Fun Monday - Childhood Reverie

When I first saw this assignment at Return of the White Robin; "for your assignment, I would like you to describe a happy memory from your childhood. If possible, include pictures with your reminiscing. Perhaps, for some us remembering the past may bring back some unhappy times too. But, for today, let us remember the good times", I was immediately on board. I mean, how hard can it be to remember something happy, nice, warm and fuzzy from your childhood? Turns out it was harder than I thought. Shorty says that it's because my whole childhood was so "nice" that it all just blurs together. Maybe. The only memories that sprang to mind were not pleasant. Funny, some of them, but not happy. After all, how happy would you be if you were gullible enough to believe your brother when he told you that you could fly if you held on to the feather, ala Dumbo? Yep, walked right off the roof of that garage.

I had an average childhood for the time. I took swimming lessons, played tennis, had a couple of really close friends that I spent every day, all day with - bicycling, skateboarding, playing Barbies, etc. But I was also very fortunate. My parents had the foresight to build their house just 4 houses down from Deer Park. There was a long and winding road, a few picnic tables, a little creek, and a grade school (kindergarten through 6th). I went to kindergarten there but then went to the local Catholic school for the rest of my education.

But - on long and lazy weekends and on a whole lot of summer afternoons- my friends and I would gather up a couple of pillows, a few tons of comic books (raiding my girlfriend's brother's stash), some food and drink (raiding our parents' pantries) and go to the "park". We would ride our bikes up past the school and past the playing fields to where the trails started. This was delineated by a chain link fence. Next to the fence were trees, tons of glorious trees, all protected by poison ivy. We would climb up the fence to our favorite branch on our favorite tree, an old oak. We would haul the loot up and then stash our bikes out of sight.

We would spend the day there, nestled in the crotch of that hundreds of years old tree, reading and eating apples and sharing comic books and dreams and secrets. I miss that tree and my friends and the slow, lovely, easy pace of summers past.

Dark of the Moon

It was the "dark of the moon, on the 6th of June" many, many years ago when my ex-husband and I parted ways. I threw his sorry butt out of my house and remember that wonderful day every time I hear this song.

Ed Zachary

Ed Zachary


A woman was very distraught at the fact that she had not had a date or any sex in quite some time. She was afraid she might have something wrong with her, so she decided to seek the medical expertise of a sex therapist. Her doctor recommended that she see the well known Chinese sex therapist Dr. Chang. So she went to see him. Upon entering the examination room Dr. Chang said 'OK take off all your crose. ' The woman did a s she was told. 'Now get down and craw reery, reery fass to odderside of room.' Again the woman did as she was instructed. Dr. Chang then said 'OK, now craw reery, reery fass back to me.' So she did. Dr.Chang shook his head slowly and said 'Your probrem vewy bad. You haf Ed Zachary diease. Worse case I ever see. Dat why you not haf sex or dates.' Worried the woman asked anxiously 'Oh my God Dr.Chang what is Ed Zachary Disease ?' Dr. Chang sighed deeply and replied 'Ed Zachary Disease is when your face look Ed Zachary like your ass.'


My granddaughter-in-law sent me this joke in an email. It made me laugh out loud for more than one reason.


A. It's a funny joke.


B. Julie and I heard it so many years ago that this, the boy doll, of course, was
renamed "Ed Zachary". Made lil man's momma and me laugh every time he said it!

The Suckiest Christmas Ever

The Irish have “the troubles”. In our family, we have “the bad times.” There were a few years, ok, more than a few when all was not goodness and light.


One of those years, my oldest daughter was at boarding school and my youngest daughter was living with her grandparents in a different state. I took time off of work to drive to my ex-in-laws to deliver Twidge’s Christmas presents.

About 2 hours from home, on the lovely drive (it really was) through the snow-covered mountains, I noticed smoke coming from the engine compartment of my car. I pulled over, popped the hood, and voila! My car was on fire.

A very nice trucker (at great personal risk) stopped his rig, hopped out with his fire extinguisher, and tried to put out the flames. The police came, the fire department came, a lot of lookie-loos came and, when it was over, my car was totaled, the gifts were burned, and I was in shock.

