What is the most distant holiday greeting you have received? We were surprised to find this card all the way from Shenzhen, China, in our mail box today. It is to Lily and our family, from the orphanage where she lived.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
distant greetings
What is the most distant holiday greeting you have received? We were surprised to find this card all the way from Shenzhen, China, in our mail box today. It is to Lily and our family, from the orphanage where she lived.
You used up ALL the glue...
Some have inquired as to the verdict on whether I can obtain and/or display a leg lamp in my home. It's not looking real good for "...electric sex, gleaming in the window". If anything, the post probably strengthened Jen's stance. It seems like the consensus is that it would be funny... in MY window, but not yours! Jen actually admitted that it would be funny... in YOUR window, but not hers! So, I still don't get it; if it's funny in another window, why is it not funny in mine? I'll keep working on it. There's always next year...
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Fra-gee-lay... must be Italian!
Are you familiar with the movie, A Christmas Story? If not, it is the one in which the main character, Ralphie, wants a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas, but his mom says "you'll shoot your eye out". In the movie, Ralphie's old man (I don't like the term, but it's used in the movie) wins a "major award", which turns out to be this leg lamp. To the chagrin of Ralphie's mom, the old man proudly displays it in the front window of the family home. 
Here is a photo of the front of our 1920's vintage home. Here's the dilemma: Although it doesn't look exactly like Ralphie's home, it is from the same era. I say the front living room window is the perfect place to display a replica of the old man's leg lamp. I think it would be a hoot! I want one for Christmas. Jen says, "no way"! I say, "you have no sense of humor". She says, "that's not humor, it's tacky". I say, "that's the point... that's what makes it humorous"!
In all fairness, I must tell you that this living room has never been inhabited since we have owned the home. It is the part of the home that I am renovating, and I am WAY behind schedule. We use a family room addition off the back as our current living room. I am very close to having it to the point that I can wire, insulate and drywall this area, and Jen longs for it to be finished and the Christmas tree displayed in the front window. And, she deserves that... at least for a few years... but, then would it be funny to put a leg lamp in the window? She still says, "absolutely not"! Any opinions?
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Andy
"Dang, Pearl, let's go home." The story of Pearl is not complete, without introducing you to Andy, my maternal Grandpa. At first glance, he might have easily been stereotyped as a typical crotchety old man. But, there was much more below that exterior.
Grandpa was mostly an introverted home-body, who's nerves were easily "jangled", as evidenced by the opening quote. There were times, though, when he would come out of his introverted shell and could be quite a ham. In fact, Andy was not his real name. Years before I ever knew him, he and his brother acted out an Amos and Andy vaudeville act. While nobody ever remembered his brother as Amos, the name "Andy" stuck to my Grandpa for life. It must have been some performance!
Grandpa drove a used, turquoise, American Rambler, with his hands on the wheel at eleven and one o'clock and his thumbs meeting at noon, rarely over 40 MPH, and often with the driver's window cracked to let his pipe smoke escape. I don't think he ever left the state in which he was born, and if he did, it was only as far as one neighboring state. One of my favorite Grandpa memories occurred in this American Rambler during one of the summer weeks my brother and I stayed with them. The four of us rode to "town" (about 20 miles) for groceries. As we drove into an intersection with a stop light, a bright red pickup met us from the opposite direction. My Grandma, making conversation, remarked (about the truck), "that's red". My Grandpa, not noticing the truck and thinking she was talking about the stop light, immediately stopped in the intersection, to verify the color of the light. As horns honked and my brother and I giggled in the back seat, Grandma and Grandpa had a VERY quick discussion of trucks and lights, and Grandpa sheepishly eased the Rambler through the intersection. Once his nerves settled down, I think he found the situation amusing. Several times throughout the day, he would look at my brother and I and say, with his gold tooth twinkling, "well, she said it was red!"
Grandpa couldn't read a note of music, but he played the fiddle by ear. My cousins and I loved listening to him play, and we would often pester him to get the fiddle out. He would pretend like he didn't want to, but I think he just enjoyed being coaxed. After several refusals, we would lay off asking him, only to shortly hear the familiar "ting, ting, ting" as he checked the strings. He would then commence to play Turkey in the Straw, Ragtime Annie, or a number of other fiddle tunes. Grandpa's brother played the banjo and his sister-in-law played the accordion, also both by ear. Occasionally, on summer evenings, they would visit and sit around telling old stories and playing music in the backyard for hours. Great memories.
