One time the family was gathering at Uncle Jesse's farm outside of Oakland, Il and Uncle J. spotted mother's older sister walking through the gate and he said: "Here comes Norie prancin' like a pissant." Now Aunt Nora was a tiny person who had a quick way of moving and she talked the same way. I looked up pissant and it is a bug that acts highly excitable.
I thought about that recently when I asked cousin Jim, how he was doing. He said: "Well, I'm still wearing blue underwear and using white toilet paper!" (I have no idea what this means) Jim lives in Terre Houte, In. and I asked Maureen, who lives in Kokomo, if she had heard that quote before and she said no it is not a quote used all over Indiana but she related an expression used in her office is if something goes wrong, they say "throw a little dirt on it". I guess that's what a dad would say to his son if he fell or got a bump and a 'little dirt' will make it feel better and so in their office it's become the byword for 'bumps in business' too.
Isn't it interesting how quotes or sayings become part of the language. Every year the dictionary adds new words that are now part of our lives. And sometimes it's part of your family. Our daughter Leah some times had a hard time getting the right words out. For example, she couldn't say 'uncle', it came out, 'yakki'. So, Judy's husband, became Yakki Bill and even in their older years long after Leah had died, Vern and Bill greeted each other that way. And at Vern's funeral, I heard Bill say, "Godbye, Yakki Vern."
Leah called hamburger, hanglebear and that name stuck in our family. Once she visited Vern's brother Elmer in Colorado Springs and she had gone to Church with his wife, Valene, who was Mormon. We asked her how she liked going to Church with her and she said: "It was okay, it was kind of long and I think I'd rather be a Cathlick than a Moron." She added, "I think I said that wrong," and we assured her we understood what she meant.
All of this came to mind when I was visiting with young friend, Angela and she was relating a story about her four year old talking about people having opinions. In Gabe's mind, people don't have opinions but penguins as in 'everyone's entitled to there own penguin'. Angela said she now uses Gabe's saying when she is talking with her staff. And they understand what she's talking about.
So today if someone comes at you like a pissant, tell them you don't care about their penquin, and that your Yakki told you to tell them to throw a little dirt on it.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Potato Salad
Shortly after the St. Jude Knights of Columbus Council started in Peoria, they bought an old storefront. The members fixed it up themselves. There was a meeting hall on the first floor with a small kitchen to the left in the back and there was a Bar Room in the basement. On the first Friday of the month, they would put on a Fish Fry. Now the men fried the fish but the slaw and potato salad was made earlier in the day by their wives. My mother made the slaw from a recipe she had gotten years before from Mrs. Capitelli, the mother of a friend (if a sibling has that recipe they should let me know and I will include it sometime) and a lady named Bea White made the potato salad. If Bea was vacationing or otherwise unavailable I made it from Bea's recipe. This would have been in the 1960s sometime. I was looking through old recipes recently and found it - in her handwriting - and thought you might enjoy it.
POTATO SALAD Bea White Serves 200
Beer - 3 bottles (cigarettes optional)
Potatoes - 30 lbs
Celery - 1 stalk diced
Green peppers - 3 diced
Onions - 2 pkg frozen
Eggs - 3 dozen
Mayonaise - 1 gallon
Boil potatoes and eggs until done. Drain and cool in cold water and peel. Drink one bottle of beer and smoke cigarette.
Dice potatoes and eggs, add the rest of ingredients.
Drink one more bottle of beer and have one more cigarette.
Mix all ingredients together.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Drink third bottle of beer after you put your feet up on chair while reclining. Have another cigarette.
This was always the best potato salad and I'm sure you could cut it down to fit your family. When I made it for the Fish Frys, in my mind, it was never as good as when Bea made it and now I think it was because I didn't drink beer - at the time - or smoke (optional) cigarettes.
POTATO SALAD Bea White Serves 200
Beer - 3 bottles (cigarettes optional)
Potatoes - 30 lbs
Celery - 1 stalk diced
Green peppers - 3 diced
Onions - 2 pkg frozen
Eggs - 3 dozen
Mayonaise - 1 gallon
Boil potatoes and eggs until done. Drain and cool in cold water and peel. Drink one bottle of beer and smoke cigarette.
Dice potatoes and eggs, add the rest of ingredients.
Drink one more bottle of beer and have one more cigarette.
Mix all ingredients together.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Drink third bottle of beer after you put your feet up on chair while reclining. Have another cigarette.
This was always the best potato salad and I'm sure you could cut it down to fit your family. When I made it for the Fish Frys, in my mind, it was never as good as when Bea made it and now I think it was because I didn't drink beer - at the time - or smoke (optional) cigarettes.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Old Friends
Most of us are blessed with good friends. Those we've met in school, that we grew up with or that we've met through our children or other friends. I thought about that this morning when I went to Mass at Washington and slipped into a pew next to long time friend, Marge Lee.
