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.

.

Please read a book this month!

I guess I should just call this soapbox Wednesday and be done with it....or maybe next week I'll go for Wordless Wednesday....or maybe I'll just quit reading the flippin' news!


http://www.cnn.com/2007/LIVING/wayoflife/08/21/reading.ap/index.html


The next time someone asks you what is wrong with this country, just refer them to the above-referenced article.

WTF?

taken from CNN headline news:

"The head of the Atlanta chapter of the NAACP said Wednesday that Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick has made mistakes but that they should not cost him his football career with the NFL.

"R.L. White, president of the Atlanta chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, said his organization does not condone dogfighting or any other illegal activity, but he told reporters that Vick should be given a chance to redeem himself.

"White also said he didn't understand the uproar over dogfighting, when hunting deer and other animals is perfectly acceptable."


I have absolutely nothing to add to this insanity except for "What the heck?"

for all the bikers everywhere

reposted off of a friend's myspace page. I would credit the author if I knew who it was.

BIKERS
I saw you hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line.
But you didn't see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.

I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk.
But you didn't see me playing Santa at the local mall.

I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant.
But you didn't see me attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief.

I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I drove by.
But you didn't see me driving behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.

I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children.
But you didn't see me when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless.


I saw you stare at my long hair.
But you didn't see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.

I saw you roll your eyes at our leather coats and gloves.
But you didn't see me and my brothers donate our old coats and gloves to those that had none.

I saw you look in fright at my tattoos.
But you didn't see me cry as my children where born and have their name written over and in my heart.

I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere.
But you didn't see me going home to be with my family.

I saw you complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be.
But you didn't see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.

I saw you yelling at your kids in the car.
But you didn't see me pat my child's hands, knowing he was safe behind me.

I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road.
But you didn't see me squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn.

I saw you race down the road in the rain.
But you didn't see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.

I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time.
But you didn't see me trying to turn right.

I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in.
But you didn't see me leave the road.

I saw you waiting impatiently for my friends to pass.
But you didn't see me.

I wasn't there.

I saw you go home to your family.
But you didn't see me.
Because, I died that day you cut me off.I
WAS JUST A BIKER-A person with friends and a family.But you didn't see me.

Repost this around in hopes that people will understand the biker. I hope that none of y'all ever know the pain of losing someone you love who rides.

so what book ARE you?

I saw this quiz at Pensieve (she got to be a belgian waffle!)

You're Catch-22!

by Joseph Heller

Incredibly witty and funny, you have a taste for irony in all that you
see. It seems that life has put you in perpetually untenable situations, and your sense
of humor is all that gets you through them. These experiences have also made you an
ardent pacifist, though you present your message with tongue sewn into cheek. You
could coin a phrase that replaces the word "paradox" for millions of
people.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Down the Block Cafe

Menus for the week of 8/2/7

Monday

Lasagna

Hearty Cheese

Tuesday

Smothered Pork Chps

Ravioli Soup

Wednesday

Chicken Fried Steak

Potato, Ham and Cheese

Thursday

Chicken Spaghetti

Taco

Friday

Beef Stroganoff/Salmon Croquettes

Loaded Potato

Saturday

Glazed Salmon

Chefs' Surprise

Blood banks - depositing and withdrawing

This one is kind of hard to write.



Almost 8 years ago, my daughter gave birth to my youngest grandson. I was fortunate enough to be with her when lil man was born.


As far as deliveries go, it was fairly uneventful. Julie had a saddle block, so felt minimal pain. The baby’s dad and I were amused - the only way (aside from the monitors) that you could tell she was having a contraction was by the fact that her toes twitched. There was a moment of panic when the little twit decided to make an entrance wearing the umbilical cord around his neck, but the attending physicians and nurses soon sorted that out.


The baby was healthy, Julie was healthy, God was in His heaven and all was right with the world. The baby’s dad left and it was just the 3 of us. Julie began hemorrhaging. The doctors recommended an immediate blood transfusion. My daughter is ADAMANTLY opposed to blood transfusions - a personal objection, not a religious one. She refused. No amount of arguing or persuasion on my part had any effect.


I waited - and her doctor waited - until she lost consciousness and then I authorized the transfusion. Those 5 units of blood saved her life.


When she regained consciousness, she was livid that I had gone against her wishes. She said that she could never trust me again, etc. I told her that that was fine - that she was alive to be pissed and I was good with that. We agreed to disagree (we do that a lot).


For the next 7+ years, whenever the subject came up, Julie reiterated her displeasure with me and for the next 7+ years, I thanked God each and every day that she was here to tell me how untrustworthy I was.

Earlier this week, Julie and her lil man went with me to the blood bank. For privacy reasons, they could not go with me while I donated. I was unaware though, that while I was donating, the receptionist directed Julie and lil man to the “cantina”. The cantina has a half wall and my daughter got to watch part of the procedure anyway. My grandson had been with me during a blood drive in our little town at the community center and had already got to watch close up and personal.


I finished donating, collected up my booty (T-shirt, girl scout cookies, and a chance to win a 6 month supply of milk) and we got ready to leave. As I was at the counter, my daughter asked when I could donate again. October 9, I said. She then said that she might want to donate, too.

Lil man told me that his mom had been explaining to him why people donate blood and that I had saved her life when he was born because someone we didn’t even know had donated blood and I made sure she got it.


So, I may still be untrustworthy and she may still be pissed but we progress. We do progress.


My heart sings.