The Autumns of my Childhood...

I changed my Facebook Cover photo today using the photo above, and the childhood memories just started flooding back.  We had so many trees in our yard and it was a huge job, raking those leaves into the road and burning them.  Oh, what fun though, burrowing in the piles, and the smell of those burning leaves was magic.  Since I was an only child and we lived in the country there were no kids to play with, so my playmates were dogs and cats.  The dogs would run through the leaves with me, I can still see it all in my mind.

Fall was such a busy time at our house.  I’ve blogged before how mother and I would trudge through the muddy popcorn fields in our rubber “galoshes," dragging a tow sack which we would fill with popcorn that was left in the field after the combine had picked the corn.  Sometimes the mud was so deep it would suck the boots right off my feet and I would be left with wet socks to stuff back in them.  We would spend evenings in front of a coal stove, shucking that corn and emptying it into quart Ball jars to store for the winter.

Late in the fall we would go to the pecan groves, where tractors would bump the trees so the pecans would fall and we would gather coal buckets full of nuts to be weighed and paid for.  We also gathered black walnuts, messy nuts whose hulls would stain our hands and my favorite hickory nuts.  Hickory nuts were so hard to crack, and it took many hours to pick the nuts from the shells.  We would gather sticky persimmons to make persimmon pudding, always picked after the first frost, they were bitter if you didn’t wait and we would crack open the kernels because we believed persimmons predicted the winter weather.

If the kernel was spoon-shaped, you could expect plenty of snow to shovel.  If it was fork-shaped, plan on a mild winter with powdery, light snow.  If the kernel was knife-shaped, expect frigid winds that “cut” like a blade.

By mid-November the temperatures were cold in Southern Illinois and my uncles would butcher hogs.  Sometimes we had our own pig that we raised to butcher, other times they would give us hams and bacon.  Mother would sugar cure them with salt, brown sugar, spices and pepper, and hang them in a gunny sack from the rafters of our outbuilding.  We hung them so that the mice wouldn’t get to them.   I never cared for the cured meat, the flavor was too salty and strong for a little girl, but I spent many nights, racing to the outbuilding in the dark to retrieve those hams for mother to slice off pieces with a butcher knife and fry in an iron skillet for dinner..

At Thanksgiving she would make a hickory nut cake.  I have so many of her recipes but that one escaped me.  She also made black walnut divinity, always on a dry sunny day, for Christmas and she would store it in tins that she saved year after year.

She always made a fruitcake the week after Thanksgiving, chocked full of candied fruits and our pecans that we had shelled.  She baked it in an angel food pan and would put it in a tin with a wine soaked dishtowel surrounding it and a brandy soaked towel in the center so it could age for Christmas.  I never liked them as a child, and she would only give me small very thin slices because they did have alcohol after all and I never liked the taste. I probably would think they were wonderful now.

Fall always brought a new load of coal to be stored in the coal house for our winter heat.  I wish I still had her old receipts, it would be interesting to see how much it cost.  Coal was sold by the ton and we would get a couple of tons to last us through the winter.  The delivery man would dump it in the driveway and we had to carry bucket after bucket to the back coal shed. The house was always cold when we got home in the evening, mother would fill the coal buckets to build a fire and It was always my job to empty the ashes in the driveway ruts to help us keep from getting the car stuck.  We lived on a road that wasn’t graveled, so getting our car stuck in the mud was something that occurred on a regular basis.

We always put plastic on our windows to keep out the winter cold, usually nailing it on the windows on a cold blustery Saturday and it was a big job to unroll the plastic and cut it to fit the windows. The walls of our house weren’t insulated, only the attic, so it was always really hard to keep it warm.   She always made me new flannel pajamas with big buttons in the fall and I slept on a feather bed piled high with quilts.  Looking back I wonder how she managed to do all of that.  She worked from 8-5 at the drug store five days a week, Daddy didn’t live with us, he worked in Northern Illinois, so it was just a woman and a little girl, doing the best they could with absolutely no luxuries at all and nobody to help them.  No bathroom or running water, for years we didn’t have a pump, just a well and a bucket, but we managed and I have happy memories of my childhood.

I didn’t have a mother that played with me, I don’t ever remember her playing board games or reading to me.  She had no time, she was always working because she had to do all of the chores herself.  There was no television in our house until I was twelve years old, I listened to the radio in the evenings and played the piano (badly).  I was always an avid reader, probably more so because there wasn’t that much to do in the country in the cold weather.  No neighbors to talk to, no kids to play with, but if it’s all I knew, and it was okay.  I’ve always admired mother for all the hard work she did.  She didn’t complain or feel sorry for herself, and she worked from early morning until bedtime to make a home and put food on the table.  She really was a strong woman.

The older I get the more nostalgic I am.  My childhood stories are of a difficult life, but it wasn’t a sad life, I was a happy child, I was fed, clothed and loved and I was grateful for the things I had and proud of the accomplishments of daily living.   I miss those days and go back often in my mind.  Some of this you may have read some of this before, as I’ve talked about my childhood in my blog quite a bit through the years, but it’s always good to reminisce, to once again remember the way it was and to be reminded of how lucky I am to have the life that I have now...

