Where there are children, or aged people, it is sufficient to recommend knitting, that it is an employment."

I'm not so sure that cotton and woolen yarn are all that cheap any more, and it's really hard to beat the Chinese imports when it comes to things like socks. Also, I doubt if our modern young ladies would take kindly to knitting to fill the "odd moments", especially if they had to knit something as mundane as socks. And our aged people are all sitting at their computers, too busy typing to knit. That leaves the stay-at-home moms to carry on with knitting.

I've knitted a lot of things over the years. I started with a yellow sweater before my oldest daughter was born. At that time we didn't know whether the baby would be a boy or a girl, so we had to use either yellow or green. It was a perfect project, because it took me about 8 months to finish the sweater. My oldest daughter is now 44.

When my first two kids were young, I knitted them lots of sweaters. By the time the next two came along, I was too busy to knit....and I was doing art then anyway. I couple of years ago I decided to use up odds and ends of yarn by knitting stocking hats. I made 31 or them, and gave most of them away. I think there are still a couple hiding around here in some corner or other. I also have bought umpteen skeins of yarn since then so I’ll have more to knit up. (That goes with paragraph one of The Frugal Housewife.)

A couple of years ago I made sweaters for my youngest grandchildren, but I only got one finished (and the cuffs were a little too tight). Someday some one will find these unfinished knitting projects and they’ll either complete them or throw them in the trash. I feel kind of sad about that…but not sad enough to leave the computer and get out my yarn needles.

So, Robin has the permission of the Frugal Housewife to knit….and knit and knit and knit. If I were younger, I’d join her.

I Was Born In the Wrong Century!

I'm a stuff collector. I have stuff piled everywhere. If a horizontal surface gets cleaned off, it is only minutes before it's collected a pile of stuff. I've been trying to cure this ailment for years and years, but the older I get, the more stuff I have.

Daughter Robin loaned me a book that makes me feel better. The book's title is "The American Fugal Housewife. Dedicated to those who are not ashamed of economy" by Mrs. Child. It was published in 1833. The very first paragraph in the book tells me all I need to know: I was born in the wrong century!

"The true economy of housekeeping is simply the art of gathering up all the fragments, so that nothing be lost. I mean fragments of time, as well as materials. Nothing should be thrown away so long as it is possible to make any use of it, however trifling that use may be; and whatever be the size of a family, every member should be employed either in earning or saving money."

Now, that's a doctrine I can agree with! Robin warned me that once I started reading the book, I wouldn't be able to stop. I've already read the second paragraph, and I'll talk about it tomorrow.

Why I Can't Go Back to School

For 8 years I worked as a school librarian. I'd probably be there yet except that I discovered that with Medicare I didn't need to "work for insurance" any more. Jim was retired, and I wanted to be free to go on trips whenever we felt like it.

I loved being a school librarian. When I took over the job, they had not had a librarian for several years, and things were really in a mess. I volunteered half days all the first summer in an attempt to get the bookshelves rearranged in to some semblence of common sense.

I was responsible for both the grade school library (on the third floor of an old building) and the Grade 4-12 library. It was an exhausting job, and it was a lot more than just "checking out books." During the time I was there, I got us qualified to be part of the Alliance Library System, and we therefore had access to interlibrary loan and all of the support systems of the Alliance. I was required to teach library classes to grades K-6, and most often ended up making up my own lessons, because I never could find anything that jibed with what our library had on hand. I was also in charge of the copy center for the teachers, the laminating machine (and boy, those teachers laminated a ton of stuff!), and a computer lab.

When I retired, the superintendent replaced me with a part-time aide! Talk about an insult! Then the next year, it was a part-time person with even less time in the library. I have no idea how they have managed to keep the computer system going, and I know they no longer have interlibrary loan. I've been told, "Don't come back. It'll break your heart." Today I learned that the superintendent has let it be known that "There will be no librarian here while I am superintendent." Does that boggle your mind, or what?

I guess I'm lucky to be out of it. I feel sorry for the students, and I miss my teacher friends, but I know I could not face that man without my blood pressure going over the top.

Home Remedies That Really Work

I'm not much on home remedies, superstitions, and old wives tales, but there are two "cures for what ails you" that really work, even if no one knows how they do it:

1: If you have a cold/flu/bronchitis/etc, you can't stop that nagging nighttime cough, just rub a healthy amount of Vicks on the bottoms of your feet and put on a pair of socks. Not only will your feet feel a slight, warm sensation that is pleasant in and of itself, but your cough will disapper in seconds. It works especially well on children, and you can bet every parent needs something to will soothe a kid so the parent can get some sleep!