The very nice (I am surrounded, at all times, by very nice people. I think it’s part of that whole “God protects fools and drunks” thing) highway patrolman did tell me to not just use the on-call tow service since then my car would be there - 2 hours from home. He suggested that I call my local tow service. It would be a longer wait but at least the car - or should I say car-cass - would end up at home. I took his suggestion and he stayed with me as long as he could, but he got another call.

So, there I was. December, lovely snow-covered mountain road, smelly hulk of a burned-out car, sitting on the side of the road waiting on a tow truck. To say that I was feeling sorry for myself, and for the Twidge, who was waiting for me without any way of knowing what had happened, is putting it mildly. I was sitting there, just sitting there when, apparently out of nowhere, a very nice man appeared. He had walked up from his residence down the side of the mountain to bring me a cup of coffee and to make sure that I was all right. Angels among us.

The tow truck arrived and they had a cell phone - this was back in the day, y’all. Cell phones were a rarity and generally possessed only by those people who needed them for their jobs. Mort, the tow truck driver, asked if I wanted to call my husband. I did. I called and told my sweetie that there had been a problem with the car. Yes, I am the Queen of Understatement. His response? “What did you do to it this time?”

Not our most pleasant holiday, trust me.

Christmas Baking

Lil man and I made fudge last night. I was gonna make Magic Cookie Bars but had no magic. I made chocolate fudge without nuts because one of my favorite little girls is allergic to nuts.



This reminded me of a story from long, long ago.


Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away there lived a mom with 2 little girls, 2 little jobs, and just enough money. It was Christmastime in the kingdom and the mom and the little girls were making candy to give as gifts to the babysitter (who was helping), the landlord, the mailman, etc.

We were making 2 kinds of candy at the time. Walnut Bourbon Balls and Unwalnut Bourbon Balls.

The littlest girl, 6 at the time, rolled one of the UBB into a perfect ball and placed it in the paper cup and said, “There, isn’t she pretty?”

I said, “Yes, it is, baby, but why is it a she?”

“No nuts, Mom.“

Traditions - Non-holiday

Sunday evening, after dinner (which I did NOT cook), my husband became ill. He blamed it on food poisoning.

Monday morning, my grandson's school called to tell me they had a sick child. I foreswore asking them, "Whose?" and went to pick up the lil man. He had a slight fever and a "tummy ache."

My daughter, who works nights, was sleeping so I brought the munchkin to my house.

We got home and I sent him to change into his jammies and get into bed. It is tradition, in my house and in my daughter's, that if you come home sick from school, you go to bed. You do not watch TV or play games or bake cookies. You are sick.

It was almost lunchtime and lil man said he was hungry. I decided to make him - you guessed it - chicken soup

.

Normally, when I make chicken soup from scratch, this is the recipe I use.

When my husband makes chicken soup, this is the recipe he uses.

When there is a sicko involved, this is the soup I make.

It is the soup my mom used to make when we were sick and the soup I made for my kids when they were sick. We only got it when we were sick. Period. I don't know why. I just know.

Now, if there is a sore throat involved, or (insert your own word for vomitting, yakking, puking, etc.) involved, Mom gave us this.

We did not get the sugar free variety (I couldn't find the right picture) and we usually got strawberry. We got it warm. Yep, warm jello. It slid down without hurting and well, you just can't beat technicolor puke. Once again, we only got this when were sick. Period. I don't know why. I just know.

And last but not least - for colds:

Mom would rub it on our chests and then give us one of Dad's white cotton (J.C.Penney pima cotton) T-shirts to wear to bed.

She would also smear it under our noses and occasionally stick it up a nostril. Sometimes, even though she was a nurse and I am sure that she loved us, she would roll some into a little ball and have us swallow it! Do not do this at home. It specifically says not to do this at home.

The smell of Vick's still makes me feel loved when I am sick, though.

So there you have it - winter supplies for the sickroom at my house. Lipton's chicken soup, warm jello, Vick's VapoRub, and an extra large man's white cotton T-shirt.