I never remember Grandpa cussing... unless the words, "dang!", "fiddlesticks!", and " ahh, horse manure!" count.
Grandpa was a creature of habit. He always carried a pocket knife. He always ate corn flakes for breakfast, crunching them up to get more in his bowl. He always had to have bread and butter at meals, often dunking it in his coffee. Grandpa was most often found in his worn chair beside the Warm Morning stove, with one leg up over the overstuffed arm, and the coal bucket handy for emptying his pipe ashes. If not there, he may be on the "davenport" with one leg up on the back. Both postures were known as the "Andy Gump Slump".
Sometimes the smallest things make the best memories, and I will close with two such memories. My grandparents bedroom was very large. It had an extra bed that my brother and I usually used when we stayed at their house. Grandma was always up early, but Grandpa would stay in bed much later, usually long after he was awake, occasionally talking to nobody in particular. (I know, people who talk to themselves are sometimes suspect, but it wasn't weird, it was just Grandpa... and besides, we all talk to ourselves sometimes, right? I mean, I do... what? ...WHAT? You mean NOT everyone talks to themselves?) Anyway, most of the time it was just nonsense stuff, some of which I found amusing. The one thing my brother and I still have not forgotten is the morning he was lying in bed , and out of the blue said, "he said his name was Oodle-Doodle... but it didn't start a big fight!" I'm now forty, but my brother and I still say that and laugh! When Grandpa got up, he would never verbally say "good morning". He would hold up one index finger and wait for you to return the greeting. I still do this to my kids and they return the greeting. Sometimes we pass on the oddest things!
Grandpa was mostly an introverted home-body, who's nerves were easily "jangled", as evidenced by the opening quote. There were times, though, when he would come out of his introverted shell and could be quite a ham. In fact, Andy was not his real name. Years before I ever knew him, he and his brother acted out an Amos and Andy vaudeville act. While nobody ever remembered his brother as Amos, the name "Andy" stuck to my Grandpa for life. It must have been some performance!
Grandpa drove a used, turquoise, American Rambler, with his hands on the wheel at eleven and one o'clock and his thumbs meeting at noon, rarely over 40 MPH, and often with the driver's window cracked to let his pipe smoke escape. I don't think he ever left the state in which he was born, and if he did, it was only as far as one neighboring state. One of my favorite Grandpa memories occurred in this American Rambler during one of the summer weeks my brother and I stayed with them. The four of us rode to "town" (about 20 miles) for groceries. As we drove into an intersection with a stop light, a bright red pickup met us from the opposite direction. My Grandma, making conversation, remarked (about the truck), "that's red". My Grandpa, not noticing the truck and thinking she was talking about the stop light, immediately stopped in the intersection, to verify the color of the light. As horns honked and my brother and I giggled in the back seat, Grandma and Grandpa had a VERY quick discussion of trucks and lights, and Grandpa sheepishly eased the Rambler through the intersection. Once his nerves settled down, I think he found the situation amusing. Several times throughout the day, he would look at my brother and I and say, with his gold tooth twinkling, "well, she said it was red!"
Grandpa couldn't read a note of music, but he played the fiddle by ear. My cousins and I loved listening to him play, and we would often pester him to get the fiddle out. He would pretend like he didn't want to, but I think he just enjoyed being coaxed. After several refusals, we would lay off asking him, only to shortly hear the familiar "ting, ting, ting" as he checked the strings. He would then commence to play Turkey in the Straw, Ragtime Annie, or a number of other fiddle tunes. Grandpa's brother played the banjo and his sister-in-law played the accordion, also both by ear. Occasionally, on summer evenings, they would visit and sit around telling old stories and playing music in the backyard for hours. Great memories.
I never remember Grandpa cussing... unless the words, "dang!", "fiddlesticks!", and " ahh, horse manure!" count.