2. Say you've eaten too much at Long John Silvers, or too much of that crab dip, and your stomach feels icky, too full, and altogether not right. Go to the kitchen and get out the cider vinegar. Pour about a tablespoonful in a little glass, add about 3 or 4 tablespoons of water, and glug it down. In less than a minute that bloated feeling will fade. We keep a bottle of apple cider vinegar (it tastes better than plain vinegar) in our upstairs medicine cupboard now, because very often that icky feeling happens at night. There's no way this thing can work, but it does. I guarantee it. (You know G'ma Karen wouldn't steer you wrong!)

Where has this gadget been all my life?

For 47 years I've been keeping house, and for 47 years I've been disgusted by the gunk that gathers in the sink strainer. Those slots in the strainer let too much stuff through, big enough pieces to actually clog up the grid at the top of the drain pipe so that water in the sink stops going down the drain. The only solution was to put my fingers in there and get that glunk out! Ooooh! Ick!

At Christmas I was at daughter Robin's house and saw that she had a little screen gizmo in her sink that stopped stuff from going down the drain. Hmmmm! I looked for one at Wal-Mart and they probably have them, but I didn't find them. A trip to my everything-hardware store in Washington (IL), Kimpling Ace Hardware and I was on my way home to see how it worked. It worked great! Stuff that is scraped off plates or pans gathers in that screen dealie and is really easy to toss in the garbage. It's MUCH less gooky than the old strainer method.

I still don't know how to keep house, but this screen thing sure makes kitchen clean-up more pleasant.

Serendipity Again

The weather has played havoc with our little church this year. It was so cold on Sunday (the 20th) that our elders decided to cancel church…and the potluck that was scheduled. We have many elderly people in the congregation, and it didn’t seem right to get them out in the extreme cold. And we know that if there was church, they would be there.

So this meant that Jim and I went to our neighborhood church which is just 3 blocks from our home. Our daughter and her family have been attending this church for some time now, and she even sings in the choir. They have been intending to transfer their membership to this church, but just haven’t found a time when the whole family was in church at the time of invitation. So during the invitation hymn, Robin looked at Chris and said, “Shall we do it today?” He said, “Yes,” and up they went. Naturally I got all choked up, and I couldn’t find a Kleenex. I felt so honored to happen to be present on the day they made this commitment. It’s another example of serendipity.

Rotels to the Rescue

How could I get this old and not learn about Rotel tomatoes? I have never noticed them on the shelves at the grocery store, and wouldn't have tried them yet if Jim hadn't found them at Sams and bought an 8-pack. Those things are great!

The first time I had them brought to my attention was an autumn party at daughter Susan's house. She had made a creamy dip and added a can of Rotels. Wow was it good!

I'm not fond of "hot" food, but the Rotels have the flavor of hot food with only a little of the bite. The other night I cobbled together some left-overs and came up with the closest thing to Jim's favorite Appleby's entre, "N'Orleans Skillet." Actually Appleby's has taken this dish off the menu, so it's a happy accident that I can now copy it here at home. The recipe couldn't be simpler: saute some green pepper and onion in a little oil, add a couple of cups of cooked rice, slices of smoked sausage and throw in a can of Rotel tomatoes. Yum! I've concocted similar left-over dishes, but only when I added the Rotels did I get the taste right.

So I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.

Teen Fashions

I can't get over how ugly teens' clothing is today. The colors are UGLY! They were ugly in the 70's and 80's when they were bright, and the same colors today are even more ugly because they're grayed down. Looks like everything has been washed with the jeans and rugs. I saw a girl the other day in one of those dresses with the points on the hem, and the background color was a dirty white. There were gray-orange polka dots about 2 inches in diameter, and then there was this gray-aqua trim around the neckline and sleeves. Talk about ugly!

And what's with the pregnancy tops? Those things with a full "skirt" that starts right under the boobs. They're usually made of filmy or slinky material in dull colors in prints that remind me of diamond back rattlesnakes. I hated that look when I was wearing maternity clothes, and I don't like it one bit more on skinny girls. On fat girls it is WAAAAAY bad!

Serendipity or the Holy Spirit?

Serendipity is a funny thing. Today neither of us elders nor Jim, our minister, got together on what we would say at the Communion Table. Jim did his meditation on feeling unworthy to be at the Lord's table, but because it is required of him, he does it. In other words, we all have jobs to do, and we just have to get busy and DO them.

I had written my Blessing Prayer last night, and it dealt with our unworthiness to sit at the table with the Lord, and yet we do it because he commanded it of us. That fit in so beautifully with Jim's meditation.

And then Larry, completely on his own, echoed our themes in his Thanksgiving Prayer! Now how can three people so completely mesh their thoughts when they haven't even talked about it? I don't think it's mere coincidence, because it happens all the time. If anything could convince me of the working of the Holy Spirit, this would do it.

How Do You Keep House?