When daughter number four was born, I was laying in the hospital bed, trying to find a comfortable position to ease my stitches, when two nurses aids came into the room and pulled the curtain between the beds. One of them said: "Don't put the throw up jar on the bed, it makes Dr. Carter angry because he says his patients never get sick." Within a half hour, another patient was wheeled into the room. I could hear them getting her into the bed and in a couple of of seconds, she began retching uncontrollably. I don't remember what she was saying but her husband started laughing. Now I had worked at Caterpillar with a fellow who had that same laugh, so I asked: Is that Kenny Lee over there?" A dark haired fellow stuck his head around the curtain and said: "No, but I'm his twin brother." And that is how I met Keith and Marge Lee. The interesting fact is that Vern and Keith worked and hunted together and kept telling each other that they should have their wives meet but we never did until Mary and Glenn were born.
Marge and I have had many adventures. We have vacationed together, waited together for our husbands who were on fishing trips or bartending at St. Jude K of C and we have traveled together. In 1976, my sister, Judy and the two of us traveled across country by car to San Francisco and down the coast to San Diego. (Oh, the stories from that trip, could fill a book as when Marge blew out the electricity in half of a San Francisco Hotel) When we got to San Bernardino, we visited her sister, Berta, and family and Berta decided to travel back to Illinois with us - more stories there - we didn't know it at the time, but Berta had MS and the next year she died. That was her last time to see her friends, siblings and parents in Bloomington.
The true test of friendship, I believe, is if you are comfortable enough to sit together in silence. One winter late afternoon, Marge and I were traveling on Route 116, in that flat prairie section between Roanoke and Metamora. I was driving and we were just riding along quietly when I heard her say something. "What did you say?" I asked. "I didn't say anything." She said. "Yes, you did. You said 'Goodby Mr. Sun." She started to laugh that infectious laugh of hers and declared she didn't realize she had said it out loud. She had been watching the sun go down behind one of those flatlander fields so common in this area. We laughed all the way home.
It hasn't all been laughter, Marge and I have struggled and overcome some life shattering events - at the time - through the years, most of which are only for us to remember. There is an old quote: 'Friends are the family, you choose for yourself.' I am blessed and have chosen some wonderful 'family', some of whom are actually people to which I'm related .
When daughter number four was born, I was laying in the hospital bed, trying to find a comfortable position to ease my stitches, when two nurses aids came into the room and pulled the curtain between the beds. One of them said: "Don't put the throw up jar on the bed, it makes Dr. Carter angry because he says his patients never get sick." Within a half hour, another patient was wheeled into the room. I could hear them getting her into the bed and in a couple of of seconds, she began retching uncontrollably. I don't remember what she was saying but her husband started laughing. Now I had worked at Caterpillar with a fellow who had that same laugh, so I asked: Is that Kenny Lee over there?" A dark haired fellow stuck his head around the curtain and said: "No, but I'm his twin brother." And that is how I met Keith and Marge Lee. The interesting fact is that Vern and Keith worked and hunted together and kept telling each other that they should have their wives meet but we never did until Mary and Glenn were born.
Marge and I have had many adventures. We have vacationed together, waited together for our husbands who were on fishing trips or bartending at St. Jude K of C and we have traveled together. In 1976, my sister, Judy and the two of us traveled across country by car to San Francisco and down the coast to San Diego. (Oh, the stories from that trip, could fill a book as when Marge blew out the electricity in half of a San Francisco Hotel) When we got to San Bernardino, we visited her sister, Berta, and family and Berta decided to travel back to Illinois with us - more stories there - we didn't know it at the time, but Berta had MS and the next year she died. That was her last time to see her friends, siblings and parents in Bloomington.
The true test of friendship, I believe, is if you are comfortable enough to sit together in silence. One winter late afternoon, Marge and I were traveling on Route 116, in that flat prairie section between Roanoke and Metamora. I was driving and we were just riding along quietly when I heard her say something. "What did you say?" I asked. "I didn't say anything." She said. "Yes, you did. You said 'Goodby Mr. Sun." She started to laugh that infectious laugh of hers and declared she didn't realize she had said it out loud. She had been watching the sun go down behind one of those flatlander fields so common in this area. We laughed all the way home.
It hasn't all been laughter, Marge and I have struggled and overcome some life shattering events - at the time - through the years, most of which are only for us to remember. There is an old quote: 'Friends are the family, you choose for yourself.' I am blessed and have chosen some wonderful 'family', some of whom are actually people to which I'm related .
Monday, January 23, 2012
My Mother Kept a Garden
Heard this poem today, and thought it was kind of nice. Hope you like it and maybe tell your mother: " thanks for digging, planting seeds and watering when needed."