 

The Spring of my Discontent...

 

 Hubby took me for a long drive today, deep into the countryside, past the fields and the animals, the old barns and the farmhouses, a trek that normally brings me peace and contentment, but not today, for me today, it was just unsettling.  I did snap a picture of this cow, she was looking right at me, and I do love a good cow picture. 😀

I’ve had a difficult spring this year and it all boils down to one thing, I’m homesick for the days of my childhood.  It would do me no good to revisit where I grew up, where my grandparents and family lived, everything has changed, I miss the way it was when I was a little girl, not the changes that have come with time.

Today was filled with flashbacks to those earlier days.  I can vividly remember the sound of the glass rattling in the front door as it shut and the creak of the porch swing where I spent many hours.  I can even remember the feel of the uneven boards against my feet as I pushed the swing. Mother’s Irises lined the driveway and they would be in bloom now, all thirty feet of them planted in a row like soldiers by the side of the driveway and the smell was wonderful.  I’ve always loved the smell of Iris, even better than roses.  I love honeysuckle, too.  We had a tall tree stump in the backyard with a mass of wild honeysuckle growing on it.  Oh that smell, there is nothing better in the evening after a spring rain than the smell of blooming honeysuckle.

In my mind I can hear the sound of the back screen door slamming as I carried a dishpan of vegetable peelings to the chickens in their pen.  I miss the lay of the land and the trees now long gone.  Cherry and apple, maple and my favorite cottonwood tree.  I loved the rustle of it's leaves and the puffs of cotton that blew in the wind.  And of course, my beloved ditch.  The rushing water so clear you could see the stones in the creek bed and my very favorite childhood place to play.  I miss my faded lavender striped sheets, always fresh from the line on Saturday night and the clean, outdoorsy smell of them as I tucked into bed.

I even miss the birds.  I’ve only seen one red-winged blackbird this year in middle Tennessee.  Its my favorite, we had so many in our trees at home, and I loved their bird song.  I think of the June bugs and how I would chase them at dusk and put them in a Ball jar to glow in the dark, I loved taking long walks on our dusty country road and coming home to a glass of syrupy sweet tea in an aluminum glass, the green one was my favorite, the tea so frosty cold that it would hurt my teeth.  I miss mother’s Sunday dinners, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy,  home canned corn, Bunny Bread Brown ’n Serve Dinner Rolls and her bird egg beans.  They were the best, those beans, oh how I enjoyed them.

I just miss living alongside nature and the natural rhythms that come with it.  I have access to the country, but I don’t live in the country.  I can no longer step outside my door to total quiet, with just the smells and the sounds of nature and the occasional sound of the train winding down Appel’s hill.   Many times I’ve had LC take me to the country road I lived on as a young girl, turn off the car, roll down the windows and just listen to the sounds of my childhood.  

And so I shake off these memories and get on with living, not quite understanding why this year it has been so bittersweet for me.  But this too shall pass and tomorrow I won’t be so nostalgic.  It’s a good life I have now, but oh those memories, sometimes they just come back and tug at your heartstrings… ~ Jan

 

It's May Day...

When I was a little girl May 1st was a big deal.  We would have a Maypole at school to dance around, and we would wear crowns of flowers in our hair.

But the best part, May 1st was the day that Mother let me go barefoot outside for the first time.  Such good memories on this bright, sunshiny first day of May in Nashville this morning...

October always makes me think of home...

 

Oh, the memories.  Chili simmering on the stove, an apple pie in the oven, muddy boots by the back door, a nip in the air, these were the October days of my childhood.

I loved the smell of burning leaves, the piles in the yard to tunnel through, barking dogs in the distance, a train meandering down Appel’s hill.  WROY would be playing on the radio, we had no television when I was a child, so most evenings I would be playing the piano.  How Great Thou Art, Floyd Kramer’s Last Dance, Sempir Fedelis, or Stars and Stripes Forever from John Phillip Sousa, and always classical music like Fur Elise or The Blue Danube.  My music was eclectic and varied, I enjoyed playing it so much, even though it didn’t come naturally to me like it did to  others.

There were always dogs and cats at our house which I would smuggle inside on a regular basis,  and we often had a parakeet or a canary.  The fields would be filled with tractors, fall harvest would be in full swing.  Sometimes I would get to go with Aunt Lois in her International pick-up to the elevator to dump the loads of corn.  We would stay in the truck and she would drive it up on a lift that would hoist up the front end to dump the grain.  Oh, it was so exciting for a little girl, to sit in the cab of the truck as it went up in the air.  