Grandpa was a creature of habit. He always carried a pocket knife. He always ate corn flakes for breakfast, crunching them up to get more in his bowl. He always had to have bread and butter at meals, often dunking it in his coffee. Grandpa was most often found in his worn chair beside the Warm Morning stove, with one leg up over the overstuffed arm, and the coal bucket handy for emptying his pipe ashes. If not there, he may be on the "davenport" with one leg up on the back. Both postures were known as the "Andy Gump Slump".
Sometimes the smallest things make the best memories, and I will close with two such memories. My grandparents bedroom was very large. It had an extra bed that my brother and I usually used when we stayed at their house. Grandma was always up early, but Grandpa would stay in bed much later, usually long after he was awake, occasionally talking to nobody in particular. (I know, people who talk to themselves are sometimes suspect, but it wasn't weird, it was just Grandpa... and besides, we all talk to ourselves sometimes, right? I mean, I do... what? ...WHAT? You mean NOT everyone talks to themselves?) Anyway, most of the time it was just nonsense stuff, some of which I found amusing. The one thing my brother and I still have not forgotten is the morning he was lying in bed , and out of the blue said, "he said his name was Oodle-Doodle... but it didn't start a big fight!" I'm now forty, but my brother and I still say that and laugh! When Grandpa got up, he would never verbally say "good morning". He would hold up one index finger and wait for you to return the greeting. I still do this to my kids and they return the greeting. Sometimes we pass on the oddest things!
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Pearl
"I'm dreaming tonight, of a place I love, even more than I usually do..." I had a nostalgic moment this evening that prompted me to write this post that I have contemplated for a while. The opening quote is the intro line to I'll be Home for Christmas. It seemed an appropriate way to begin, since reading this post is likely to have the same effect for my Mom as hearing that song often has... tears.
This evening, I was working in the side of the house that I am renovating (the remodeling area is separated from our current living area). It was just prior to dusk, there was a new snow falling outside, everything was freshly coated in a blanket of white, and I was listening to a radio station that plays all Christmas music. And, that's when it hit me... the smell of chili. My wife was making chili for dinner, and as the smell wafted over to my side of the house, I was suddenly flooded with memories of my Grandma. I stopped working for a few minutes, and as I stood and watched the snow fall outside, it hit me hard just how much I still, at times, miss her, even though many of these memories are over 25 years old. So, for sake of my own nostalgia, let me introduce you to Pearl, my maternal Grandma.
My grandparents lived about 100 miles from our house, in a very small town in a rural area. I don't know that you could call it a town, really. It was identified by a dot and a name on most road atlases, but it was really just a cluster of 25 or 30 homes, a church, and a general store along a single road, nestled in a valley with a creek flowing through it. And, it used to be one of my favorite places on earth.
We visited my grandparents about once a month. We would leave as soon as Dad got off work on Friday and drive the two hours. Grandma never knew exactly when we would arrive, so on many of these Friday evenings, she kept a big pot of chili simmering on the stove for our arrival. It was especially comforting on a cold night to walk in to hugs and warm chili. This explains why tonight's smell of chili triggered the memories. We would usually stay the weekend and leave sometime Sunday, after we went to church with them.
At first glance, many might use words like humble, modest, meager, or even poor to describe the life of my Grandma. I never really noticed, though. True, she didn't have much in a material sense, but I don't ever remember hearing her complain, and I think she lived a richer life than many who have much more.
My Grandparents lived in an older two-story house, built without central heat or indoor plumbing. Well, I guess it did have central heat... the house was heated by a big, brown, Warm Morning coal and wood stove in the center of the living room. Grandma would rise early, before everyone, and read the Bible, or write, in her chair by the stove, while she stoked the fire to heat the house for others to wake. And, in later years, the house had some indoor plumbing. My Dad plumbed the water from the pump in the cellar to a small hot water heater and a kitchen sink he installed for them, so they could stop carrying water in buckets from the cellar. But that was the extent of it... no bathtub, no shower, and yes, they used an outhouse... even on cold days!