My Mother kept a garden,
a garden of the heart,
She planted all the good things
that gave my life its start.
She turned me to the sunshine
and encouranged me to dream,
Fostering and nurturing
the seeds of self-esteem.
And when the winds and rain came,
she protected me enough~
But not too much because she knew
I'd need to stand up strong and tough.
Her constant good example
always taught me right from wrong.
Markers for my pathway
that will last a lifetime long.
I am my Mother's garden.
I am her legacy~
And I hope today she feels the love
reflected back from me.
Author Unknown
Thursday, January 19, 2012
In A Pickle
Before Christmas, I bought a jar of Claussen bread and butter pickles from the refrigerated deli case at the store. I hadn't had that kind of pickle for quite awhile and I salivated thinking about how good they would taste. When we lived in the country, my specialty was Lime Pickles and so really looked forward to a sweet pickle. I tried opening them when I got home and the lid wouldn't budge, I banged it on the counter,... nothing!
Tried opening them several times, banging them on the counter, hitting them on the bottom, hitting the edge of the lid with a knife handle, still no results. Even used my plastic guaranteed jar lid opener with the same results. We were gone through the holidays and when I got home I did my usual annual deep house cleaning, which entails checking the dates on the condiments on the refrigerator door and getting rid of anything that is over the expiration date. I noticed those pickles again - again, I banged and hit - no luck. Last week, I was telling my sister, Judy, and she suggested running the lid under warm water that that sometimes helps. I did and it worked! But what I noticed is that the warm water had gotten under the plastic protection ring around the lid as well. Times like this, I can't believe how dumb I can be. I never thought about the plastic ring. Oh well, the Claussen bread and butter pickle slices are excellent. Try them, and now when you take the protection ring off a jar lid, you will think of me. My legacy!!
I was going to share my Lime Pickle recipe, but couldn't find it, so am enclosing the first recipe I ever got from someone.
Aunt Orphie's Relish
4 chopped onions
6 sweet red peppers
10 green tomatoes
4 cups shredded cabbage
12 green peppers
Grind vegetables coarse. Sprinkle 1/2 cup of salt over them and let them stand over night. Rinse with two cups of water and drain. Combine:
2 tblsp mustard seed
1 1/2 tblsp tumeric
6 cups of sugar
4 cups of vinegar
1 tblsp celery seed.
Heat to boiling. Simmer three minutes. and can while hot.
I made this recipe towards the end of the garden year, sometimes adding zucchini, to use up the late vegetables. I always used pint jars and used my warm water bath canner.
Now for the rest of the story. Long before the world ever heard of an Oprah, in our family it was Aunt Orphie. Our mother's older sister Ada, had five children, two daughters and three sons, and somewhere along the way she had a nervous breakdown when her children were quite young and spent the rest of her life if the Jacksonville State Hospital. Her husband, Jesse Swinford, was a farmer outside of Oakland, Il. He had a cousin, Orpha Hunt, who had been left to raise three sons and she moved in to help raise Jesse's five and have a home for her and her boys. Even though she was not related to us, she was a good, kind, hard working woman, that we called Aunt Orphie, everyone did. She gave me this recipe for relish or 'Chou,Chou' as she called it when I was newly married and we had traveled down to Southeastern Illinois for a funeral.
Tried opening them several times, banging them on the counter, hitting them on the bottom, hitting the edge of the lid with a knife handle, still no results. Even used my plastic guaranteed jar lid opener with the same results. We were gone through the holidays and when I got home I did my usual annual deep house cleaning, which entails checking the dates on the condiments on the refrigerator door and getting rid of anything that is over the expiration date. I noticed those pickles again - again, I banged and hit - no luck. Last week, I was telling my sister, Judy, and she suggested running the lid under warm water that that sometimes helps. I did and it worked! But what I noticed is that the warm water had gotten under the plastic protection ring around the lid as well. Times like this, I can't believe how dumb I can be. I never thought about the plastic ring. Oh well, the Claussen bread and butter pickle slices are excellent. Try them, and now when you take the protection ring off a jar lid, you will think of me. My legacy!!
I was going to share my Lime Pickle recipe, but couldn't find it, so am enclosing the first recipe I ever got from someone.
Aunt Orphie's Relish
4 chopped onions
6 sweet red peppers
10 green tomatoes
4 cups shredded cabbage
12 green peppers
Grind vegetables coarse. Sprinkle 1/2 cup of salt over them and let them stand over night. Rinse with two cups of water and drain. Combine:
2 tblsp mustard seed
1 1/2 tblsp tumeric
6 cups of sugar
4 cups of vinegar
1 tblsp celery seed.
Heat to boiling. Simmer three minutes. and can while hot.
I made this recipe towards the end of the garden year, sometimes adding zucchini, to use up the late vegetables. I always used pint jars and used my warm water bath canner.