We would travel to visit my Aunts and Grandma on the weekend, their nearby fields would have popcorn grown in them, and we would take tow sacks and glean the leftover popcorn that the pickers left behind.  It was hard working, dragging those sacks of popcorn through the muddy fields and when we were finished we would go to my Aunt Idalene’s house and she would shell the corn off the cob and pop it, and since it hadn’t yet dried all of the kernels wouldn’t pop.  It would just swell to the bursting point, and the result would be the crunchiest treat ever.  They called the unpopped kernels “old maids.”   We would glean enough popcorn to last us all winter and mother would shell it and store it in fruit jars in boxes under the bed.  I would try and help, but always made more of a mess for her than it was worth.  My hands were so small I couldn’t get a good grip on the cob and the grains of corn would just fly everywhere.

We would gather hickory nuts, pecans and walnuts in the nearby woods and mother would spend evenings around the fire, cracking nuts and filling Ball jars with the nutmeats.  She always called them “goodies.”  On our weekend visits, she would help my aunt quilt, she always had a quilt in a frame in her “spare” bedroom in the winter or they would cut out a dress to sew for church on Sunday.  Aunt Idalene loved new dresses, and she couldn’t wait until one was sewn to put it on and twirl around in the living room to get Uncle Raymond's approval.  I would read books when we visited the Aunts or Grandma, since they didn’t have television either, or listen in on the adult conversations, a lot of which I couldn’t quite understand. 

Canning season would be almost over, except for Aunt Mae, who always made pear preserves in the fall, the most wonderful concoction of pears and pineapple you ever put on a biscuit and Mother always made Apple Butter.  She would fill an aluminum dishpan with peeled and quartered apples, add sugar, cinnamon and red hot candies and simmer it in the oven to can later.  We didn’t waste anything, so  mother would grind the leftover green tomatoes from the garden and make relish.  Chow-chow was my favorite, a hot spicy concoction that I still love with beans.   She would also spread unripe tomatoes on newspapers in the house to ripen, as killing frosts came in early in October to Southern Illinois.

Halloween would be on the horizon, my outfits would be things that I put together from old clothes.  One year I was a hobo, with bib overalls, a flannel shirt and a stick with a bandana bundle on it’s handle.  Once I was an old lady with pillows stuffed in my dress , a scarf on my head and a pocketbook to carry.   We didn’t have elaborate costumes like today’s children, we just made do with what we had.

I would wear face masks we bought from the drug store where Mother worked.   They would be very similar to the ones below, made of gauze, with a distinctive unpleasant odor and they always made me claustrophobic.  There were no cutouts for the nostrils, so you had to breathe through your mouth and often your eyelashes would get caught in the gauze around the eye cutouts.  If it were warm on halloween night, the masks were hot, I would always push mine up on my head with the rubber band that held it on.

We knew everybody’s house we visited, and we would always unmask so that they could see who we were.  Our treats were apples, popcorn balls, always my favorite, and candy.  Not candy like kids get today though, it was mostly pieces of penny candy, cinnamon balls or butterscotch disks or a stick of gum.

I think I’m missing my childhood this evening, it happens with more frequency these days.  I yearn for the simple times, I feel blessed that I had them and that I can resurrect them on nights like this and go home again, if only in my mind...

~ Jan

Reliving my childhood summers

Oh, the lazy summer days of childhood, I have so many good memories of my childhood, and I’m recapturing some of those days here in middle Tennessee.

It wasn’t an easy childhood, but it was a happy one and the pleasures were simple.  My memories are so vivid lately,  it’s amazing at how many things I remember.  

We lived in a little house by my beloved ditch on a dirt road, we didn’t have air conditioning or an inside bathroom or even running water, but what we did have were shade trees and we lived in a valley so there was always a breeze,  We had a great little front porch where I spent many hours playing with my dolls, sitting in the porch swing reading an endless supply of books while drinking iced tea.  My memories are so strong I can still hear the swing creaking and the sound of the screen door slamming shut when I went in and out the front door. 

Our house faced south, but it was so shady the sun didn’t hit the porch, so it was always cool, even on the hottest of days.  It could get dusty when the cars drove by and it was such a small community, I knew every car that passed.  Sometimes I would run in the house until the dust settled, it would be thick and if the wind was blowing toward the house the grit would get in your eyes and they would feel like sandpaper.  And when it rained, oh it was wonderful, the smell of the dust mingling with the rain, we lived for summer rains and the cooler temperatures that followed.

I loved the fence row across the road, the dappled sunlight and the way the big trees swayed in the wind, and I would sit and watch the trees, listening for the train to curve down Appel's hill.  My playmates were dogs and cats, and the birds, the crickets and the frogs were all familiar sounds.

Fast forward to this summer.  Our house faces north, but we have a great little porch, and the ferns have gotten so big that they totally shade everything.  When I look across the street there is a fence row of trees, and I watch them blowing in the wind.  We always have a breeze, and so I sit on the porch, with Maggie beside me, reading an endless supply of books, drinking glasses of iced tea, listening to the old familiar country sounds of birds, crickets and frogs and occasionally glancing at the cars that pass by.  Even though the days are hot, I welcome the warmth, and the cooling breeze coupled with the nature sounds just transport me back to that simple life in our little house by the ditch.