My Grandma loved family. She loved our visits. And, she loved cookouts and holidays. On many summer Saturday evenings, she pulled a very basic turquoise-colored charcoal grill out of the shed for a backyard cookout. I mostly remember hot dogs, beans, potato salad, cucumbers in vinegar, tomato slices, red cool-aid, and red jello with bananas; with cousins playing hide-and-seek or Marco Polo in the big backyard until the skeeters started biting. Thanksgiving dinner always found the adults crowded around the table in the kitchen, the cousins at the "kids table" in the living room, a big platter of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, and noodles.
But, there was always something special about this time of year for me. I loved to go to Grandma's house for Christmas. Her decorations would not be featured on HGTV, but I wish I had some of them now. I remember an inexpensive plastic sign that consisted of the outline of the words "Merry Christmas" in scrolling red letters. It always hung in the front door window. It had been cracked and repaired with scotch tape... but it was always there. I remember bubble lights on the tree. To this day, I LOVE bubble lights and I bought some a few years ago for my tree. And, I remember when Grandma switched from a real tree to an artificial one. The first time she put it together, there were a few extra limbs in the box. Grandma tied the extra limbs into the tree with string (every year), "to make it look more real". Even as a child, it was never really about the presents at Grandma's house. Oh, there were always presents, but they were usually practical, and nothing extravagant or expensive. It's hard to put a finger on it, but it was more about the feeling of being there. I guess Christmas seemed more real at Grandma's house, because it was more about love than gifts.
For many years, my brother and I had the privilege of spending a whole week of summer vacation at my grandparents house. I always got homesick a few hours after my parents dropped us off, but it didn't last long, and I wouldn't trade those memories for anything. My Grandma loved to take walks, but Grandpa would never go with her. We took a walk nearly every evening during those weeks. We would walk to either end of town, where the road crossed the creek, and throw stones and tree limb "boats" in the creek. Once we walked pretty far into the country on a gravel road and an Amish man offered us a ride in his buggy. Grandma politely refused his offer. When he was out of earshot, my brother and I asked her why she turned down a rare opportunity for us all to ride in an Amish buggy, and she reminded us that "you shouldn't ride with strangers"... to which we responded, "but he was Amish".
Finally, the thought that I originally pondered for this blog is the fact that if Grandma were alive today, I think she would have been a blogger. Many of our modern conveniences, like personal computers and the Internet, would have seemed like science fiction to her. But, she would have loved e-mail and blogging. My Mom and my Grandma wrote letters (snail mail) to each other once a week, faithfully, until Grandma's health failed. My Grandma also wrote her "items" every week. She had a job with the newspaper in the small town about 20 miles away. The paper featured her brief column about events that happened in her even smaller town. I don't want to go so far as to say Grandma was nosey, but I have fond memories of Grandma hanging out the front door, holding the door mostly shut behind her with her foot hooked around it so it didn't let in as much cold for Grandpa to grumble about, and looking up or down the street to see what was going on. Not nosey... just being a good reporter! Grandma submitted her items to the paper and she received a complementary subscription to the paper as compensation. I think her items were the forerunner of modern day blogs, but the word "blog" didn't even exist! I often think of her when I peek through a tilted slat on the miniblinds, to see what's happening outside.
I used to drive by their house to reminisce. I quit doing this several years ago. It was too painful. I'm not sure if it still stands today, but the last time I drove by, it had been neglected and was in severe disrepair, along with much of the town. I think, perhaps, the house was condemned. Although the house is a mere shell without my grandparents there, it holds many fond memories for me. Though it was once among my favorite places on earth, I drove out the lower end of town that day, and vowed I would never return. It would have to suffice to return there in my memories, and that is just what I did on this cold evening in December, with snow and chili in the air.
This evening, I was working in the side of the house that I am renovating (the remodeling area is separated from our current living area). It was just prior to dusk, there was a new snow falling outside, everything was freshly coated in a blanket of white, and I was listening to a radio station that plays all Christmas music. And, that's when it hit me... the smell of chili. My wife was making chili for dinner, and as the smell wafted over to my side of the house, I was suddenly flooded with memories of my Grandma. I stopped working for a few minutes, and as I stood and watched the snow fall outside, it hit me hard just how much I still, at times, miss her, even though many of these memories are over 25 years old. So, for sake of my own nostalgia, let me introduce you to Pearl, my maternal Grandma.