UPDATE

Little man, this afternoon, asked if he could have "sick noodle soup" even when he's not sick. I think a new name for Lipton's has been born.

Sherbet Glasses

My mom and I had a falling out about 22 years ago. She is 90 years old now and I have reconciled myself to the fact that we will most likely not make it up before she dies. I am not whining and this is not going to turn in to a 'poor little me' blog. I was just providing some background.

When my dad died, Mom sold the house they had lived in for the 59 years after they built it, packed up a ton of stuff, sold some stuff, donated some stuff and moved to a different state near my oldest sister. When she sold the house, she asked my daughter if there was anything she wanted. My daughter couldn't think of anything, although she later regretted not asking for the "button box". My mom, having lived through the Depression and WWII, never threw out a shirt or dress without first carefully cutting off the buttons, salvaging the less worn pieces for a quilt top, revamping the clothing for one of us kids, or relegating it to the "rag bag." These buttons were kept in her sewing chest in an old cigar box. Anytime a button was needed for a new dress or shirt or to repair an old one, the button box was checked for one that matched. Since all my dad's shirts came from J.C. Penney, the odds were always good that one would match. If not, I have seen my mom take 8 buttons from the button box and replace all the buttons on a shirt rather than go buy 1 new one. When we were little, we could spend hours sorting the buttons and putting matching ones on the large safety pins. There were some beautiful buttons, also; buttons from prom dresses and formals. We would play with the buttons for hours and then my sister's children and my children did also. My daughter did not ask for the button box. I have since built one for her - a gathering of plain, ordinary buttons and a few specialty buttons.

My mother also had a set of these sherbet glasses when I was a little girl. We only got to use them on special occasions and holidays. Mom served pudding - back when you still had to cook it - or jello in them.

I recently made pudding for my grandson and my daughter and I got to talking about the green glasses. My daughter spent a lot of time at my mom's when she was growing up and she got to use them all the time!

I got to thinking about them and decided that they were probably one of the things that I would like most to have had from my parents' house. Since they bring such wonderful childhood memories to me and also to my daughter, I decided to try and find some. I did.

They will arrive next week. I will make pudding and serve it to my husband, child, and grandchild in them. I will leave them to my daughter who will leave them to her son who has already said that he will leave them to his children.

I may not be able to inherit my childhood, but I can buy it! I know that sounds flippant or snide but I truly do not feel that way. These glasses remind me of my childhood home, they remind my daughter of her grandparents' home and hopefully, they will remind my grandson of the same thing.

.

The Gravy Boat.

I never thought it strange as a child. Whenever we had family holiday dinners, we would eat in the dining room and we would use the good china. The furniture would be polished (the legs were my responsibility) and the china, freshly removed from the hutch, would be hand washed and dried before we set the table.

The menu for these dinners rarely varied. We always had both turkey and ham since I dislike turkey and my sister does not care for ham. If it was one of the winter holidays, we had sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top and the green bean casserole. If it was Easter, we had glorified rice. It was my mom’s recipe, with cooked rice and pineapple and whipped cream and coconut. It always did, and still does, taste like spring to me.

We were not rich. We were not poor. We were comfortably well off; at least we were when I was young. I was a late-in-life baby and my parents had much more when I was growing up than they did when my sisters and my brother were young.

Anyway, my mother makes wonderful gravy. I do not have the knack but my mother could make gravy out of anything. So, on holidays we would get out the special pickle dish and the divided cut glass dish for carrot and celery sticks and the cut glass cranberry dish. The table would be set and it would all look just lovely. Then dinner would be served and the gravy, in it’s Pyrex measuring cup (the big one, the 2 cup one), would take its place on my mom’s table.

None of us thought it odd. It was just one of those things. Then my oldest sister got married and I guess her husband said something. Next thing I knew, Mom and I were at St. Vinnie’s (the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store) buying a gravy boat. It was beautiful. It didn’t match the dishes but it was beautiful. I’m not sure the gravy ever tasted as good or stayed as hot in the gravy boat but it was beautiful.

Last week, I was in our local senior citizen’s thrift store looking for some Mason jars.

I bought the gravy boat.