It’s like a gift, being able to have this glimpse of my childhood after all these years and I treasure every moment.  And as I remember those years, I’m very grateful for what I have now, running water, bathrooms, appliances and air conditioning.

So many similarities, that I wouldn’t have thought possible even last year.  It’s never to late to discover new things, there are adventures awaiting us around every corner.

And who says you can’t go home again, in a way I have...

Memories of a Country Garden

This morning I was out on the golf cart, enjoying the damp, cool air, and I could swear I got a whiff of fresh dill.  Then I was making a salad for lunch, and when I cut the vine away from the tomato, the smell of the stem just permeated the air.

Here I go with the nostalgia.  When I was a little girl we always had a garden, always.  Mother saved seeds, tilled her garden with a plow like the one above, then we planted and carried buckets of water daily to keep everything alive.  There was no hose to water with, no air conditioned house to cool off in after we were finished, it was hot in Southern Illinois in the summertime, but we worked early in the morning or late at night.

She always had a beautiful garden, and was so proud of it, people who visited always had to take a tour.  There were gooseberry bushes for pies, I was never a fan, those things were so sour, but she loved them.  We picked blackberries, cherries from our trees, apples, peaches, grew our own strawberries, and then the work really began.  I’ve talked before about how much she canned, I have so many of her recipes, someday I need to make her dill pickles.  The smell of that dill this morning just took me back.

Maybe that was her, reminding me of my roots and never to take for granted the conveniences I have now.

Thanks for the reality check, and the memories, mom...

Billy The Rooster...

I’m ending my Down on the Farm Week with a repost from 2011.  This was so much fun, I’ll do it again, maybe a spring flower week, that would be something to look forward to in a few weeks.  ~ Jan

 This picture of me was taken when I was probably about three years old.

We had just moved to the country and Billy was mother’s pet rooster.  Some of my earliest memories are of Billy, he was a gentle soul that mother nurtured from a chick.  

She was an animal lover, always outside animals, though, we never had anything in the house except her canaries.  There were always dogs and cats to play with, chickens, too and the occasional white duck wandering around our yard, and obviously this rooster.

At the risk of sounding like Ma and Pa Kettle, I have to tell you about Billy and how I remember, to this day, him roosting on the back of our couch at night.

Mother was a clean freak, everything was always pristine in our house, but she loved this pet rooster and was afraid a fox would get into the chicken house and kill him, so every night she would spread layers of newspapers on the back of the couch, bring Billy inside and he would roost on the sofa.  I wish I could talk to her about this again, seeing this picture brought back such vivid memories because even though I was really young I remember Billy so well. She must have gotten up at the crack of dawn to let him outside, because no doubt he started crowing when the sun came up.

This must sound odd to you, but remember, it was a simple life, living in our little house by the ditch , and it seemed perfectly normal to have a rooster in our living room.  I told you earlier about  Aunt Idalene who always had baby pigs on her back porch, and how I used to feed them with a baby bottle, and I remember going to a great aunt’s house and she had baby chickens underneath her kitchen table, with chicken wire around the table legs so they couldn’t get out.

I know, that’s a bit much, but she was probably doing that to keep them warm. I remember thinking how awful it was, that old woman with all those baby chickens under the table.  But that aunt was a little bat shit crazy, too. She WAS Ma Kettle.

 

Farms, I've been on a few...

 

A little nostalgia this Saturday morning of down on the farm week.  I actually wasn’t raised on a farm, we just lived in our little house by the ditch in the country.  Our livestock was nothing more than roosters, hens and the occasional pig that we would butcher.  However, mother’s large family, who lived just a few miles away, were all farmers so I spent much of of my childhood among farmers and their families.

It was a hard life, I have many memories of huge noon meals that my aunts prepared for the farm hands.  Everything was homemade, meals filled with several types of meat, vegetables, biscuits, cornbread and a plethora of cakes and pies daily.  Now that we are so “educated” about food and carb loading, I wonder how the men were productive after those huge noon meals.  

My Aunt Idalene often had runt piglets on her back porch, and I would feed them with a bottle.  They were adorable, as any baby is, rooting and squealing and sucking those bottles.  She milked cows and had a cream separator to separate the milk from the cream. My aunts all churned their own butter every week, too.  There were hen houses, I would be sent to gather the eggs, and inevitably I would not only step in chicken poop, but a hen would peck my hands when I tried to rob her of the eggs.  I’ve been flogged by mother hens and chased by mama pigs, because I was always trying to play with their babies.  

There were guineas, too, they laid little bird eggs that we would fry and eat. And canned meat, oh the canned meat, it was wonderful.  Grandma always canned her young chickens, “pullets”, so small that they would fit in a wide mouth quart Ball jar.  Canned sausage was a treat, but the best was the canned tenderloin.  It was indescribably delicious, with the juices made into gravy.  Oh, what I would give to have it just one more time.  