My grandparents lived about 100 miles from our house, in a very small town in a rural area. I don't know that you could call it a town, really. It was identified by a dot and a name on most road atlases, but it was really just a cluster of 25 or 30 homes, a church, and a general store along a single road, nestled in a valley with a creek flowing through it. And, it used to be one of my favorite places on earth.
We visited my grandparents about once a month. We would leave as soon as Dad got off work on Friday and drive the two hours. Grandma never knew exactly when we would arrive, so on many of these Friday evenings, she kept a big pot of chili simmering on the stove for our arrival. It was especially comforting on a cold night to walk in to hugs and warm chili. This explains why tonight's smell of chili triggered the memories. We would usually stay the weekend and leave sometime Sunday, after we went to church with them.
At first glance, many might use words like humble, modest, meager, or even poor to describe the life of my Grandma. I never really noticed, though. True, she didn't have much in a material sense, but I don't ever remember hearing her complain, and I think she lived a richer life than many who have much more.
My Grandparents lived in an older two-story house, built without central heat or indoor plumbing. Well, I guess it did have central heat... the house was heated by a big, brown, Warm Morning coal and wood stove in the center of the living room. Grandma would rise early, before everyone, and read the Bible, or write, in her chair by the stove, while she stoked the fire to heat the house for others to wake. And, in later years, the house had some indoor plumbing. My Dad plumbed the water from the pump in the cellar to a small hot water heater and a kitchen sink he installed for them, so they could stop carrying water in buckets from the cellar. But that was the extent of it... no bathtub, no shower, and yes, they used an outhouse... even on cold days!
My Grandma loved family. She loved our visits. And, she loved cookouts and holidays. On many summer Saturday evenings, she pulled a very basic turquoise-colored charcoal grill out of the shed for a backyard cookout. I mostly remember hot dogs, beans, potato salad, cucumbers in vinegar, tomato slices, red cool-aid, and red jello with bananas; with cousins playing hide-and-seek or Marco Polo in the big backyard until the skeeters started biting. Thanksgiving dinner always found the adults crowded around the table in the kitchen, the cousins at the "kids table" in the living room, a big platter of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, and noodles.
But, there was always something special about this time of year for me. I loved to go to Grandma's house for Christmas. Her decorations would not be featured on HGTV, but I wish I had some of them now. I remember an inexpensive plastic sign that consisted of the outline of the words "Merry Christmas" in scrolling red letters. It always hung in the front door window. It had been cracked and repaired with scotch tape... but it was always there. I remember bubble lights on the tree. To this day, I LOVE bubble lights and I bought some a few years ago for my tree. And, I remember when Grandma switched from a real tree to an artificial one. The first time she put it together, there were a few extra limbs in the box. Grandma tied the extra limbs into the tree with string (every year), "to make it look more real". Even as a child, it was never really about the presents at Grandma's house. Oh, there were always presents, but they were usually practical, and nothing extravagant or expensive. It's hard to put a finger on it, but it was more about the feeling of being there. I guess Christmas seemed more real at Grandma's house, because it was more about love than gifts.
For many years, my brother and I had the privilege of spending a whole week of summer vacation at my grandparents house. I always got homesick a few hours after my parents dropped us off, but it didn't last long, and I wouldn't trade those memories for anything. My Grandma loved to take walks, but Grandpa would never go with her. We took a walk nearly every evening during those weeks. We would walk to either end of town, where the road crossed the creek, and throw stones and tree limb "boats" in the creek. Once we walked pretty far into the country on a gravel road and an Amish man offered us a ride in his buggy. Grandma politely refused his offer. When he was out of earshot, my brother and I asked her why she turned down a rare opportunity for us all to ride in an Amish buggy, and she reminded us that "you shouldn't ride with strangers"... to which we responded, "but he was Amish".
