Category Archives: Uncategorized

2016

I’ve been scrolling through some of my favorite blogs and looking at their lists of favorite blogs and going to those blogs to read them. It seems that the year 2016  was the year the writing died.  Or at least it seems that way for many of the blogs.  I have told you that I got into the blogging world late, since I have always been a late bloomer and always found out about things long after they weren’t cool anymore, but I really miss some of my favorite blogs.

Anyway 2016 is the year, it seems, when many bloggers called it quits or moved to Instagram. Or Pinterest.   I’m just saying, looking at Instagram is like looking at people’s pictures from a vacation and wishing you could get away, but you keep looking because it’s the polite thing to do.  And pinterest can be lovely to look at, but how long can one look at pretty pictures of the same things?

I love reading blogs. Some people think their blogs must be boring, but I have never found a blog post to be boring. Maybe that says more about my life than theirs. Hmmmm.  Anyway, I find others’ lives so interesting. I feel like a voyeur at times peeking into someone’s house seeing what they are up to.  People will share on their blogs things they would not necessarily tell people they actually know.   I know.  I’m one of those people!  Sometimes it’s easier to write down your thoughts and send them out into the netherland than it is to tell the same things to a living, breathing person right next to you.

Is it a sign of our times when people feel the need to share with strangers all over the world what you did on a particular day or how you are feeling or how great or how awful your day has been?   Are we reaching out for validation of some kind or do we just like to write and this is our outlet?   I love to write.  I write lists.  I write notes in church.  I write letters sometimes.  I write stories I have made up.  I write memories of days gone by. So writing this blog is just an extension of my writing.   I just wonder what happened to all those bloggers who suddenly stopped in 2016.  Were they tired of writing? Did their lives become too busy to write?  Did the newness of blogging lose it’s shine?

So here I am in the year 2019 still plugging away at this blog of mine and I have no plans to stop. There’s still a lot of living to do and a lot to blog about so you won’t be seeing me disappear anytime soon. If you are still blogging, please, don’t stop. I may be one of your faithful readers and I would miss you.

To all the bloggers all over the world. Thank you. Bye.

Gone With the Wind

 

No, this isn’t about a problem with gas attacks or a theme on Dorothy’s trip to the land of Oz.   I am writing today about the greatest movie of all time that was ever created and put on screen.  I am writing about that wonderful movie that came from Margaret Mitchell’s wonderful book, “Gone With the Wind.”   Did I say it was wonderful, yet?  Well, it is.

I grew up watching Gone With the Wind.  I’m not sure where I saw it for the very first time. One would think I’d remember it since I am so in love with the movie.  I may have seen it at the theater with my mother or I may have watched it for the first time on the television.  No matter, I fell in love with it and I really fell in love with the actor who played Rhett Butler, Clark Gable.  Yikes, was he ever handsome. When Scarlett first sees him at the bottom of that huge staircase at the Wilkes’ picnic, I swoon every time.   And the best kissing scene in any movie, ever, was when Rhett picked up Scarlett out of the wagon and kissed her before he went off to fight the losing war with the southern soldiers.   Scarlett, you idiot. That man loved you so much and that was some kiss.  And you rebuffed him!

This past weekend Gone With the Wind was having a special 80th year making of the movie celebration showing at a local movie theater. Well, not so local. We had to drive an hour to get there.  We had purchased our tickets weeks ago and I was so looking forward to seeing it again.  Not like I haven’t watched it once or twice every year since I’ve been a girl.  But it was like the very first time for me. I actually got a lump in my throat when the music started and the opening credits came on.  It was like time stood still and I was once again that romance loving, dream believing young girl sitting in a darkened theater watching her very favorite movie of all time for the very first time.

And I swooned when Scarlett saw Rhett at the bottom of the stairs and asked, who is that man?  Little did she know how involved she was going to get with him!  Eating popcorn and Milk duds, sitting beside my favorite date, I was in heaven.    I forgot the movie was four hours long with an intermission, but it flew by. When it was over, I could have sat through it again. Did I say I loved Gone With the Wind, yet?

So today I got out some of my Gone With the Wind books I have purchased or been given through the years.  A few years back my kids gave me a CD of the movie which means I can watch it anytime I want, but I still watch it when it’s on tv. I guess it’s knowing I’m watching it with others that makes it special.   Anyway, when I was about fourteen, the book Gone With the Wind was celebrating its 25th anniversary of being published and for Christmas that year, I got the celebratory issue.     I read it all and loved it, too.   There was a lot in the book that was not in the movie. Scarlett had more children than just Bonnie Blue.

The book came in this.

This was the front of the book.

A booklet about the book.

Through the years I have purchased other books about Gone With the Wind.

