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?

Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

Last night I went to a job interview and boy, was I surprised.  There were about sixteen other people there – and all of them were candidates for the very same job I wanted!

I’ve never done well in mass interviews under hot lights. I’m much more comfortable when all the attention is on me, and last night was no exception.

There were “gotcha” questions galore and the job seekers were spreading the nonsense pretty thick, using non-sequiturs to give non-detailed non-answers.

I, of course, told the complete and totally true truth every time a question came my way. But overall I was kind of embarrassed to be there.  And I think some of the others were feeling embarrassed too.  At least I saw embarrassment in their eyes whenever they looked in my direction.

And all of this was for a position that they’re not going to fill until more than a year from now.  Like I can wait that long to have paying work! Even though I’m incredibly, unbelievably rich, I’ve got a whole lot invested in the idea that I work really hard and anyone with half a brain would hire me in an instant.

But will anyone hire me 13 1/2 months from now? Hard to know.

Still, I really, really, really want this job.

Dr. Babooner, should I keep trying to win over the hiring committee, or cut and run?

On the border fence about it,
DT

I told DT he (she?) should stop worrying his pretty little head over what might happen and keep chasing the job. Speak out loudly and often, I say. Don’t hold anything back – tell us every thought you have, every time you have one, as soon as it occurs to you. Really, why would you live any other way?

But that’s just ONE opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?

So Fine A Saddle

Today’s post comes from Cynthia in Mahtowa

 

grandadIn the mid 1970s my grandfather, my father’s father, gave me his beloved saddle that he had bought in Montana in 1913. He was in Montana to work for his uncle who had homesteaded in the Judith Basin southeast of Great Falls. My grandfather had hoped to settle there as well, but he was engaged to my grandmother, who refused to move to Montana. So he brought his saddle, he had bought from an out-of-work cowboy, back to Minnesota. The saddle was custom-made by Hamley & Company, maker of “the finest saddles man could ride.” No matter where he lived and farmed, my grandfather had horses and his saddle.

number_stampRecently, I researched the saddle. Hamley & Company is still a thriving business in Pendleton, Oregon. An identifying number is stamped on the back of the cantle, and the saddle also bears the imprint of a lost brass plate that had indicated who it was built for and by whom. With this information, I asked Hamley to search their records. They were kind and helpful, but unfortunately all records prior to 1918 had burned in a fire. They could, however, confirm by the number that it was built in or about 1913.

Mack_PattersonAttached to the back of the saddle cantle, a leather bag with a metal plate is engraved with the name, “Mack Patterson.” Mack is likely the cowboy who sold the saddle to my grandfather. Doing research on Mack, I found his draft registration from Bozeman, Montana in 1917. He died in 1944 in South Carolina, where he was born. I wonder if he ever had so fine a saddle again.On_horseback

Saddle_drawing

For one of my grandfather’s birthdays in the late 1970s (he was born in 1891 and lived to 91), I gave him my ink drawing of his saddle.

What family heirloom do you treasure?

Peeing in the Gladstone Cemetery

Today’s post comes from Renee in North Dakota

My husband occupied the office next to mine for 10 years. It was nice to be so close and to have someone to talk to. I hit the jackpot, though, when they moved my coworker, Janelle, into husband’s office after he retired. She is a Developmental Disabilities Program Manager and is a few years younger than I am. Our children are about the same ages. Her job involves making certain that people with developmental disabilities get the services they need, and that their service providers get paid. She is a local, and grew up with six older brothers on a farm between Gladstone and Lefor, both pretty small communities about 10 miles from Dickinson noted for their German-Russian and German-Hungarian settlers. She has a very loud giggle, and she giggles and laughs most of the time. She is very energetic, despite having MS and a heart condition. I believe she has ADHD. She is also one of the funniest and most irreverent and foul mouthed persons I know. Everyone in her family calls her Toots.

Janelle has a way of noticing the comic and absurd all around her and is a great story teller. She is also very good at imitating the German patois of her neighbors and older relatives  (“Ya, that Jakey Frank died. He just woke up dead one morning”.)   Her mother (aka Crabby Lavonne) is in the nursing home, and the other day she was visiting her mom when her Aunt Rose, also a resident, came charging down the hallway, waving her cane around. Aunt Rose exclaimed “I am DEEsgusted”. “Why Aunt Rose, what is the matter?” “Dos dem kids anyway (the PT’s and OT’s). They eggspect me to jump around. I am too olt for dat!” Janelle then asked her aunt if she wanted to sit down. Janelle’s mom then piped in and said to her “You dumb ass! Don’t you know that when Rose is DEEsgustetd she doesn’t want any help”.

A few days ago Janelle and her husband were driving around out in the country near Gladstone looking at some land to buy, when she found that she had to pee. She asked her husband to drive up a fairly deserted road to a place she knew where she could relieve herself and no one could see. To her dismay, she found that someone had put a mobile home up on the very spot, They were near the Catholic Cemetery, so she asked her husband to drive there. She did her business, and walked the dog around and visited all the family graves, leaving only two small tissues as evidence for what she had done.

