:Family Matters

September 28, 2008

While perusing the contents on one of the shelves holding other people’s cast off items in The Olde Catholic Thrifte Shoppe yesterday I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation of a couple of gals off to my side, one of whom said “Oh the good old days, what fun it is to return to those times e and reminisce about them”. The other one agreed and added, “I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning but I sure can tell you all about what I did when I was young” which brought a chuckle of agreement from her companion. Perhaps they had more to say on this topic but, if so, I didn’t hear as I had moved on to the furniture area which was labeled as being ‘marked down’ on the sign outside, which is generally understood by all of us ‘regulars’ to mean that they have too much of a certain item on hand and need to clear floor space for ‘new’ items which continue to arrive in such unending numbers that the Catholics in the area have been able to pay off the mortgage on their beautiful new church and are now stockpiling funds for an addition.

“Well”, I thought to myself rather huffily, “I might not remember what I just had to eat on most days, unless it was Saturday breakfast”, which MGH fixes for all and sundry who might be in the area and consists of pancakes, eggs and bacon, (and always has and always will as long as he is here to do so for his family) “but I hope my level of conversation hasn’t gotten to the point where the past is all I have to talk about!”.

Continuing my stroll and feeling rather congratulatory towards myself for my self-control that had allowed me to pass up a pair of chairs that I had admired the last time I was in the store and were now twenty dollars less, and no, contrary to what you might be thinking I do not spend more than a few minutes there in any given month which is nothing compared to what real aficionados of the art of ‘trolling for treasures in strange places’ spend. Truthfully, I was surprised to see them, the chairs—not the aficionados, still there as the rule of thumb for shopping in such places is, if you see it and like it—buy it because if you don’t, someone else will and it won’t be there if you change your mind once you get home and no matter how fast you drive back to the store, “it” won’t be there, which has the potential of sending one into the pit of despair for at least an hour and please don’t ask me how I know this. However, if an item lingers it can often be purchased for half the original amount after in has accumulated enough dust as, to quote that famous retailer James Cash Penney “dead stock is a dead store” and out the item must go which allows bottom feeders like myself to enter the fray and get something for next to nothing if you don’t factor in the price of gas.

This doesn’t always work as I waited to see if a cameo I was watching would come down from the asking price of a $1000.00, not that I could be interested in it, ever, but at that price I was curious to see if it would ever be marked down, which it wasn’t. I followed that particular piece for a good year until one day I entered the store and looked into the case where the ‘good’ stuff is kept under lock and key and saw that it was gone, sigh, probably purchased by someone with a fat wallet who had come in for the Shakespearian Festival, which requires a sizable line of credit in order to attend but is well worth spending your hard earned money on if you enjoy that kind of thing, which many people seem to do, (which our good mayor assures us is one of the reasons the city is able to keep property taxes so low), and was wandering the streets of our fair city while waiting for the next play to begin in the hopes of finding something of ‘interest’ in such a back water place as our fair city.

Summer is when the ‘living is easy’ in our little town located high amongst the peaks of the Rockies. The rest of the year everyone pretty much starves unless they work for the government even though our good mayor has spent much coin of the realm trying to convince others that we are the Festival City with year round activities much worth attending and bringing your ‘cash’ with you. So far all that has amounted to is a lot of hard work and not much to show for it but I tell you all this to show you how difficult it can be to find a bargain around here where new stores can pop up as quickly as mushrooms after a rainstorm in the middle west and be gone just as fast–like the one I found last month called the Two Sisters who had some fun stuff in their little store and I was eager to return to their premises and help them move some of their merchandise but had to wait until my ’slush’ fund was replenished before venturing there again having purchased a table and chair from them that first time. I swung by last week eager to continue our happy relationship only to find a closed sign on the door and a For Rent sign in the window. (One of the sisters got sick.) And so that is that—another business bit the dust. Living here it is hard to remember that there are actually places one can live that offer more in the way of shopping than a Wal-Mart and four grocery stores—but at least we have clean air and with that I must be content.

While I decided against the chairs I did pick up a small Ty bear for my collection of teddy bears as well as a glass vase in a strange shade of yellow which I wanted for the glass pieces inside that I use in flower arranging. When I told the gal at the check out that I liked the price because the pieces were so expensive at the craft store, she beamed at me as she shared the information that I could find them at the dollar store sans vase and did I want to buy it after all? My last find was a green wood box meant for hanging on the wall. The door was stuck shut but that didn’t matter to me as I thought it sturdy enough to use as a plant stand which I need now that it is time to move my plants inside that I wish to save as a killing frost is long overdue—so you see I really did exercise a lot of control as I passed up many other things on my way to the ‘high’ that always comes from finding something useful on the cheap!