My grandparents lived in a house with no electricity, it wasn’t that they couldn’t afford it, my grandpa was just a stubborn old man and he refused to activate it.  Grandma had a “ice box” and I can still see my Uncle Gene bringing a block of ice in the house with ice tongs and putting it in the ice box so that she could cool her food.  Before the days of the ice box, she would lower food into her well in a bucket to keep it cool.  The gardens were always huge with seeds saved from year to year, and we always toured them on our weekly visits to see how things were growing.

Grandpa was a farmer, he farmed using a team of work horses, Bill and Joe, I can still see him harnessing up those horses and walking them through the fields.  He smoked a pipe and grew his own tobacco, he would sit on his back porch, forming the harvested tobacco into u-shaped twists, tying it with twine and lining them up on nails driven into the porch wall to dry.  Grandma always wore a bonnet when she went outside, and always had on an apron.  She would gather eggs and food from the garden, hoisting up that apron to make a carrier for her bounty.  

He and grandma raised ten children, five boys, five girls, and they all they knew was to work.  An evening out for them was harnessing up a wagon and going to church.  Grandpa drove a pickup truck, a 1949 Chevy, that my cousin Phyllis has now, rusty and parked in her farmyard, and she fills it with flowers in the summer.  It’s just beautiful, I need to get a picture from her to share.  I still remember the cracked, brown leather seats in that old truck and how much fun it was when he would load his dogs in the back of it and take the grandkids for a ride.

Those country roots run so deep, there is nothing in my  world better than a ride at dusk in the country in the summertime with the windows down, the familiar sounds and smells bring back so many wonderful memories.

Oh, the country life, it was and will always be the best...

 

 

The Blizzard of '78

 

I remember this well, we lived in Northern Indiana, the boys were little, we had just moved into a new house, and the blizzard struck.

And did we all snuggle in and ride out the storm, light candles, pop corn and read books to the kids?  Oh, hell no, I fell down the stairs and broke my tailbone.  Poor LC had to bundle me and those poor little boys into his work truck and take me to the ER.  I remember how treacherous the roads were and how we wondered if we would make it home again.  But mostly I remember how much it hurt to try and sit on the toilette and stand back up again.

And that, dear readers, is my memory of the Blizzard of ’78.  Fascinating, huh... 

Terri Lee Dolls, they're back!!!

When I was a little girl I had a Terri Lee doll.  It was my very favorite doll, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  And my mother who never threw away anything got rid of her!  And I wasn’t alone, my friend Nisha still has her Terri Lee, my cousin Judy’s mother had the entire Family of Terri Lee dolls and a boatload of clothes, and my friend, Barb had one as well.

A few months ago, Barb told me that Terri Lee dolls were on Zulily.  I looked at them, but it was summer, so I didn’t order, and then a couple of weeks ago, she emailed me and told me they had a sale on them.  So I snapped two of these blonde beauties up for Lexi and Abby, and then I also bought the dark haired version in a sailor dress for myself.  

I know, I’m a sentimental old fool, but oh how I loved that doll and mine had dark hair, and looks very similar to the one I bought.

When Abby opened hers, the response was “what does it do, Grammie?”  Oh, how times have changed. 

As you can see above, Miss Lexi opened hers, and was fascinated with the box.

Will they grow to love these dolls?  Only time will tell, but Grammie is absolutely thrilled to have Terri Lee again.

Here’s what she looks like, isn’t she a beauty...

 

And below is one from the 50’s, it’s prettier than the reproduction, but this one is good enough for me...

 

Americana

This is everything I love, Americana at it’s finest.  I remember the day when I would have been all over this like mayo on white.  Recreating the look, having poor hubby build me the wooden flag.  Oh those were the days, and I miss them.

I wish I could just muster the energy to do projects like this again.  Oh get real, Jan, you don’t even have a porch, let alone a wagon!  It’s a nice little dream though, you have to admit.  And my antiques are long gone, they haven’t been around since the 90’s, and I miss them too.

Waaaaa, a little whiny pity party on a rainy day.  *sigh*

But wait, I do have that great Uncle Sam in the attic that V made for me back in the day.  And I could buy a red geranium, and I could sit it on my stone bench by the front door with a flag stuck in the pot.  There is always a workaround, always, sometimes I just forget...

Remembering Daddy

This is the Daddy I never knew as a young man.  He was thirty-six when I was born, this picture with his sister was taken in his twenties.  But  Daddy lives on in our John,  the genetics are so strong, the bone structure is the same, it’s shocking sometimes because when I see John, I see Daddy.

He was a great dad, kind and gentle, he sang with me, called me his “Sweet Georgia Brown”  and jitterbugged with me in the living room.  He loved to read, and as a toddler he taught me all the nursery rhymes, and patiently taught me to read before I started school.  He was a fine man, always interested in my life, my grades, my activities and kept the communication open when I was a teenager.   He thought Larry was great, loved his grandsons, didn’t quite know what to do with little boys, as his life had always been filled with first, many sisters, and then me, but he tried his best and loved them dearly.

He’s been gone for nineteen years now, but I have wonderful memories, and in my mind I can still hear his voice and his laughter.  I was so blessed to have him in my life.  Happy Father’s Day, Daddy, you will always live on in my heart...