Later that night, someone went to the cemetery and vandalized head stones with hammers and knocked over other head stones. Janelle was both horrified and delighted, horrified at the damage and delighted  by the fact that she had left tons of DNA for the police to find and pin the vandalism on her. She is friends with several police officers and I am sure they are all going to hear her “confession”. I told her I would start baking pans of Scotcheroos to sell to raise money to bail her out of jail..

Janelle is a day brightener for me. I just wish I could convey better her essence, her bounce, and her liveliness.

What happened when you couldn’t hold it any longer?

Ice Virus Soup

A French research team plans to wake up an ancient virus to study its genetic structure.

This comes as a huge surprise to me.  I’m a cable-connected-American, so the only French people I ever see are on the Food Channel, fighting over condiments.

I had no idea they could be scientists too!

But why would such a person try to revive a virus embedded in a cake of ice?

Only one reason I can think of – glacial ice is a surprise ingredient, thrown in at the last minute to heighten the souffle’ challenge! Leave it to the crafty French to know the secret – bring out the hidden viral flavors and this frosty addition to an ordinary recipe will be a memory-maker.

And (maybe) a killer!

I commissioned Trail Baboon poet laureate Tyler Schuyler Wyler to respond to this story with a few lines of simplistic verse, and although he thought his inept rhymes might sicken a few unsuspecting readers, he did it anyway – because there was money involved.

 

One wonders – What forgotten woes
reside inside what once was froze?
Old viruses, encased in ices!
Are they strong, like southern spices?

Let’s research it! Here’s the deal –
I will dump some on your meal
and then take notes as you complain
about the fever in your brain!

Science is a lot like cooking.
Tasting, testing, always looking
for the flavor of the day.
inside a pathogen souffle!

That’s the foodie’s fondest wish
uncover some forgotten dish
of which we all are unaware
and dress it up as modern fare –

Like Hepatitis Cassoulet
and Dengue Fever au Flambe’
Chicken in a Herpes Glaze
with fresh Ebola Bouillabaisse.

Mononucleosis Stew
and Influenza Dip au jus,
Spicy Cowpox over rice.
with Meningitis Torte sounds nice.

Steaming viral soup selections.
Tasty, trendy mass infections
locked in ice. Forgotten. Dated.
Soon you’ll see them nicely plated!

What food makes you sick?

Mr. Distractible

Today’s post comes from tim

Driving by Lake Nokomis on Thursday morning the crew was out with the truck with the lift in the bucket on the back to hold the chainsaw guy to take down the 40 foot tall Elm tree with the disease.

I was wondering before we got there why there was such a big traffic back up. when I got there I realized everyone has to watch guys cut trees down a little bit. past that was a crew of another 10 workers who were digging a hole to get up some water pipes beneath the sidewalk. the hole was 15 feet long and 10 feet wide and 6 feet deep and traffic going the opposite way was slowing down to watch the guys dig.

I was reminded of leave it to beaver where Larry and the beeve would get distracted on their way to school stop and watch guys dig a hole or wait for people to come out of the manhole cover.

I feel that way when I’m watching guys set up amplifiers and drum sets on stage at a concert. where I should be looking towards the musical guest I get distracted and focus on other tasks.

I think it’s interesting when human instinct takes over and you get to see what can only be described as natural behavior kick in and override all of the polished growth and adult posturing we all do.

What ordinary sight transfixes you?

The Cruise

Today’s post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

The final part of our trip to France in the spring of this year was an 8-day Viking River Cruise. (I am saving the 2nd leg of the trip for Veterans’ Day.) Imagine our delightful anticipation, having seen all of Viking’s TV ads showing the glorious scenery and culture that is yours while on board this vessel. We were to meet the cruise ship at Avignon in southern Provence – a wonderful place by any measure.

The cruise went like this:

Because of high waters on the Rhone R. (early snow melt on top of ample rains); authorities wouldn’t let cruise ships travel under the bridges, and our cruise ship was unable to GET to us in Avignon. Viking put us up for the first two nights at Hotel Novetel; there was a lot of complaining from previous cruisers about the hotel’s food, a mere shadow of what we would finally experience on Viking. We were able to do our walking tours of Avignon and Arles – we traveled by bus instead of boat to Arles the second day.

We were, on Day 3, bussed to our stranded ship in Vienne, where we got to unpack in our cabins, and started to at least experience the luxury of the cruise ship, even if it was stationary. They did allow us to cruise upriver on Day 5, from Vienne to Lyon – we were ecstatic, but learned the following morning that we were stranded again, this time in Lyon.

