Fussy Old People

Fussy old people. You know the ones. "Where is my cup? Not that one, I like the one with the thick edge. I like that one."  "Did anyone see where I put my glasses? Oh, I have them on? Hmm?"  "Do you have a fan? It seems like I'm hot in here." And on and on.

We just returned from visiting our children in Texas. I must tell you that they were very long-suffering with us. We were treated like royalty. "Let 'Honey' have the front seat so she can get in and out better". "Dad, would you like something to eat to hold you over before dinner?" "Papa likes this kind", and on and on. We were made to feel so welcome.

The two girls and our son planned a day of fun for the guys and the same time a day of shopping for the girls. Not to forget the son-in-laws and daughter-in-law, they accommodated our every whim.  My poor granddaughter had to listen to stories from long ago til her eyes glazed over. She told her mother later, "'Honey just told me her life story". Hmm, I will have to make it shorter next time! (and she didn't hear all of it!)

Schedules were changed, beds were given up. Menus planned just for us. We were together nearly every day with frequent phone calls and texts in between.

A family whiffle ball game had us all cheering. It didn't matter who was hitting (or not hitting), we just all wanted to "let the kid out".

New sunglasses

Taking a rest

Styling

Family whiffle ball

Our normal heavy hitter couldn't get a hit. She blamed it on a need for glasses.

Some enjoyed watching.

One granddaughter just redid her room

And, made this picture for it, don't you just love the spelling?

Many poses were taken with this poor rabbit who died making a little boy happy.

Boy cousins.

I finished another rug for a 40th birthday coming up.

We had a wonderful time and look forward to returning. 

The Ditch

As I was saying the other day in another post Passing Down Heritage, we have memories from our childhood that make us.

As I told you, we lived on a cul-de-sac. Behind some of the homes, ran a piece of land that you could dump and burn your trimmings. It wasn't big enough for a home and had no access except through the side of the homes that bordered on it. It also had a "ditch" that was probably a natural run off and had perhaps six inches of water at the very most.

Here, at the ditch area, we had a favorite place to play. But, we were banned from going down to the ditch because it had water, and that water was probably enough to drown in (!) You have to know that my mother was deathly afraid of drowning and the water situation to really appreciate this. Reprimands didn't work for long, back we would go when we could.

We dug holes for "forts", mapped out how our future homes would look. We made stew with ashes, water and crushed piracatha berries. We gathered polly-wogs to take home and watch anxiously to turn into frogs. We gathered tulle bush tops and as they dried out, they would make such a lovely shower of giant dandelion like dust. We loved it.

Little by little my mom became more comfortable with out sneaking down to the "ditch". We moved away when I was about 12, I don't remember having many restrictions about going at that point, but then I had probably outgrown my need to build forts, or make weird stew.

Passing Down Heritage

My sis and I were reminiscing the other day about the places we lived in our childhoods.

One was on a "dead end" street. We were the last house and our house had a freeway exit ramp in our front yard. Just a cyclone fence with a few vines separated us from cars that whizzed by morning, noon and night. I drove by the house the other day, it now has a high, sound proof barrier between it and the highway.

OK, then, our neighborhood was a safe place. We knew all the neighbors down the street. Next door were the S*****. They were on the same side of our cul-de-sac with an older couple next. Now started the houses on both sides. As you walked along, the left house had a family that had 10 children. You pick an age, they had it. Across the street from them was were "The Sherriff" lived. Nobody, not nobody, messed with his yard, trees, etc. You might go to jail (in our child's minds). Next to their home was my introduction to an outdoor pool. It was probably 10 feet across, but it was huge in my mind. A loving couple opened it up to all the neighborhood kids, too. I could go on about the neighbors, but...

Now, on the heritage part. My mother, bless her soul, was deathly afraid of water. That is swimming water. I don't know why, but she ingrained in me that I needed to be afraid also. Perhaps she was thrown into a body of water as a child with the old saying "sink or swim". Anyway, she did not like it. Read more about this on The Ditch post.

As a matter of fact, she heard that you could get a cramp if you went into water too soon after eating, so we were not allowed to "run through the sprinkler" (our form of cooling off in the summer) until we had waited a while.

So, as I recognized this fear in myself, I resolved that I would NOT pass this along to my children. As far as I know, they are all very comfortable in any water and swim wonderfully.

Are there things in our lives that we pass along without thinking about the impact they will have on others around us? Does your lack of submissiveness in your marriage shows your daughter "you don't have to be under his thumb". (contrary to scripture) Does my shyness translate to "uncaring".  Does my distrust of an individual make it harder for my children to trust?

Positive side, do your children see you pray about a situation and then see the peace it brings? Do they see the love you have for the Lord? Do you let them into the places of your heart that you have given over to the Lord?

A few years after we moved from the "freeway house" about 1960's.

These are things I wish I had thought out more as I was raising my family. Just something to think about.