Remembering the good old days...

Hubby and I were just talking the other day about how life used to be when you went to the “service” station.

The attendant came out in a uniform and a hat, greeted you by name, would always wash the headlights and the windshield, check the oil and oftentimes he would check the tire pressure.  All of this for a five gallon of gas purchase!

I want those days back again!  I absolutely hate pumping gas!!!

Does anyone iron anymore?

Back in the day women washed on Monday and ironed on Tuesday, that’s just the way it was.  Why?  Oh, who the hell knows, you didn’t ask questions back in the day, you just “did it."

I was the child of a mother who hated ironing almost as much as Moi.  Enter Mabel Thompson, this older skinny woman in our small village, who walked around town wearing a headscarf and toting a pocketbook, chain smoking an endless supply of Pell Mell cigarettes.

Mabel didn’t have a regular job, but she “took in” ironing, probably in part to purchase all those Pell Mells'.  Mother would fill up a bushel basket, drop it off at Mabel’s house before she went to work in the morning, pick it up in the evening, everything would be on wire hangers,  ironed to perfection, and it cost her seventy-five cents.  Imagine, ironing an entire bushel basket of clothes, especially  in the summer with no air-conditioning, for seventy-five cents!

After LC and I married, I made many attempts at Tuesday ironing, but I never quite got there.  Oh, I did what I had to do, the boys never went to school with wrinkled clothes, partly because I taught them how to iron when they were in diapers, a skill that still serves them to this day.  I did iron hubby’s clothes for him, but those days are long gone, thank goodness.  And you do realize I’m just kidding about the diapers, they were actually in first grade before they ironed.  *wicked grin*

As I’ve gotten older and wiser, it’s “iron on demand” at our house.  Whoever needs something ironed puts down the built-in ironing board, fires up the iron, fills it with water, because somehow it always needs it, and does the deed.

But then, fabrics are forgiving these days.  Everything is either "wrinkle free" or 'wrinkle resistant."  But even so, a touch-up helps, but more often than  not I just don’t want to mess with it.  When Ry was in college he was a fan of just heating things up in the dryer to get out the worst of the wrinkles, and ya know, it’s not a bad idea,  I’ve been known to do it myself.  And you can do wonders with a flat iron, seriously you can.  Just try it the next time your jeans are wrinkled, it works like a charm.

I still see old(er) women that obviously still adhere to the Tuesday ironing day.  Their jeans, heaven forbid, are neatly creased, and their husbands shirts and Dickey work pants are starched to perfection.

It’s just not me, just not the way I roll.  I have better things to do on Tuesday than iron.  How about you...

I got a little blue box for Valentine's Day

 

 

I seldom talk about the gifts hubby gives me, except in a joking manner.  Today I’m going to take exception, because back in 2007 I blogged about my worst Valentine’s Day gift ever, a red exercise suit, and I want you all to know that he is finally, after all these years, totally forgiven.

Back in 2007 I said it wasn’t “exactly romantic” but this year was.  We had such a nice day, a quick breakfast out, shopping a bit, even going for a walk around the neighborhood before the snow moved in.  And when he gave me “The Little Blue Box”  the one that makes every girl’s heart go pitter-patter, I was so touched.

And what’s in the box?  Well, we’ve been married for 43 years this summer, so the man knows me really well.  He gave me a gift card  to Tiffany’s so I can pick out what I want.  We’re heading to Nashville in a few weeks to visit the kids, guess you all know what store I’ll be hitting up.

Thanks hubby for the nice surprise and for making my Valentine’s Day so special.  XXo ~ me

 

You were a beauty my old friend, oxblood leather, nailhead trim, we were best buddies for years and years.  We were growing older together, you and I.  Cracks started showing in your leather, your arms wore through to the underlayment, but that was okay, I could live with the aging, I’m aging, too, I understood. And then your padding started to go and for awhile that was okay as well.  But this past month you just gave up completely, resulting in excruciating pain to my nether regions, and it was time to say goodbye.  It was a sad morning, watching you being rolled away, bidding farewell to the best chair I ever had. 

 

 

Hello, you ugly ergonomic chair.  You sure don’t have any wow factor, except for your price! You’ve got big shoes to fill, you new kid on the block, will we ever be friends?  Only time will tell, but I’m not one for change, I like things to stay the same.  But you adjust up, down, front, back and sideways.  You have lumbar support, you have a mesh seat that will be cool in the summer, and you better be kind to my nether regions or you will be going right back to the store, and maybe purchased by some big guy who will just hammer you every time he sits on you!  So you better treat me right, got it?

Today is your maiden voyage, I hope we have a smooth sail...

11 THINGS TO WRITE DOWN BEFORE THE YEAR ENDS

 

Apparently I’m still on Oprah’s email list, and I got an email this morning that intrigued me.  I’m not a fan, not for years now, but some of the things she writes about really does make you think.  So here are the 11 things, and my answers.  It may bore you, but I will enjoy looking back at it in a few years.  And this picture I posted doesn’t exactly look like a journal, but you have to admit, it’s gawjus.   And if I actually wrote in a journal, I would want this!