Going into the kitchenware room I passed by two older gentlemen and again heard a portion of a conversation that went like this. “I go golfing every week with a group of older men one of whom is in his nineties and the rest are in their seventies. I am the youngest. One of the reasons I enjoy it so much is that these older fellows have such great stories to tell. I never get tired of hearing them.”

So maybe there is some hope for we ’seasoned’ citizens who find such pleasure in returning to our younger years where as this line from Back Home Again In Indiana so beautifully puts it ‘”memory paints on fancy’s canvas, scenes that we hold dear. . .”

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September 21. 2008

“You see”, I said, feeling quite proud of myself for having noticed, at some point—though I hadn’t when I first put them on display, “they match”. They being the frames around two pictures I have displayed on the wall of my sewing room. Putting on her pair of grocery story magnifying glasses she carefully examined them and then began pointing out the differences that I had completely missed–for you see, she has an artist’s eye.

The ’she’ is MGSB(My Good Sister Barbara) who along with her husband Bob were here visiting us—a sort of a visit in the middle of a visit to their daughter Elizabeth and her family who live three hours away from us. Down from their home in the beautiful state of Washington they had come to visit because family has always been important to both of them and they have proved this over the years by cannily taking advantage of frequent flyer credits and much trolling of the inter-net to find cheap tickets which have allowed them to visit their daughter’s homes in far away places on a regular basis. Solid and comfortable to be around, they radiate the qualities that have made this nation great—hard work mixed with sound native intelligence leavened with a large dose of common sense under girded by faith in a Supreme Being.

Because they came I now have a better sense of what is required to become involved in family history as MGSB spent hours helping me download the PAF system onto my computer and instructing me on how to use it—her faith in my ability to comprehend is boundless and hopefully, will begin to pay off as I get my life in order and start hauling out old pictures and memorabilia in an effort to chronicle my life and that of the family I grew up in. Barbara is way ahead of me here not having let ‘life’ get in the way of doing family history. (My biggest fear is that I might have waited too long and pictures of family and places captured so carefully at the time and then by my having failed to identify just who and where were involved in those images, will have faded into my memories deepest holes and their stories likely lost because I thought at the time—I’ll never forget this.

Because they came we now have all the door stops replaced upstairs as Bob, seeing a need, in his quiet unassuming way went from room to room putting in new ones. In case you are wondering, which you probably aren’t, the old ones went when grandson Jordan discovered that the little white protective caps could be pulled off which led to a search and destroy mission on his part as he crawled from room to room looking for said caps which he could often be found happily sucking as he proceeded on his way. For awhile Grandma A (that would be me) removed from his mouth when necessary and replaced them back where they came from, that is until concern for his safety led to an executive decision on my part to remove “all” the caps and dispose of them. This was the cause of some disappointment for him but was soon reconciled as there were plenty of other things to explore at his level and when all else failed there were always the crumbs on the floor under the dining room table.

MGSB and I left our spouses contentedly watching a football game to pursue our own search for happiness—shopping. We didn’t mean to be gone as long as we were which was the cause of some expression of worry and teasing on the part of our respective spouses when we finally returned, but as we were headed for the book store, need I say more? Barbara and I have always been voracious readers which led to a bit of competition in our younger days as the Keosauqua library, which had its own entry off the community hall, was very small and the selection of books quite limited. I can’t remember her name now but the librarian was a dear sweet lady who introduced us to the pleasure of reading books by Grace Livingston Hill who in her day was known as “the queen of Christian romance”. The fact that she died in 1947 and it was now 1953 illustrates the funding, or more correctly, lack of that the city fathers bestowed on the library. But hey, we didn’t complain as the books were all ‘new’ to us and we looked forward to trips into town where we could collect a new armful of books to fill our free hours.

One of the things that I remember from those long ago days was how we ’shared’ the reading of a book that caught our joint interest and lacking the discipline to just wait until whoever had checked out the book first had finished we had this method that involved the one whose book it wasn’t claiming the right to read if the one whose book it was laid the book down and went off to do something else even if it was just to get a glass of water. Possession being 90% of the law the process of recovering one’s book could get quite interesting with the favorite method being, you can have it back when I get to the end of the page or chapter or whatever length we thought we could get away with, said with our fingers crossed which meant we didn’t really mean it. I can remember reaching the agreed upon stopping point and then looking around to see if MGSB was waiting with hand out stretched for her purloined novel which meant I had to return it to her immediately but if she wasn’t this allowed me to feel justified in continuing on by muttering to her when she returned, “just let me finish this sentence”. At the time it always amazed me that she fell for that as often as she did but life is what it is and she wasn’t above using that line with me either.