Old Fashioned Scalloped Potatoes

I guess everyone has what is called a favorite recipe.

This is one that my mother made.

It is one that has been passed down, by word of mouth for a long time.

 Old Fashioned Scalloped Potatoes

Just to let you know, this does take a little work

but the rewards are great.

These are a sure winner with 

Ham

Meatloaf

Pork Roast

Chicken
Turkey

(what's left?)

I don't personally make this for Mr and I as a side dish,

probably because if I am going to go to the effort,

I make enough to feed a small army.

Let me give you the cast of characters

We have potatoes in the background - for this size dish I used probably about 5 lbs

(notice the precise measurement? Sorry, it's like that throughout)

You need shredded cheese, here is mild cheddar and some leftover pepper jack

Salt and Pepper

Sliced onion

Butter

Milk

And, flour - I used rice flour today to make this gluten - free.

But, "normally" I would use regular flour.

Your choice.

I get mine in the bulk section of my favorite grocery store.

Gotta love the bulk sections, right?

There is a scientific explanation as to why you use flour, butter and milk.

All I know is that they work together to make a sauce.

It bathes the potatoes and onions, to make your mouth sing,

add cheddar cheese and you will be joining the choir.

My little work horse of a peeler.

It not only peels apples, but also potatoes.

If you run across one in a yard sale, thrift shop, I consider this worth

more than a handful of silver coins. 

Mine is well over 20 years old and it keeps on giving.

A little like the Energizer Bunny

Poor box, it has seen lots of years.

Another beauty shot

You do need to unscrew the corer part and drop it down,

but even if you didn't, the potatoes would turn out OK.

The main idea is to get them into slices.

And, sure, they have some funny ridges and the ends need to be 

trimmed, but overall, it is worth it to me.

Not everyone is perfect.
You could leave them unpeeled, if that is your thing.

OK, now, slice those potatoes and layer them in your dish.
(Some graters have a side that slices, I don't use mine because
I am deathly afraid that I will slice off a digit or two)

It is a good idea to spray the dish before so that you don't have to

dump out what you put in it and spray it and then reassemble.

Here are potatoes, salt and pepper, onions, rice flour sprinkled on,

"dots" of butter and ready for a layer of cheese.

Now after everything is layered in,

carefully pour in milk on the corner.

You don't want to mess up your creation.

Pour, pour, pour until you just see the milk peeking around the sliced potatoes.

Not over the top, because that is too much, but just enough...

I have made these in shallow dishes and deep bowls.

It is always the same as to the milk, just when you see it, stop.
I prefer the shallow bake pans, because then there is more of the
cheese baked to a dark brown to eat.

Bake, bake, bake. It will seem like forever, so allow that much time.
At 350'.

A word to the wise, put a baking sheet under
the pan. There have been more times than I want to
remember of having these bubble over and splash onto the floor of my
oven and make smoke... not a good sign for your guests...

If you have ham going, put them in with it.

Meatloafs take around an hour and half to bake, so bake these too, if it is a smaller dish.
Turkeys, chickens, the idea is to use the same oven temperature and save
a little energy in the making of these.

Mine, in this dish were finally finished about 2 hours later.

And, that is a long time to smell those onions baking, nothing better.

A word, as they are "nearing" the end, they will show a watery

bubbling around the edges, let them cook more.

Even if your fork or knife tester shows that the potatoes are

done, Let them cook more til the water is absorbed.

You will thank me for that.

No one wants watery scalloped potatoes.

I'm sorry that I don't have a picture of the finished product.

That alone would sell you on these.

The same my mother made, perhaps she got the recipe from her mother...

Just old fashioned cooking.

P.S. they are great left-over

Before Costco - There Was Daddy

Long before there were the big box stores

Daddy bought in bulk.

He was the careful shopper and loved every minute of it.

(one of my boys is like this)

Mom did not drive, so, weekly we went down to the corner grocery store.

They did not ask you "paper or plastic".

Instead, purchases were loaded into cardboard boxes,

the flaps turned up to make more room and then when it was all packed in,

the "boy" would tied string around the top to hold the flaps and the groceries in.

Sometimes prices were marked on the items in a purple ink and

the checker would call out the price as he punched it into the register.

It was amazing to me that he knew every price without even looking for it.

It was not unlikely that if string beans were on sale that Daddy would

buy a case. Or tomato sauce, or crackers, or toilet paper and so on.

After he retired from bus driving at the age of 51, he scoured

grocery ads to get the very best deal on canned goods.

He was on a "fixed income" (I wish I had a nickle for every time I heard that)

and he made every cent count.

He also put in a very large garden and learned to operate a pressure

canner to "put up" the produce this huge garden produced.

Trips to the day-old bread store had us bring home bread and sometimes

a treat such as cupcakes (which we had to split in half to share)

Canning jars lines the shelves in the garage, and our home was always open to unexpected guests.