A book about the making of the movie.

A book chock full of scenes from the movie including back stage scenes.

At an auction years ago I bought this book that was published in l936 about the time the first book came out, but this is not a first edition I don’t believe.

And then at a flea market near our home I found this book in a pile of junk. And what a find it was for me.

A very interesting book about Margaret Mitchell’s life and how she came to write, “Gone With the Wind.”  Years after the movie became so successful,  she was hit by a speeding taxicab and died.  A sad ending to a very interesting life and an illustrious career.  I will always be grateful to Miss Mitchell for writing one of the best books ever written, in my opinion.  It should be required reading.  In today’s attempt to get rid of all our history because it offends some people, we need to know our history more than ever before and to learn it from someone who was there or knew someone who was there or at least knows the real story.  Her story is full of the history of both the post and pre-Civil War South. She learned it at the knee of old Civil War soldiers when she was a girl.  We should never forget.   One of the books had a newspaper article slipped into its pages about Margaret Mitchell’s brother and how he kept her story alive and kept up with the Gone With the Wind profits from sales of books, movie tickets, CDs, etc.  Profits were still in the millions at the time of the newspaper article.  She certainly left a legacy for her family. She had no children.

I don’t know if I will be alive when the 100th year of the Gone With the Wind Movie is shown, but I hope there will still be people interested and that it will never be forgotten.

Here’s to the best movie ever made(in my opinion) Gone With the Wind.  Bye.

 

 

 

A Family of Bloggers

I got into this blogging thing late. While many had already been blogging for years and made friends and grew businesses from their blogs,  I was still learning about the computer and Facebook and E-mail and didn’t know there was a whole other group of people out there who wrote about their lives, their passions, their families, etc.  One of the first blogs I ever read was Pioneer Woman and you all know what happened with her and all her fame and fortune.

The first time I read Ree’s blog I laughed so hard and sent her a comment and she answered me back and I was hooked.  I have kept up with her family and watched her children grow from little kids to almost adults.  I watched her grow her business and become a household name and get a tv cooking show.   I had no such ambitions.  The next blog I got hooked on was Posie Gets Cozy.  It’s a delicious combination of family, knitting, quilting and creating and adoption which took a sad turn at one point and then turned into a wonderful story when the Paulsons adopted a baby girl and I was enraptured by their story.   I have watched their little girl grow and become a school girl.  Alicia’s wonderful way with words makes her blog so sweet to read.  She doesn’t hold back when she is sad, but most often she is a bright, shining star who shows us all the beauty that is in this world.    I discovered Canadian Needle Nana and am astounded at how many quilts she has made and continues to make.  She is a an artist at quilting and inspires me to do better.  And for laughs, I love reading The New Sixty by Arkansas Patti.  A woman with the best sense of humor and she makes you think.   I have laughed so hard at some of her posts. She only writes one every week and I always look forward to Monday when I can read another installment of her very eventful life.  She has done some interesting things in her life and has a humorous take on almost everything.  This week is about things better than sex!  Yes.

I finally began a blog and it was called, I Love My Dogs,” because, well, I love my dogs and still do.  I learned how to post pictures and really enjoyed writing about my life. I considered it a diary for my children who may one day want to know more about their mother.  Then, one day, most of my pictures disappeared from the blog because David had been tinkering with them and lost them all. I was dismayed, to say the least.   Fast forward and I decided to start a new blog. My son paid for my website and I was off and running again with “Snicklefritz.”  In case you don’t already know why I named my blog Snicklefritz, it’s because that is what my daddy always called me.  Snicklefritz means a mischievous child and I was that.

Many blogs I read and loved have gone by the wayside because of family issues or work or the blogger was just tired of keeping a blog up. It does take time to write a blog and if you add pictures that takes even more time so I can understand why some have given up their blogs, but I really miss some of them.  One in particular, Posy, a blogger from England quit because she was having trouble with her computer and never came back.  I loved reading her blog and I have heard she may start one up again and I hope I can find it and read it when she does.

As for me, I just love writing. Doing this blog gives me an outlet for it and there is so many things I want to write about.  I’ve got several stories I have written about when I was growing up that I intend to post on my blog eventually.  I have also written some children’s stories with my grandchildren as the subjects in them that I may post one day.  I enjoy sharing my hobbies, my travels and just my humdrum days. I don’t live an especially exciting life, but it’s my life and I’m content with it.  I don’t think I take exciting too well, anyway.

If you are reading this and have never tried writing a blog because you think your life is not interesting enough, believe me.  Everyone’s life is interesting. I love to read about the every day things.  If there are some especially exciting or wonderful things, that’s nice too, but I  think everyone’s life is a story that needs to be written.  So if you have been holding off writing a blog, now is the time to start. You will find out things about yourself as you write. It’s cathartic in many ways.