Now for the rest of the story. Long before the world ever heard of an Oprah, in our family it was Aunt Orphie. Our mother's older sister Ada, had five children, two daughters and three sons, and somewhere along the way she had a nervous breakdown when her children were quite young and spent the rest of her life if the Jacksonville State Hospital. Her husband, Jesse Swinford, was a farmer outside of Oakland, Il. He had a cousin, Orpha Hunt, who had been left to raise three sons and she moved in to help raise Jesse's five and have a home for her and her boys. Even though she was not related to us, she was a good, kind, hard working woman, that we called Aunt Orphie, everyone did. She gave me this recipe for relish or 'Chou,Chou' as she called it when I was newly married and we had traveled down to Southeastern Illinois for a funeral.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Brother Russ just sent an e mail about the American soldiers who urinated on Taliban bodies. Some years back there was a huge brou ha ha about mistreatment of prisoners at Guantanamo. Who puts those pictures out for the public to see? In this day and age when everyone has a camera or a phone with a camera there is no privacy. Do I think these young man should be punished? No! Admonished for bad taste? Yes! Who knows what these soldiers had just been through, maybe 'relieving' themselves was just that - relief. Did they use good judgement, I don't think so, and in my opinion, that's where their guilt lies.
I am one of the most peace loving people around - non combative. When daddy George Bush proposed the Gulf War, Vern and I wrote letters to him and to our Senators encouraging them to say no to going overseas. Vern's theory was that the people in the Middle East were throwing rocks in Jesus' day and they are still throwing rocks, and to stay out of their business.
What really makes me angry is when the media or another country tries to find a way to make our Military look bad. This is the best Armed Service in the World. Whenever there is trouble, they call in our guys and gals. It happened in World War I and II, when Europe was failing and they called in the Americans, France had screwed up in Viet nam and American soldiers took over and look how those young men were treated over there and when they came back. When Peoria had its first St. Patricks Day Parade, there were Amvets and VFW groups who marched and everyone clapped as they marched by, but when a ragtag group of Vietnam veterans walked by, people where Marge and I were standing stopped clapping. I was incensed! These men had served their country too, and I practically wore the skin off my palms clapping for those guys. One of the soldiers came out of the line and handed me a green carnation. Thinking about the look on his face still brings tears to my eyes.
Last February, Mary and I were in Hawaii and visited the Pearl Harbor Memorial. I can remember when the attack happened and grew up in an era where our movies and newsreels showed the atrocities that our troops were experiencing. At the Memorial, they show an amazing video of the attack. There were a lot of Japanese visitors there the day we were there - they have head phones for them to hear the dialogue. When the program was over, peace loving me, was so angry all over again, that I wanted to take my cane and rap all of those earphone-wearing-Asian heads sitting in front of me.
I felt that same frustration and anger when Maureen and I visited the Flight 93 Memorial in the middle of a field in Pennsylvania. Muslim extremists had decided to destroy our Capitol Building and ordinary persons, who knew they were going to die anyway, changed the course of that plane and history. A huge boulder marks where the nose of the plane hit the ground - upside down.
Rereading this, it sounds like an incoherent rant but right now our family has three members still in the military, and brothers and brothers-in-law and other nephews have also served. Don't mess with my family! And I see all of today's young warriors as family. That's when this peace loving grandmother,aunt, sister shows her true colors - red, white and blue!!
I am one of the most peace loving people around - non combative. When daddy George Bush proposed the Gulf War, Vern and I wrote letters to him and to our Senators encouraging them to say no to going overseas. Vern's theory was that the people in the Middle East were throwing rocks in Jesus' day and they are still throwing rocks, and to stay out of their business.
What really makes me angry is when the media or another country tries to find a way to make our Military look bad. This is the best Armed Service in the World. Whenever there is trouble, they call in our guys and gals. It happened in World War I and II, when Europe was failing and they called in the Americans, France had screwed up in Viet nam and American soldiers took over and look how those young men were treated over there and when they came back. When Peoria had its first St. Patricks Day Parade, there were Amvets and VFW groups who marched and everyone clapped as they marched by, but when a ragtag group of Vietnam veterans walked by, people where Marge and I were standing stopped clapping. I was incensed! These men had served their country too, and I practically wore the skin off my palms clapping for those guys. One of the soldiers came out of the line and handed me a green carnation. Thinking about the look on his face still brings tears to my eyes.
Last February, Mary and I were in Hawaii and visited the Pearl Harbor Memorial. I can remember when the attack happened and grew up in an era where our movies and newsreels showed the atrocities that our troops were experiencing. At the Memorial, they show an amazing video of the attack. There were a lot of Japanese visitors there the day we were there - they have head phones for them to hear the dialogue. When the program was over, peace loving me, was so angry all over again, that I wanted to take my cane and rap all of those earphone-wearing-Asian heads sitting in front of me.