1.  WHAT YOUNGER YOU WOULD LIKE ABOUT PRESENT YOU

I think that the younger me would admire the older me, seriously.  Why?  Because I’m more sure of myself, I’ve learned to trust my gut, I’m not a pushover like I was when I was younger.  But I’m a broad, not a lady, unfortunately, because I really wish I was (were?) a lady.  But I’m not, and if I tried, I would be phony, and that’s one thing I’m not, I’m the real meal deal.  What you see is what you get.

2.  THE WATCHED/READ LIST

It’s no surprise to all of you that I’m a shallow reader.  I devour trashy romance novels.  Well, not so trashy anymore, I’ve honed my reading skills, the trash is boring, I want a good storyline, and always a happy ending.  The best reads of 2013 - has to be my ongoing serial reading of Robin Carr’s Virgin River Series.  She’s up to book 15 now, and still going strong.  Such good books, set in a small mountain town with colorful characters, what’s not to love.  Anything Mary Kay Andrews writes is always on my to read list as well.  She has the best sense of humor, she’s always a fun escape.

And my watch list, Downton Abbey.  Hands down the best ever series that I’ve watched, possibly forever.  Wasn’t crazy about the direction the story went last year, but those Brits, they sure do know how to produce fascinating television.

3.  THE MISTAKE YOU’LL NEVER WANT TO MAKE

To intentionally or unintentionally hurt someone’s feelings and not to take anyone for granted.  Live in the moment, it’s all we have.  Good friends and a wonderful family are truly a gift, keep those you love close to your heart.

4.  YOUR IDEAL OUTFIT

Oh, this is an easy one.  I’m a jeans girl, always have been, always will be.  Of course I would need to be thin to pull this off, but it’s the ideal outfit, right?  Okay, skinny jeans with a great fade, awesome boots, vintage look, distressed soft, supple brown butter leather, high boots that come to my knees.   Tuck those jeans into the boots and top it with a long loose tunic sweater, preferably asymmetric, cream or oatmeal, fuzzy angora or soft cashmere.  Lots of bangles on both arms, some kind of long, statement earrings, hair a shoulder length bob, slightly shorter in the back, shiny and sleek, with fresh streaky color, super smoky eyes in shades of brown and gold.  Purse?  Oversized brown hobo bag, very distressed, leather soft as butter.  And what do I need to make this happen?  Well, first I need to lose lots more weight and have a boob job.  Can’t forget making the girls smaller, and a weave in my hair.  Cough up the big bucks for the clothes, hair and jewelry and that should do it.  Yeah, sure Jan, when pigs fly this will happen...

5.  A DEEP DARK-SHHH-SECRET

Oh boy, like I would give it away on here.  Ya, I probably would since I have no filter.  Ummmmmm, oh, I’ve got it!  I would really like a great picture of me and the grandkids, a natural pose with all of us laughing.  Sounds like a simple thing doesn’t it, but it never seems to happen. And to accomplish that we would probably need to take 100-150 pictures minimum to get a good one.  So I would also ask for patience from the photographer that took the pictures.  Family are you listening?

6.  THE MOST UNEXPECTED COMPLIMENT THAT YOU EVER GOT

Well, it happened a few years ago at Canton Inn, our families (not the girls, just LC and the boys) favorite restaurant.  And for the most part, compliments make me uncomfortable, I’m not one to seek attention.  But I was at the buffet and this nice older gentleman (75ish) came up to me and said I was absolutely beautiful and wanted to know if he could hug me.  He didn’t look like a pervert, I was stunned, but I laughed,  opened my arms and gave him a big hug.  I was always glad I did that, such a simple thing and it was obviously important to him.  Maybe I reminded him of someone he once loved, or maybe he was a pervert, but I prefer not to think about that.

7.  THAT ONE QUOTE

I have two, “When we know better, we do better” ~ Maya Angelou - and my favorite, the one Ryan told me “You can do just about anything if you just take your time."

8.  THE BEST SURPRISE YOU’VE EVER HAD

Has to be when the kids told me they were pregnant with my grandchildren.  And now grandbaby No. 3 is coming in the spring.  I’m so blessed with these precious little souls.

9. YOUR TRUE HAPPINESS

We’ll, it’s obviously family and friends and my adored fur child, Maggie Moo.  But if I had to pick one perfect happy peaceful moment it would be about 15 years ago when hubby and I were landscaping The Gingerbread House.  We had gone to pick up a load of top soil in LC’s company pickup one pretty summer day, and it was down by the river.  The guys that loaded the dirt had just begun their lunch break, LC went off to talk to them, and he was parked right next to the river in a grove of trees.  Both doors were open, dappled sunlight twinkled through the trees and this warm, gentle, breeze was blowing over me.  I lay down and slept and it was the most perfect, blissful sleep I’ve ever had.  Then the workers finished lunch, fired up the backhoe, hubby came back, slammed the door, started the truck motor, and poof, it was over...