Here’s to blogging and all the bloggers who put their lives out there for us to read about.  Bye.

 

Fresh Air and Fresh Findings

Ahhh, fresh air at last. It’s either been too cold or too rainy to spend much time outdoors, but finally we had a break and I have been out playing with the dogs with my new ball gun that shoots a tennis ball clear across the yard for the dogs to chase.  They do love the game. I think Molly would play it forever. Belle gets tired and starts to cheat and run a little bit toward the ball and then run back with Molly to get the treat.  I’ve got your number, Belle. But she always gets a treat, too, because she is so cute.  Today we are getting  rain and snow again.   If nothing else, the weather sure changes around here.

We are on the right side of winter now.  When I go outside I can smell Spring coming.  And around the garden, the flowers are awakening.

The Hellebore is ready to bloom.

Daffodils are pushing their heads above the soil.  In a month or so the garden will be a mass of yellow blooms.

This time of year the birds even sound differently. Soon we will have to watch for the Sandhill Cranes coming back north. They always fly above our house every year.  I don’t know how we got so blessed.  You have to be outside at the right time to hear them. Their call is like if you take your tongue and flutter it against the roof of your mouth.  They fly in large groups and sometimes there are more than one group.   They are heading to Camp Atterbury, an army base near us, where they will stay for a time at a lake there.   David worked at Camp Atterbury for several years and I use to take the kids swimming at the pool there every Summer.  There is an outlook you can climb and see Canadian geese in the water below. Geese don’t migrate like I remember them doing when I was a girl. Now they stick around all Winter.  I taught the boys to drive on the roads at Camp Atterbury because there wasn’t much traffic there at the time. Still scared me out of my wits!    Camp Atterbury was once a prisoner of war camp for German soldiers during WWll.  The old barracks were still there when we first moved here over forty years ago, but through the years and the wars in the Middle East, the camp has been restored to its former glory with new barracks and roads and fences.   Sometimes we can hear the soldiers as they train firing their weapons and once in a while huge planes fly over  practicing touching down and taking off at our local airport.

While searching for material for my Bullseye quilts, which I’ve become obsessed with, I discovered a quilt I had started years ago.  The pattern was in this magazine dated 2005, so that is probably when I started it.

I had it all cut out.  It was funny because I had been thinking about this particular quilt a while back wondering what had happened to it. I also wondered why I had not come across it last Summer when I was going through all my fabric boxes.  But it was a nice surprise, almost like Christmas and I have cut out a few more blocks for it to add some of my newer fabrics into the mix and I am having so much fun sewing it together.

I  am never happier than when my cutting table looks like this.

And I am so happy to have several projects going at a time.  If I get bored with one, I can lay it aside and work on another.    I have so many projects I want to make.

I’m going to have to hurry up because outside days are coming.

I completed this little quilt and am ready to quilt it.

Another one of Kathleen Tracy’s patterns.  Love her little quilts.

This brings me to the show on tv, Hoarders.  David said one time I was getting ready to look like a hoarder with all the fabric piled on my cutting table, but what he doesn’t understand is, this is how I work.  I get a lot of fabric out, go through it and get what I need, and then I finally put it all away. Now my table is organized again.   I watch the Hoarders only to make me want to keep from being a hoarder. I watched one particular show one evening, and I had just cleaned out my refrigerator, but after that show, I wanted to clean out my refrigerator again!   I don’t like to shop, so I don’t think I would ever get as bad as some of the hoarders do.  Most shop all the time and bring things home and toss them on the pile.  I only buy something I really need or know I will use a lot.   Of course, that’s what some of the hoarders say, too!

Being in my nice, warm sewing shop with my trusty dogs beside me on a cold, rainy day, sewing on a quilt, is the best thing I could be doing. Oh, I could be doing housework, the laundry, cooking etc., but No.

Molly has to be in her cage or I would get nothing done because she thinks anytime I am around I should be ready to play.

I’ve been reading the dictionary lately, I know, I’m weird and have decided to add a little something to my blogs.   I am going to have a different word and its meaning on each one for while   It will broaden our vocabulary and make us all a little smarter. Ha.  Of course, if you already know the word, you will be one step ahead of some of us. So this day’s word is…

Contumacious-adj. stubbornly perverse or rebellious.  Willfully disobedient.   The contumacious boy was sent to reform school.

Hope none of you are contumacious. Bye.

 

 

 

Why I’m Never Making Plans Again

Do you make plans?  Do they always go as you planned?  Or are you like me. As soon as you make some plans nothing goes according to plan.  This has happened to me a lot lately.