I felt that same frustration and anger when Maureen and I visited the Flight 93 Memorial in the middle of a field in Pennsylvania. Muslim extremists had decided to destroy our Capitol Building and ordinary persons, who knew they were going to die anyway, changed the course of that plane and history. A huge boulder marks where the nose of the plane hit the ground - upside down.
Rereading this, it sounds like an incoherent rant but right now our family has three members still in the military, and brothers and brothers-in-law and other nephews have also served. Don't mess with my family! And I see all of today's young warriors as family. That's when this peace loving grandmother,aunt, sister shows her true colors - red, white and blue!!
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Music, Music, Music
Music has always been important to me. I think my music appreciation started when as a child we lived a block away from my Scovil grandparents. My dad came from a large and gregarious family. They lived on the corner of Johnson St. and Charlton St. and we lived one block away on the corner of Charlton and Smith. Everyone used the back door at their house that went right into the kitchen. Against the back wall to the left as you entered was a coal burning cook stove that always had a large pot of coffee on the back and there was a huge round table in the middle of the room where the crowd gathered with a lot of laughing, talking and an occasional drop of something with spirits. And often, sometime during the evening, our mother would go to the upright piano in the front room and begin to play. Mother played 'by ear', which means she didn't have lessons but just had a natural ability to hear a song and know the melody. The rest of Dad's family would drift in and stand around the piano. The room was usually lit by just one lamp and the flicker of the fire through the isinglass window on the heating stove door and they would sing and our Uncle Stan would harmonize with whatever Mom was playing. She played the popular songs of the day - the 1940s - plus the standard's like When you Wore a Tulip, A Bicycle Built for Two and, of course, When Irish Eyes are Smiling but sometime during the songfest, she would play My Buddy, that was my grandparents favorite song, in fact Grampa's nickname for Grandma was "Buddy".
As the oldest daughter, I was given piano lessons. I would go to St. Patricks Convent and take the lessons from Sister Mary Frances. If I didn't hold my fingers up off the keys in the proper manner, a rap on the knuckles from the pencil in Sister's hands. (I have always thought that it is a wonder that I don't have knuckles twice the size they are because of Sr. Frances and her pencil, Sister Mary Patricia who would rap your hands with a ruler as she walked up and down the aisle between desks checking on the proper grip of your pen and my mother at home giving us a 'zing' with a fork if we didn't hold our dinner utensil correctly.)
I was lazy and didn't practice and was never good at playing but my sister, Judy had the same ability as Mom and was a natural. For some kind of program at School, We - brother, Russ who played the trumpet, Judy, the clarinet and our cousin, Ed, who lived with us for a time, playing trombone and me on piano - played in our own little band. I don't remember the occasion or what we played and I believe it was a one time thing, obviously not memorable because all I really remember is all of us practicing in our living room. All three of them played in the St. Patricks Grade School Marching Band. Russ and Dave Dunne took turns between the Cymbals and the Big Base Drum. Judy remembers that our brother stopped beating the Base, when in a parade they were behind an equestrian unit and Russ didn't watch where he was walking. Judy took over the next year on the Big Drum - if Russ could do it she could too - and was a little more careful where she marched.
When Judy and I would do dishes, we would sing and harmonize. One of our favorites was Carolina In the Morning. If we were singing a fast song we worked fast and if we sang a slow song.... Sometimes if we were singing too many slow songs, and taking too long, a parent would call out from the other room: "Sing something faster!"
How I wish now that I had practiced that old piano in the living room. Hmmm! maybe I should get myself a keyboard and see what happens. After all, there's no one these days with knuckle rapping pencil.
I tried to download Doris Day's version of My Buddy, my grandparent's 'song', but can't seem to do it. Any of you IT savvy types who want to try, please do. It's the version with all the movie star couples. Which makes me consider another blog about my favorite movies.
As the oldest daughter, I was given piano lessons. I would go to St. Patricks Convent and take the lessons from Sister Mary Frances. If I didn't hold my fingers up off the keys in the proper manner, a rap on the knuckles from the pencil in Sister's hands. (I have always thought that it is a wonder that I don't have knuckles twice the size they are because of Sr. Frances and her pencil, Sister Mary Patricia who would rap your hands with a ruler as she walked up and down the aisle between desks checking on the proper grip of your pen and my mother at home giving us a 'zing' with a fork if we didn't hold our dinner utensil correctly.)
When Judy and I would do dishes, we would sing and harmonize. One of our favorites was Carolina In the Morning. If we were singing a fast song we worked fast and if we sang a slow song.... Sometimes if we were singing too many slow songs, and taking too long, a parent would call out from the other room: "Sing something faster!"