We were prepared in the food category anyway.

Our lunch sandwiches for school were usually Bologna.

Large slabs were bought and meticulously sliced. They

turned out about 1/4" thick. Nothing like those sandwiches.

There was always peanut butter if you preferred, but whatever you fixed,

it was the rule that you ate it - finished it down.

Beef was bought by the side or whole cow and we learned how to cook unlikely cuts by trial and error.

The newspaper was read from cover to cover and sometimes the "want ads" had him calling

to trade an item he had for something another was offering.

How about a 12 gauge shotgun for a 4 place set of sterling silverware?

(wish I had that silverware now)

Or a vehicle that needed just a little fixing up and sold for a profit?

I learned much from Daddy and a full "pantry" makes me smile.

John, The Lumber Jack and Helen, The Homemaker

Part of a series of Family History and stories

John in the center, with his twin Fannie.

John was married to a woman I don't know her name,

but they had three children, Walter, Mabel, and John.

Mrs took ill and died with baby John being very young, perhaps under a year.

So, John met and married Ida Helen. (a family name)

Back row center

about 19

1914

They, in turn had four children,

Helen Bernice, Harry, Ruth, and baby Fannie (who died in infancy)

Times in the early 1900's were tough.

John was a lumberjack, doing a job to feed his growing family.

I think this is baby Fannie with John and Helen

Cutting logs with cross-cut saws (huge things that had a man on each end), loading these

same logs onto horse drawn wagons and getting them out to rivers, was a hard job.

He worked in the California redwoods.

Somewhere I have a picture of the crew standing in front of a newly cut stump and tree.

The tree looks to be 40 feet higher than the men... redwoods.

Helen was ever helpful to keep the family fed.

in the desert

She cooked for the logging crew, canned meats and vegetables,

ran a sorta rooming house and moved to wherever there was work.

Sometimes it was camping for months on end.

She is highly regarded in my mind.

John and Helen did not always work with logging crews.

They were migratory fruit pickers.

That means that they traveled to where the fruit needed picking and worked long hours.

John, the son from the first marriage was sickly with some kind of lung complaint (as they used to say).

Winters the family would go to the desert for relief for John.

There, John the father started a lifelong hobby/business of rock collecting.

In later years he owned a "Rock Shop" in Oregon where he sold hand made items

such as jewelry, rings, pendants, and unique coffee tables with "slices" of

unusual rocks and minerals embedded in a clear resin.

My mother was Ruth, and she named me - Helen.

P.S. I have a grand daughter to carry on the name, too.

The Tail Gunner Meets the Country Lass

Warning! This is a Family History Post and may be boring to you...

Way back in World War 2

My dad was a tail gunner in the U.S. Air Force

He was "older" than the others, in that he was 30

and they were maybe only 19-20.

They called him "Pop".

I recently learned, by looking up the squadron number,
that his plane flew weather recon out of England.
Why I didn't find that out until now... well, I guess I wasn't interested.
His was an important job. He was on the look out for enemy planes
that could take them down and compromise their mission of getting
information back to England for the next set of planes to go out.

There were no satellites to give weather reports.
The only way to relay back the information that would make or break a mission
was through experiencing it first hand.

Sorry for the poor quality, but who can argue with the only photo?

Look closely and you can see the mounted machine gun pointed out the open window in the rear of the plane.

Left to Right

Lt. Tom Teal - Pilot; Lt Nicholson - Co Pilot (he later became an illustrator for National Geographic); Lt Szopa - Navigator; Sgt. Williamson - Tail gunner; Sgt. Smith - radio operator; Sgt. Trepton - Engineer; Sgt. Boyington (?) - armor guard; T/Sgt. Peters - Meteorology (weather) observer.

************
Ruth was a young lady who lived with her parents until
she moved out on her own around her early twenties.
She wrote several service men friendly letters to keep up their spirits.

About 1930 or so

Down the road from where Ruth lived was a couple that sold
eggs and such to the outlying neighbors.
Ruth would walk down and buy eggs and got acquainted with the couple named "Wilson".
Mrs Wilson told Ruth about her son who sure needed encouraging letters, too.
So, my mom wrote "Warren", along with the other correspondence she did with other service men.

Ruth at about 19 - She would have been 92 this year...

Correspondence went on for some time,
and, like some of the other letters, marriage proposals were written also.
Warren never made it home on his visits. He would get "stuck" (read used up his leave)
before he could catch a bus home.
So, Ruth and Warren never met, until...

The war was over. Troops were sent home from overseas.
Warren made the trip home on the Queen Mary which was put into service to transport troops.
Warren asked Ruth to meet him - and she did.
They met on December 24, 1945, when he stepped off the bus.
They married a few weeks later on January 12, 1946.

They had three children.

They were married 25 years before Warren passed away in his sleep in May of 1972

two days before my wedding.

But that is another story in itself.