Finally, the thought that I originally pondered for this blog is the fact that if Grandma were alive today, I think she would have been a blogger. Many of our modern conveniences, like personal computers and the Internet, would have seemed like science fiction to her. But, she would have loved e-mail and blogging. My Mom and my Grandma wrote letters (snail mail) to each other once a week, faithfully, until Grandma's health failed. My Grandma also wrote her "items" every week. She had a job with the newspaper in the small town about 20 miles away. The paper featured her brief column about events that happened in her even smaller town. I don't want to go so far as to say Grandma was nosey, but I have fond memories of Grandma hanging out the front door, holding the door mostly shut behind her with her foot hooked around it so it didn't let in as much cold for Grandpa to grumble about, and looking up or down the street to see what was going on. Not nosey... just being a good reporter! Grandma submitted her items to the paper and she received a complementary subscription to the paper as compensation. I think her items were the forerunner of modern day blogs, but the word "blog" didn't even exist! I often think of her when I peek through a tilted slat on the miniblinds, to see what's happening outside.
I used to drive by their house to reminisce. I quit doing this several years ago. It was too painful. I'm not sure if it still stands today, but the last time I drove by, it had been neglected and was in severe disrepair, along with much of the town. I think, perhaps, the house was condemned. Although the house is a mere shell without my grandparents there, it holds many fond memories for me. Though it was once among my favorite places on earth, I drove out the lower end of town that day, and vowed I would never return. It would have to suffice to return there in my memories, and that is just what I did on this cold evening in December, with snow and chili in the air.
"spication"
Jen made chili for dinner this evening and she somehow messed up the spices... it was WAY too hot! It prompted a great quote (with a new word coined) by Dylan: "More water please, I'm going to die of spication!"
Friday, December 5, 2008
Yuoe Dood!
Zachary drew this picture yesterday, using the Paint program on the computer. I have never been able to draw ANYTHING with Paint, but Zachary enjoys using it. Zachary is in first grade and he is encouraged to attempt to phonetically spell words, even if he is unsure of the correct spelling. I love reading some of my kids work that has creative spelling.
According to Zachary, this is his version of a "Yuoe Dood" (Yo Dude) car. What is a Yo Dude, you ask? In this usage, "Yo" is an adjective, describing a type of "Dude". I'm pretty sure Yo Dude, used this way, is an original term coined by either Dylan or Zachary... nobody really remembers who used it first. I'm also pretty sure it is exclusively used only by my family, but we have been using it for years, since it was first coined.
Yo Dude is a lifestyle or attitudinal term, and carries a distinctly negative connotation, but it is not rooted in prejudice. This is why I like the term so much. It was my very young children's reaction to a lifestyle characterized by disrespect and apathy, as evidenced by many children, youth, and young adults in America today (in my opinion). It has nothing whatsoever to do with race or socioeconomic status. Yo Dudes can be either sex, any race, rich or poor. It's not about any of that... it's about the attitude. I am trying to raise upstanding, respectful children, so the fact that they see this lifestyle as negative, while managing to maintain a "colored-blind" status, is a very positive thing, I think. I, therefore, love the term, "Yo Dude". I interviewed my kids and asked them, "what defines a Yo Dude?" Here is their answer:
According to Zachary, this is his version of a "Yuoe Dood" (Yo Dude) car. What is a Yo Dude, you ask? In this usage, "Yo" is an adjective, describing a type of "Dude". I'm pretty sure Yo Dude, used this way, is an original term coined by either Dylan or Zachary... nobody really remembers who used it first. I'm also pretty sure it is exclusively used only by my family, but we have been using it for years, since it was first coined.
Yo Dude is a lifestyle or attitudinal term, and carries a distinctly negative connotation, but it is not rooted in prejudice. This is why I like the term so much. It was my very young children's reaction to a lifestyle characterized by disrespect and apathy, as evidenced by many children, youth, and young adults in America today (in my opinion). It has nothing whatsoever to do with race or socioeconomic status. Yo Dudes can be either sex, any race, rich or poor. It's not about any of that... it's about the attitude. I am trying to raise upstanding, respectful children, so the fact that they see this lifestyle as negative, while managing to maintain a "colored-blind" status, is a very positive thing, I think. I, therefore, love the term, "Yo Dude". I interviewed my kids and asked them, "what defines a Yo Dude?" Here is their answer:
Zachary and Dylan: "A Yo Dude is someone who cusses, litters, plays on the little kids playground, writes graffiti, spits gum or sticks it on stuff, is disrespectful, steals, and ignores 'no trespassing' signs."
This is probably not an exhaustive definition, but you get the idea!
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