How I wish now that I had practiced that old piano in the living room. Hmmm! maybe I should get myself a keyboard and see what happens. After all, there's no one these days with knuckle rapping pencil.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
For The Record
So I was visiting with my sister, Judy, when brother Richard walked over and said: "I've been telling this story for years. How you were so angry with Mom because she and you were pregnant at the same time". Judy and I just looked at him and then each other. "No," I said, "Our youngest sister, Suzanne, was born in October, 1955; I was married in January, 1956 and Leah, our oldest daughter was born in September, 1957". I think he was disappointed, his is a much better story than the real one.
Our youngest daughter, Maureen, and I are talking and she said: "I love the story about how you were in the Novitiate studying to be a Nun when you went on a blind date with Dad, and left the Convent and got married". "Huh??" Like most Catholic girls of the 40s and 50s, who attend twelve years of Parochial school, you consider being a Religious but no I was not in the Novitiate. Besides women preparing to consecrate their lives to The Lord do not go on blind dates. Maureen was chagrined, her romantic myth was shattered.
This made me wonder how many families have legends or stories that have been passed down for years that are not true but are perpetuated and added on to as time goes by. And that is one reason I started blogging. As the oldest child, and still with some degree of brain power, it was time to tell some of the family stories I knew - true ones - before they are gone. I have asked for help from siblings when I was not quite sure of the circumstances. How I wish I had asked my grandparents and great Aunts and Uncles their stories and written them down, so that we had their history. Yesterday's poem about the old man got me thinking how much I don't know about our family's past.
Write down your story, what it was like growing up, experiences in school, interview your parents and grandparents. History - his story - is our heritage. We are the ant on the ceiling, but we need to tell what we see as we crawl across.
And then Maureen says: "Next, you're going to tell me that the story of Aunt Pearl isn't true". As far as I know it is true but..... it's to tell another time.
Our youngest daughter, Maureen, and I are talking and she said: "I love the story about how you were in the Novitiate studying to be a Nun when you went on a blind date with Dad, and left the Convent and got married". "Huh??" Like most Catholic girls of the 40s and 50s, who attend twelve years of Parochial school, you consider being a Religious but no I was not in the Novitiate. Besides women preparing to consecrate their lives to The Lord do not go on blind dates. Maureen was chagrined, her romantic myth was shattered.
This made me wonder how many families have legends or stories that have been passed down for years that are not true but are perpetuated and added on to as time goes by. And that is one reason I started blogging. As the oldest child, and still with some degree of brain power, it was time to tell some of the family stories I knew - true ones - before they are gone. I have asked for help from siblings when I was not quite sure of the circumstances. How I wish I had asked my grandparents and great Aunts and Uncles their stories and written them down, so that we had their history. Yesterday's poem about the old man got me thinking how much I don't know about our family's past.
Write down your story, what it was like growing up, experiences in school, interview your parents and grandparents. History - his story - is our heritage. We are the ant on the ceiling, but we need to tell what we see as we crawl across.
And then Maureen says: "Next, you're going to tell me that the story of Aunt Pearl isn't true". As far as I know it is true but..... it's to tell another time.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Crabby Old Man
| This was sent to me by Vern's cousin, Virginia Frye. This is not just for nurses but all of us. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Vern Mall
Maybe it was the fact that I knew this 'romance' wasn't going anywhere (and he said later he felt the same) but we talked about a lot of things and were very comfortable with each other. He took me home and I thought well that was that. Imagine my surprise when he called again the next afternoon - Saturday. "What are you doing tonight?", He asked. "Going to Confession," I answered. "How 'bout if I go too?" He replied. (when I told this story several years ago to some of our daughters, their response was "what did you do on the first date that you had to go to Confession on the second?") Back in the day, Most of us went to Confession at least every two weeks for the Grace and just because that's what we did. And after going to Church we went to Hunts on Farmington Road. That's how it started and a year later on January 14, 1956 we were married. And our marriage lasted 51 years and 51 weeks and a few days. Today at 11:00 A.M. will be the fourth anniversary of his death.
I loved him, I tolerated him, I thought he was one of the wisest men I knew, I could get so angry at him I wanted to annihilate him. He could do anything and I relished how knowledgeable he was about Nature and the Outdoors. He was a stubborn Italian/German mix who loved his family firmly. He was one of the most Catholic people ever Baptized. Everything was pretty black and white, only as he got older did life take on more gray hues except where his daughters were concerned and to him they always shone in bright colors. And he loved his grandchildren so that to Vern they were virtually rainbows.
One of the hourly men who worked for him at Caterpillar told me one time that Vern treated everyone fairly, as if he remembered what it was like to 'work on the line'. He was fair, and most people you ask will tell you that. He was well respected by most and loved by many.
Do I miss him? Yes. Do I wish he were still alive? Only if he could be able to play golf, go fishing, do the Parish prayer chain, Chair the Buildings and Grounds Committee, putter around on his John Deere, work in the yard and go traveling. And he knew at the last that that wasn't going to happen anymore.