I have been trying lately to figure out what exactly my job is in the house. I know that sounds silly, since I've been keeping house for almost 50 years. It's just that I don't seem to be doing the minimum amount of house keeping, and I don't know why....other than I love the computer and my volunteer activities. So today I started a list of necessary jobs, and it's already longer than I want it to be, and I'm no where near finished. When the kids were home, I managed to keep up with the list and most things got done. I've got to figure out how to do it now. I may have to give up my "reading breaks," when I take my book and park on the sofa for "just a minute" that turns out to be an hour. Maybe I'll have to get started on housekeeping before I read the paper in the morning, or open my email. There must be a way to do this. I've just got to figure it out.
In the past I've tried many methods for keeping up. My favorite was "Sidetracked Home Executives" (SHE). I had a file box of 3x5 cards and I went through them every day. It worked (more or less) then, because my major job every day was taking care of the house and family. I never spent the 5 to 7 hours a day that would be needed to do a good job, but I kept up....thanks to my good buddy and partner in "crime" Sandy Du. I've tried to start the program up again, but I simply don't want to spend that much time on it. I can't imagine changing my life so that I'm doing housekeeping 5 hours a day! I'd be happier with 5 hours a week!
I know that one of the critical things to do is to get rid of clutter. Yup. I know all about it! I've bought a bunch of how-to books on that subject, too. I've even started out to do some of them. I usually stick with it about a week. Since I always start in the kitchen, that's the only area that ever gets scooped out. But then when I move on to the next place, the "clean" spot gets filled with things from the "newly clean" spot, and you can never see that I've done anything at all. It's downright discouraging.

Losing Keys

If there's one thing in the world I hate, it's not being able to find my keys when I go to unlock the car! Therefore, I have this handy D-ring sewn into my purse right next to the cell phone pocket.I carry 3 keyrings with me:1) has the keys to the Historical Society, 2) has my flash drives, and 3) has my house and car keys. Each of them has one of those clasps like you see on dog leashes. I ALWAYS clip my keys to that D-ring when I get out of the car. Right.

This afternoon I parked at the end of the block where you can stay longer than 2 hours without getting a ticket. This evening we went to the Chanticleer for supper, and I left my computer stuff sitting out at the Hist. Soc., planning to come back after dinner to pick it all up. As we were getting near the place where my car was parked, I said, "Let me out here, and I'll drive my car up in front of the Hist. Soc." So that's what we did.

I went into the building, cleared my desk and got my computer all bundled up in its brief case, turned out the lights, locked the door and headed for the car. I reached for my keys. They weren't there. I checked my pockets. They weren't there. I dug in my purse. No keys. After a bit (it was cold and windy out there), I went to the van where my husband,Jim, was waiting for me and sat down to do a better (and warmer) search. No keys. I went back into the Society. No keys. I searched in my purse again, taking almost everything out of it. No keys. I went outside and searched in the slush around the car, but they were not to be found. I got Jim's set of car keys, and checked to see if I had left them in the car. Nope. So, sitting in the car with the overhead light on, I took EVERYthing out of my purse....including my keys! It leaves me dumfounded to have this happen, and it explains once again why I ALWAYS hook my keys to the D-ring. Yup.

The funniest part of the ordeal was that when I got through searching the car after opening it with Jim's keys, I said, "I was at the bank and the Court House this afternoon. Maybe they fell out there." And Jim kind of gave a double take and said, "Yes, but you just drove it around the corner 5 minutes ago."

Let's Fight

I realized today that I pass up really good chances for fights. I can't explain why I don't dig in and go to verbal battle once in awhile. Most people do. For example, I have a doormat at the back door. It's not one of those really heavy ones, nor is it light enough to crumple up. The other day as my husband was coming through that door, he kind of tripped and had to catch himself. He said, "Damn! One of these days that rug is going to kill me!" What did I do? I shrugged my shoulders and gave it no more thought. I figure 1) I like the rug there as a welcome, 2) it isn't a hazard if you pick your feet up, 3) I don't need to say anything about it because I'm not going to move it, and 4) if I decide it really is a hazard, I'll just take it up and say no more. Well, you can see that I passed up a chance for a really good fight:
He: That damned rug is going to kill me someday!
She: There's nothing wrong with that rug! You need to pick up your big feet!
He: I do pick up my feet! I just hate rugs. I hate this rug in the dining room, too!
She: You don't like anything I do, do you?...
You can see where this is headed.
I've witnessed lots of fights between husband and wife, and almost all of them quickly get off the subject and on to old complaints, gripes, mistakes, pet peeves, etc. I've seen quite a few where the battlers could not tell you what actually generated the first hot words. Somehow it would be nice if we could teach young people how to keep from falling into this trap. I know that my husband has taught me to "pick my battles," and so I don't get riled up unless it's a really important issue. I just don't let it bother me. I think about something else. I go my own way, and if there's action to be taken, I'll take it later when conditions are calmer.
So I probably miss out on a lot of marrital fun, if you can call fights "fun"...and some people do. My life is a lot calmer, and our relationship is unruffled. I think I'll keep it this way.