10.  YOUR FAVORITE FAILURE

Would have to be blogging.  I began blogging years ago when Ryan was just out of college and living in Washington State.  I wrote a few entries just to keep in touch with him and he told me I would never do it.  Boy, was he wrong!  I’ve blogged forever now, and maybe it was a failure initially, because it took me a couple of attempts before it took hold, but wow, I have sure blabbed a lot of  nonsense over the years, with no intention of stopping now.

11.  AN AMENDMENT TO THE BUCKET LIST

Well, that’s easy enough, I just blogged about this last week.  I want to fly fish, I really want to do this.  And when I think of more things to add to that list, I’ll be sure and give you an update.

So what are your 11 things?  Think about it...

Here’s a link to the original article

 

 

 

Old Barns...

 

I love old barns, LOVE them!  This one reminds me of my Grandpa Short's barn.  Oh, the memories….

It's all about vintage….

 

I seriously don't know what's going on with me.  I'm so nostalgic this year, and I look at vintage items and fall in love all over again.  I used to have a house full of vintage, lots and lots of it, back in the day when we had never heard of Shabby Chic, but I got off that bandwagon years ago, I still drool, however,  and so I'm sharing this wonderful kitchen desk picture.

Maybe somebody out there could benefit from this idea  What a wonderful little desk cubby with kitchen utensils used for storage.  So cute, somebody will take this idea and run with it, surely they will...

 

 

And if that little kitchen idea didn't float your boat, how could this not????  Oh my gracious, this is so special!

But wait, I said I'm not on the vintage bandwagon anymore,  that's not quite correct.   We saved our favorite things from years ago and DH has all of the vintage items in his den.  Walking in there is like a blast from the past!

 

 

And of all the things we've saved, this is my favorite.  It's my computer desk, and it's wonderful, or at least I think it is.  And yes, that's Pioneer Woman Wallpaper on my monitors, the left is Charlie the Ranch Dog.  But back to my story…  How many of you have searched hard and long for the "perfect" computer desk, only to find it doesn't exist.  We certainly did, and bought multiple ones over the years, but they were never quite right, and finally the light dawned!.  Hubby was an engineer and this was his drafting table.  He's saved it all these years, dragging it around the country, along with the boy's baby bed, because certain things you just can't part with.  So a few years ago we got the bright idea to use it for a computer desk.  But it was too wide and too long.  But hubby is innovative, and there is nothing he likes better than a good challenge.  So he sawed several inches off to the back of the wood top, sawed off a bit of the width, then using the hardware from a throwaway computer desk, he made a shelf from the wood he sawed off the back.  Told you he was innovative.

The bottom was oak, the top was pine, but that just makes it interesting, he sanded it, refinished it, putting a heavy duty bar coating on the top, because yours truly needs things to be indestructible, and it's been just great.  It's big, roomy, substantial, it's seriously awesome!

But poor hubby has been using an antique desk in the den for his computer desk, trying in vain to find another drafting table so that he could revamp it for his computer desk, but he hasn't had any luck.  He's searched eBay for years, and when you find them they are really spendy, almost always starting at $500 and going much higher, plus shipping.  But a couple of days ago he hit pay dirt, somebody listed one almost identical to mine, "Buy It Now" for $69.  SIXTY NINE DOLLARS!!!!!  Well he scooped it up an hour after it was listed, and since it was within driving distance, we drove and picked it up.

So he's happily taking it apart, sanding it and refinishing it.  He even found a great stool for it today.  I'll update you with pictures when he gets it finished.   Now we're on the hunt for a vintage Rolodex, an old stapler, a tape dispenser, and who knows what else.  It's a fun fall project for us...

Oh credit, I almost forgot to give you the link to the blogger who posted a great vintage blog, Decor 4 All, that's where the other pictures came form.  Here's her link, check it out...

Back to the 60's with Cherl Tiegs..

 

 

 

Remember a few weeks ago when I blogged about hubby wearing nothing but black and channeling Johnny Cash.  Well, I'm no better, I'm now convinced that I'm badly channeling Cheryl Tiegs.  

See this picture from the Sears catalog, circa 1960's, well let me tell you I  loved this very picture.  I still remembering getting this Sears Catalog and just drooling over her hair.  Well, my latest haircut is a little bit too similar.  Of course she's young in this picture, I'm old(er), she's tiny, I'm robust, her face is the perfect oval, mine is round as a balll.  Dontcha like that word "robust" - sounds lots better than fat(ter) I think.

I pulled up this vintage picture of her, and started laughing.  Then I took a picture of my hair and sure enough, it's pretty similar.  If I redid the part and the bangs, and teased the crown a bit, t would be almost the same, well, except for the fact that I don't look a thing like Cheryl Tiegs.

Just for fun, I Googled a picture of her today...

 

Wow, amazing, she's sixty-five years old, how does she stay so skinny?   I still love her hair, it looks amazing, maybe if I let mine grow.  Yeah, sure thing Jan, you would just look like an old(er) porker with long hair.  Jeesh…..