Category Archives: Stories

Chores and the Great Depression

Today’s post comes from Jacque.

I am the first to admit that my life growing up was, well, unusual. I came from thrifty, hardworking, somewhat eccentric people. My parents were the first people in their families to go to college and graduate with 4 year degrees. Mom and Dad grew up in the Great Depression on farms where their frugal parents survived by using things up, patching, repairing, and saving money. Every one pitched in to help with family chores. They passed this on in their parenting. We had chores. We saved money.

My siblings and I grew up bearing a lot of responsibility given our young ages. Mom worked outside the home as a teacher during a time when Mom’s usually stayed home to care for the family. Our Dad stayed home with us because his illness, Multiple Sclerosis limited his life.   This arrangement demanded that we all pitch in for the common good of our family. We helped with Dad’s care, with cooking, cleaning, and gardening.

Now, in our adulthood, my brother, sister and I gather and regale ourselves (and any one who will listen) with the tales of our growing up, our chores, our travel stories, and our family’s attempts to save a buck. We roar with laughter at our own stories.  Our kids, now grown-ups, too, are a bit tired of these stories.  So we always seek new victims to listen to them, like, say, Baboons!

This year for Mother’s Day, my brother, sister and I went out with our Mom, now 87 years old, for supper. We teased her a bit, which she loves.   We made 2 lists, reflecting our unusual life together: our chores and our family methods of stretching a penny.  Today you get List #1, Our Chores. Items 1-3 are pretty standard stuff. Item 4 starts to stretch the limits, of well, normal? Of reliving the Geat Depression

Our Chores

  1. Saturday mornings clean the house. I vacuumed, my sister dusted, my brother emptied the garbage and goofed off. NO CARTOONS. This really meant that the moment Mom went grocery shopping, we turned on the TV. Dad never told. My sister and I posted our brother at the window to watch for Mom’s car so we could turn it off in time to stay out of trouble. We cleaned AND watched cartoons.
  2. Set the table before a meal.
  3. Often we cooked the meal.
  4. Wash and dry dishes after each meal.
  5. Light dad’s pipe when requested. Knock the old ashes out, clean it with a pipe cleaner, refill.   Do not pack too hard or it won’t light easily, then the match will burn your finger.
  6. Make dad’s coffee in an old-fashioned stove top drip coffeemaker which loaded the grounds in the bottom of the upper part. We had to pour boiling hot water from the bottom carafe into the upper part which fed the hot water through the grounds back into the bottom carafe. I learned to do this at age 9. Pour the coffee. Put Dad’s straw in it and place it where he could drink it.
  7. When my diabetic Grandpa lived with us, it was my job to watch him for symptoms of insulin shock. If he showed symptoms, I ran to the refrigerator, poured a glass of orange juice and assisted him in getting it down his throat. (I was 9 years old at the time)
  8. Get dad his urinal, run it to the bathroom, empty it, rinse it, and flush.
  9. Gather food scraps and take them to compost pile.
  10. Operate washer and dryer. Fold clothes. “Sprinkle” clothes which would need ironing, then iron them.

This list looks like we were slackers compared to Mom’s list of childhood chores, which consisted of tasks such as milk cows, churn butter, clean out the barn, so it is all relative I guess. The Great Depression really did influence our experiences in the 1950’s and 60’s despite its long demise.

Did you re-experience the Great Depression in your childhood?

Steam & Stress

Header photo by Olaf Tausch

I actually found it quite troubling to learn that saunas protect middle-aged men against heart attacks.

Apparently the evidence is irrefutable. It’s at a climate-change level of certainty – the Finns have been right all along about their culture built around a box of heat. Regularly sweating in the sauna can, for a time, forestall the reaper.

As a man well into the prime heart-attack years, I am suddenly faced with a discouraging and stressful choice between going to sit in a stifling room for a time nearly every single day with a bunch of strangers – other drippy men in towels struggling to breathe the same super heated moist air – or an early death.

As Jack Benny replied when told by a mugger, “Your money or your life!”, the answer is … “I’m thinking.”

And for Trail Baboons this will immediately remind you of early Keillor – the strange saga of The Finn Who Would Not Sauna.

http://youtu.be/7wWX7uoFvHg

You can only choose one – excessive heat or painful cold. Which will it be?

Homer on the Run

Featured Image: “John William Waterhouse – Ulysses and the Sirens (1891)

Test time!

How much do you know about the Odyssey and the Iliad?

If you’re like me, the answer is – Nothing!  If you’d asked me yesterday to identify the author, I would have told you (after checking with Google), that it’s “Homer”.

But if you ask me today I might hedge, because Adam Nicolson, author of “Why Homer Matters“, says Homer is really a whole culture, not just one guy.

Which is strangely reassuring.

After all, the thought of a single person writing two timeless classics is inherently annoying to any writer who has taken pen to paper in an attempt to become known. It relieves some of the pressure to think the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey is actually a thousand-year parade of around-the-campfire spellbinders who memorized and refined tales that people wanted to hear.

But as a single individual, “Homer” may not have existed at all.

This casual dispatching of such a famous storyteller is completely in keeping with the contents of the Iliad, which is, after all, wholesale bloodshed. The story is a catalog of who impaled whom on the battlefield, and how the Gods were appeased by sacrifices that were flayed so their meaty thighbones could be cooked. Who knew someone would someday come along and flay the very idea of Homer himself?

Or as the author(s) might have said it:

“Adam sprang on Homer and took him alive as he was entangled in the crush; but he killed him then and there by a sword-blow on the neck. The sword reeked with his blood, while dark death and the strong hand of fate gripped him and closed his eyes.”

That’s it. No time to dally. So long, Homer, hello Oral Tradition!

I thought an epic poem should be written to mark the passage of this individual who probably never was, but of course I can’t write or recite an epic. I’ve tried and the result was excruciating for everyone involved.

The best I can do is come up with a bit of doggerel.

The guys who told the Iliad
were not much fun to know.

They’d memorized each stabbing
and each cutting, lethal blow.

They spat them out for listeners
who came to hear the gore.

An awful catalog of woe,
with spikes and blood and more.

Their plots had lots of detail

but their credits, a misnomer.

They were storytellers sure enough,
but not one guy named Homer.

How are you as a storyteller?