The picture shows him with a perfect Euchre hand dealt him in a game by grandson, Jonathan. I, too, was dealt a pretty good hand fifty-seven years ago when I met Vern Mall.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Stained Glass Windows
A child while visiting a Church asked his mother who were the people painted on the windows. She explained that those were the Saints. When he returned home, he told his father what he had seen and his Dad asked: "Who are the Saints?" The little boy answered: "The Saints are people the light shines through."
If there is one thing we Catholics do well, it is beautiful Churches. And part of that is the windows. I was reminded of that in St. John the Baptist Cathedral in Savannah. The two windows in the front on the sides are of the Ascension and the Assumption. The Ascension window shows Jesus, surrounded by the Apostles and Mary, rising towards heaven and in a small window at the top is an image of God, the Father, arms outstretched, and a smile on His face - He is usually portrayed looking stern - welcoming His Son home. The Assumption window shows Mary, rising toward heaven, the Apostles standing around her and in the small window at the top, Jesus, crowned and in rich robes, holding a crown for His mother. Both images are very moving and they tell their stories well.
That's what the beautiful windows are about, to tell a story. A story of the Saints, or the life of Mary and Jesus. At St. Mary's Cathedral here in Peoria, they tell the story of the spread of Christianity from Jesus telling the Apostles to "go forth and teach all nations" to the first three Peoria Bishops - the windows were put in in the 1930's - giving homage to Mary, the patroness of the Cathedral building, the Peoria Diocese and the American Church.
In St. Patricks Catholic Church in San Francisco every window shows a different Irish Saint, lifesize and beautiful! I mentioned in an earlier post how I love the window at St. Josephs on the Southside of the Visitation. And there is the amazing rose window at Notre Dame in Paris. So much blue and in the 13th century, when the window was installed that color blue used real gold to attain that color.
When Judy and I visited Edinburgh in May last year, a Presbyterian friend suggested we visit St. Giles, the first Kirk of that religion. It was magnificent, but it had been built in the 11th Century as a Roman Catholic Church and taken over when Catholicism was outlawed.
And I thought the ruins at Holyrood Abbey built in the 10th Century were equally as inspiring because of the window that wasn't there. I love visiting all Churches and the huge Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco is quiet and peaceful as the light filters through the glass. The huge window at St. Pauls here in Peoria is awesome. And the small window in the sanctuary at the Lutheran Church on School Street in Washington of the Agony in the Garden is a favorite. We Catholics, don't have a lock on beautiful windows. In the 1960s, so many Churches were built with Picasso style windows. Ugly and uglier. Hopefully this trend is ending. The new windows at United Presbyterian are of a traditional design all done in soft pastels.
I know in my heart that the focus in our Church is not the windows or the statues but Jesus in the Tabernacle in the form of bread. And I love to sit and visit in the quiet but I am inspired by whatever and whomever the light shines through.
If there is one thing we Catholics do well, it is beautiful Churches. And part of that is the windows. I was reminded of that in St. John the Baptist Cathedral in Savannah. The two windows in the front on the sides are of the Ascension and the Assumption. The Ascension window shows Jesus, surrounded by the Apostles and Mary, rising towards heaven and in a small window at the top is an image of God, the Father, arms outstretched, and a smile on His face - He is usually portrayed looking stern - welcoming His Son home. The Assumption window shows Mary, rising toward heaven, the Apostles standing around her and in the small window at the top, Jesus, crowned and in rich robes, holding a crown for His mother. Both images are very moving and they tell their stories well.
That's what the beautiful windows are about, to tell a story. A story of the Saints, or the life of Mary and Jesus. At St. Mary's Cathedral here in Peoria, they tell the story of the spread of Christianity from Jesus telling the Apostles to "go forth and teach all nations" to the first three Peoria Bishops - the windows were put in in the 1930's - giving homage to Mary, the patroness of the Cathedral building, the Peoria Diocese and the American Church.
In St. Patricks Catholic Church in San Francisco every window shows a different Irish Saint, lifesize and beautiful! I mentioned in an earlier post how I love the window at St. Josephs on the Southside of the Visitation. And there is the amazing rose window at Notre Dame in Paris. So much blue and in the 13th century, when the window was installed that color blue used real gold to attain that color.
When Judy and I visited Edinburgh in May last year, a Presbyterian friend suggested we visit St. Giles, the first Kirk of that religion. It was magnificent, but it had been built in the 11th Century as a Roman Catholic Church and taken over when Catholicism was outlawed.