Cruising was wonderful for the four hours we got to do it. Food, drink, and life on the boat were fabulous, and we met some great people. We did see almost all the other scheduled sights by bussing from either Vienne or Lyon.

But lots of riding on busses. Hmmmmm.

Tours and sights:   Palace of the Popes in Avignon (plus a lot of wandering on our own, since we were there a day and a half on our own). Arles – Van Gogh territory and a Roman Amphitheater. A winery or two, Vieux (Old) Lyon, and they’re not kidding about the Vieux… 15th century homes, and traboules (detailed in my July 15 post). In Beaune, we got to see the original Hotel Dieu, which I will write about some other time.

When have you spent too long on a bus?

The Mystery of S.A.L.T.

Today’s post comes from Barbara in Robbindsale.

A couple of weeks ago in mid-August, I noticed something on our kitchen wall calendar penciled in on Wednesday morning, “SALT.” It is in my writing, and is apparently an acronym for something I wanted to attend. On checking further, it also appears in mid-September, mid-October, November, and December. I have been racking my brain, and I have NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS. I’ve hunted through the various little “rat-piles” that lie around the house for leaflets announcing various events. I’ve looked through old emails and through my list of “Favorites”.  And I finally entered S.A.L.T. into my search engine to see if something rang a bell. Here’s most of what showed up:

  • Salina
  • Speech Application Language Tags
  • State and Local Taxation
  • Strategic Arms Limitation(s) Talks/Treaty
  • Short and Long Term
  • spending a lot of time
  • Serum Alanine Aminotransferase
  • Salt and Light Television
  • Southern African Large Telescope
  • Supporting Arms Liaison Team
  • Sloping Agricultural Land Technology
  • Special Altimeter
  • Society for Applied Learning Technology
  • Subscriber Access Line Terminal
  • Save A Life Today
  • Skin-Associated Lymphoid Tissue
  • Same As Last Time
  • Seminars About Long-term Thinking
  • Seminars About Long Term
  • Society of American Law Teachers
  • Sloping Agriculture Land Technology
  • Student Action Leadership Team
  • Scottish Association for Language Teaching
  • Society for Accelerative Learning and Teaching
  • Systematic Analysis of Language Transcripts
  • Subscriber’s Apparatus Line Tester

Although some are interesting, none of these seems be what I was thinking of attending, but it’s kind of refreshing to know they exist.

I’m pretty sure it’s nothing urgent, or I would have remembered it!

What’s been the most crucial thing you completely forgot?

Parlor Tricks

Header photo by Carfax2 (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Today’s post comes from Madislandgirl

There has been much talk here lately about practical skills and gardening prowess.

I’d like to pause a bit from all that Midwestern utilitarianism and make note that I have recently achieved a goal I have been working on for years.

Yes indeed my friends, I can now tell you in order the entire line-up of the English/British monarchy from William the Conqueror (or Bastard, depending on how you feel about him) to the current reigning monarch. In fact, I will go so far as to claim I can also tell you pretty much what their relationship to the previous monarch was.

I’m no good at rote memorization, in fact, I balk at it. But give me enough time to read enough historical fiction and biographies, and I have this line-up well in hand.

The recent airing of Keepers by Request reminded me of two other projects of equal utility I have been working on for some time now.

A) I can do a fairly creditable rendition of the chorus of All I Want is a Proper Cup of Coffee, at speed, at least in the car by myself, but I’m almost ready to go public with that one.

2) I’m still working on counting the 18 Wheels on a Big Rig in Roman Numerals. Hopefully I have that mastered before my child graduates from high school (so I’d best get cracking- I hang up around I-X, X, X-I, so I figure I am halfway there).   You can see how it’s really done here:

Do you have an utterly pointless skill you are working on for the sheer joy of it?

Tomato-zilla 2

Today’s post is from Renee in ND

Well, as I promised, here are my photos of our tomatoes, plants and fruits. You can see that the plants are as tall as I am. They are ripening quickly, and I think I will be up really late the next few nights canning and making tomato sauce. So there, Sherrilee!

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We planted 16 tomato plants this year-far more than any couple with grown children who live hundreds
of miles away should ever plant. 8 Brandyboys and 8 San Marzano II’s. Husband likes to roast and then freeze the San Marzanos. Daughter has a particular tomato sauce that she likes me to make and freeze.

The two largest tomatoes in the photo each weigh over a pound. I have lots more, just as large, ripening as we speak. I am a quietly competitive person. I want to win, but I rarely admit it. I wrecked my right foot in a 2k run-walk several years ago because I was determined that I would reach the finish line before the heavily pregnant marathon runner. I had bad shoes and pushed myself and now I have a large bunion on my right foot that gives me twinges at times.

I want to grow the most and the biggest tomatoes. It was nice to see the variety of tomatoes that Sherrilee grew, though, and maybe I need to rethink my priorities. Maybe I need to grow unusual tomatoes. Hmm? We’ll see.

At what do you have to win?