Those days are long gone now and fond memories are all that remain. Thanks Barbara and Bob for stopping by and BTW—when Sherman came with his little girls on Saturday he replaced the battery in the hall smoke alarm so we didn’t have to wait for your next visit to get that done which is good because the chirping is comparable to ‘Chinese water torture’ which I have only read about but the theory is that the constant anxiety of waiting for the next drop to fall can drive one crazy along the line of “No, no I’ll tell you/do whatever you want just stop the drip”, or in our case ‘chirp’.

BTW, Barbara, I do recall playing ‘Seek’ when we were home as well as the reason I never wanted to play the game again until I had a chance to read and memorize the answer book which would level the playing field and allow me to compete with you and thanks for playing “Scum” until I won a round!

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August 30, 2004

Is it just me or does anyone else think that food tasted better when they were young? As always the thing that gets me going on this is the way strawberries taste when grown in ones own patch even if they are scrawny when compared to the giants masquerading as a member of the family strawberrius which hold such promise but deliver so little when the delightful prospect of a burst of sheer strawberry flavor evaporates in a mouthful of pulpy, watered down pretense. Any resemblance to the real thing is strictly coincidental and a sure turn off when it comes to another purchase. Sadly, I never seem to learn as I keep buying them in the rather forlorn hope that this box will be different much like Charlie Brown in the cartoon strip Peanuts keeps hoping Lucy will not move the football as he goes to kick it—but alas, the result is always the same.

Plant genetics can and does work miracles as shown by tomatoes that can be shipped across the country without becoming soft, which is a tremendous improvement if it weren’t for the fact that they never seem to ripen which leaves their flavor questionable at best. To be honest, I haven’t bought any for years. Yes, I do buy tomatoes but they are usually the cherry/grape variety which don’t do much for a BLT but at least they do add a little flavor to salads. I’ve also started using red peppers for color and taste. Somewhere in the future I fully expect the plant scientists to get it right and combine flavor with portability—whether I will be here to enjoy their success remains to be seen but it does comfort me in my old age to know that somewhere someone is still trying to ‘get it right’.

What I remember and long for sadly exists in the past. The days when thick cream was available to pour over ones cereal along with a host of other fresh from your garden/farm tastes are long gone for most of us who dwell in cities away from the land. We live in the age of ‘plastic’ which allows perishable items to be shipped long distances without being damaged which allows us to enjoy exotic items all year round and not just at certain times of the year. The best peaches I have ever eaten were provided by the fruit trees on the farm. (Sadly, this came to an abrupt end when the tornado that visited our farm one summer night tore them up as it raced around our house.) They were big and when ripened fully by the sun had a flavor that was out of this world. What a treat it was to enjoy them sliced into a large serving bowl that mother would place on the table for dessert and we could eat all we wanted. Not that that was the only way she served them but just an indication of the bounty we had available to us. Today I buy only a few pieces of fruit at a time because I never know what the flavor or texture will be like as I have learned to my sorrow that looks can be deceiving which means that far to much is thrown away as unedible. The downside is that when I do come home with good produce I wish I had purchased more but even if I quickly return hoping to replicate my good fortune I have no guarantee that I will be able to succeed as the good and the bad look alike and rapid turnover gives me no guarantee that I will be able to replicate my good fortune. Sigh

The above thoughts have come about because the strawberries MGH planted for my birthday, with such great care, several years ago when he could still navigate have started producing again as the days have shortened and the withering summer sun has begun too lose its power as it retreats to other realms and we here in the tops of the mountains begin to prepare for winter. Not that there are enough to make jam or a pie which will only happen if I begin to do the the kind of things that actually encourage my plants to produce fruit rather than foliage but still I can go out and find a handful to bring in and share with MGH.

As for my attempt at container gardening I must report that I hope I have better luck next year although I did get a few tomatoes off the three plants I nurtured so carefully in their pots. Reminder to self—do not use fertilizer purchased from Home Depot made from earthworm droppings as plants never recovered after repeated applications per instructions on bottle instead turning a sickly yellow green.

I also tried to grow three eggplants two of which survived but as the blossoms fell off before they grew any fruit I would have to say that I need to do something different next year. I was hoping to harvest the egg plant while they were much smaller than the behemoths found in most produce departments as I really like eggplant sliced and dredged in beaten egg and then coated with flour before frying which was a dish mother used to prepare for us in those long ago days when we enjoyed the fruits of her hard work in the garden and kitchen not fully appreciating what she was doing to provide good food for her family.

To me the sad thing about remembering and missing the flavors of my youth are not that they are gone but rather that so many now don’t know any better because what they have grown up eating is, to them, what food is supposed to taste like. As an example we had friends in Wisconsin who mixed store milk with dried in order to stretch their food budget. I wouldn’t touch that mixture with a ten foot pole but the children in their family preferred it because it is all they have ever known.

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