And I thought the ruins at Holyrood Abbey built in the 10th Century were equally as inspiring because of the window that wasn't there. I love visiting all Churches and the huge Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco is quiet and peaceful as the light filters through the glass. The huge window at St. Pauls here in Peoria is awesome. And the small window in the sanctuary at the Lutheran Church on School Street in Washington of the Agony in the Garden is a favorite. We Catholics, don't have a lock on beautiful windows. In the 1960s, so many Churches were built with Picasso style windows. Ugly and uglier. Hopefully this trend is ending. The new windows at United Presbyterian are of a traditional design all done in soft pastels.I know in my heart that the focus in our Church is not the windows or the statues but Jesus in the Tabernacle in the form of bread. And I love to sit and visit in the quiet but I am inspired by whatever and whomever the light shines through.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Wedding Reflections
When we got married in January, 1956, the 'Wedding of the Century' that year, was the April wedding of Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier of Monaco. This year's 'WOC' was Kate and William's in April and on December 30, our family joined in the celebration of nephew, Army Captain Sean Godfrey and Catherine Eoff. Beautiful Bride, Handsome Groom, Magnificent Cathedral, lovely day.
The Mother of the Groom, our youngest sister, Suzanne, was three months old when Vern and I got married. Neither she or three year old, little brother, David, attended our wedding ceremony. David asked me why on Friday night. I suggested he might have been too young, he said he was disappointed he hadn't been invited because he really liked Vern. (No mention of liking his older sister.)
My father was active in the Fourth Degree Knights of Columbus and he and Mom attended many formal functions. One Christmas, in the 1960s he gave her a mink stole. Fast forward forty years, when Mother died, our daughter, Mary, asked if she could have the stole, no one objected and she took it home. When Sue sent the picture of her MOG dress to her neices, a lovely deep jade color, Mary sent her Mom's stole. It was perfect and just the thing for the coolish Savannah night.
Sean's brothers, Lt. Col. James Godfrey, Jr. and Sergeant Dennis Godfrey were readers at the wedding. Jimmy read from the Old Testament and Denny read the petitions. Sean had requested that prayers of remembrance be asked for Vern and his Dad's sister, Flo. A very nice touch and we thank he and Catherine for their thoughtfulness.
After the wedding, the guests and bridesmaids waited outside the Cathedral, while the Military present who were wearing their dress uniforms, formed an arch with their swords for Sean and Catherine to walk through. The last man, tapped Catherine on her backside with the flat side of his blade and called out loudly: "Welcome to the Army!" A long time Army tradition. Pretty cool!
The most poignant memory of the Wedding for me, was when the Best man, Sean's friend, Max, toasted the Bride and Groom and ended by saying: "I'm glad to be able to celebrate this day with you before I return to Afghanistan in three weeks". A good reminder that these young men partying away are in the business of protecting our Country.
And so for Max, Sean and all of the young men and women who protect this Country and for all of us in the New Year, I end with this quote just sent to me by our friend, Bill Calliss: The nicest place to be is in someone's thoughts, The safest place to be is in someone's prayers and the best place to be is in God's hands.
The Mother of the Groom, our youngest sister, Suzanne, was three months old when Vern and I got married. Neither she or three year old, little brother, David, attended our wedding ceremony. David asked me why on Friday night. I suggested he might have been too young, he said he was disappointed he hadn't been invited because he really liked Vern. (No mention of liking his older sister.)
My father was active in the Fourth Degree Knights of Columbus and he and Mom attended many formal functions. One Christmas, in the 1960s he gave her a mink stole. Fast forward forty years, when Mother died, our daughter, Mary, asked if she could have the stole, no one objected and she took it home. When Sue sent the picture of her MOG dress to her neices, a lovely deep jade color, Mary sent her Mom's stole. It was perfect and just the thing for the coolish Savannah night.
Sean's brothers, Lt. Col. James Godfrey, Jr. and Sergeant Dennis Godfrey were readers at the wedding. Jimmy read from the Old Testament and Denny read the petitions. Sean had requested that prayers of remembrance be asked for Vern and his Dad's sister, Flo. A very nice touch and we thank he and Catherine for their thoughtfulness.
After the wedding, the guests and bridesmaids waited outside the Cathedral, while the Military present who were wearing their dress uniforms, formed an arch with their swords for Sean and Catherine to walk through. The last man, tapped Catherine on her backside with the flat side of his blade and called out loudly: "Welcome to the Army!" A long time Army tradition. Pretty cool!
The most poignant memory of the Wedding for me, was when the Best man, Sean's friend, Max, toasted the Bride and Groom and ended by saying: "I'm glad to be able to celebrate this day with you before I return to Afghanistan in three weeks". A good reminder that these young men partying away are in the business of protecting our Country.
And so for Max, Sean and all of the young men and women who protect this Country and for all of us in the New Year, I end with this quote just sent to me by our friend, Bill Calliss: The nicest place to be is in someone's thoughts, The safest place to be is in someone's prayers and the best place to be is in God's hands.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)