When my daughter decided she wanted to do a ten week twenty day physical therapy routine in Indianapolis I said, “Sure, I’ll be glad to go with you.  Then David had to have eye surgery on both eyes and I had doctor appointments I could not cancel.  So I could not go with her every time. Plus our son bought us tickets to Walt Disney World for four days in November and I would miss one week going to Indianapolis with her.  My plans went all askew.

Our oldest son bought us tickets to Walt Disney World and rented a house for us and our daughter’s family and we all were looking forward to spending some fun time together.   The first day in Florida we went to Legoland and had a great time.  Then the first day at Disney I began to feel really bad. It was hot and I thought it was just the heat. I could barely walk around the park without feeling like I was going to faint.  When we got home I went to bed and slept hoping the next morning I would feel better, but I felt worse.  So we went to a new clinic just down the road from our rental and the doctor there sent me to the hospital. That’s where I’ve been ever since. My heart rate is very low and now they are talking about my kidneys.  Help!  So here I sit in the hospital on what should have been a fun day, waiting for the doctor to give me more news. I also have to have more tests………

If you are a praying person, pray for me right now.  Bye.

To Eat or Not to Eat, That is the Question

I have never liked to cook.  I like to bake, but cooking just bores me, but it’s the one thing I have to do several times a week whether I want to or not or we’d just be eating sandwiches and salads.

Through the fifty years we have been married I have probably spent thousands of hours in the kitchen doing that which I find boring.  It’s a necessary evil and someone has to do it and I’m that someone.  I’m a pretty good cook, too. That is what is amazing. I did have a good teacher when she could get me into the kitchen.   My mother.  She was the best cook around.  I still miss her fried chicken.   My chicken doesn’t hold a candle to hers.  My mother wasn’t all that fond of cooking either and yet, she spent most of her life in the kitchen cooking up big meals for our family of eight and huge dinners for company which we had quite often. I always thought people showed up right at dinner or supper time on purpose to eat some of my mother’s cooking.    I did it a few times myself after I got married. Mom always had something good to eat and always a dessert.

Now when I cook for company there is a whole new dilemma.  What to cook.  Today so many people are on diets or special diets or can’t eat certain foods or are diabetic or can’t have salt or are lactose intolerant or eating gluten free or on the keto diet.  I find cooking for company isn’t at all fun anymore.  I can’t fix several different things to fill all the needs of everyone.  When my mother cooked, she didn’t ask what one could or couldn’t eat. She cooked a meal and you ate it.  If you couldn’t eat something, you didn’t say anything.  Now you have to take notes on who can eat what.

So many people are dieting all the time now.  I know it’s healthier to be slim, but there is fanaticism to it one didn’t see years ago.   I’ve been on every diet in the book and I just gave up and eat pretty much what I want.  Even if the doctor says don’t eat this or that.   I’m going to die some day anyway, I might as well die happy.   My husband eats everything with lots of salt and is skinny and hardly ever sees the doctor.  His grandmother was a thin woman and lived into her nineties, so I think he takes after her.  And if he does go on a diet all he has to do to lose weight is leave out a slice of bread and he’ll drop pounds.  Life is not fair!

So do you have a special diet? Do you love to cook?  How easy is it for you to plan meals?  That’s another thing.  Planning all the meals just makes me have to think of food all the time. When I ask my husband what he would like to eat he always says, “I don’t know, let me think about it,” so that is what we will have one day.  A plate of I don’t know with dessert being I’ll think about it!   Hope he likes it.

I don’t even know why I am writing about food and diets and all that anyway. I think it’s because I am about ready to go grocery shopping and the whole vicious cycle will start again.  What to eat or not to eat.  That is the question. Bye.

Oliver the Miracle Dog Part I

This story is based on what happened to our daughter’s dog, Oliver.  I have taken literary license with some of it, but a lot of it really happened.  This is illustrated by my grandson, Tristan, who is an aspiring artist.  He is also one of the “little buddies” mentioned in the story.

 

Oliver, a beautiful Golden Retriever, lived at the top of a tall hill with his buddies, the Larsons, his goofy son, Farley and Lily, the mother of Farley.  They were a wonderful Golden Retriever family.

It was a wonder life.  Eating, sleeping, running after thrown balls, exploring the forest all around.  There were head rubs and playing with his little buddies as they rode their bicycles in the driveway or played in their hideout in the woods.

One cold Winter’s day Oliver awoke and went to the door to be let outside.  Now Oliver was a roaming dog.  At one time he disappeared on one of the coldest nights of the year and didn’t return home until the following morning, no worse for wear.  It had worried his buddies greatly.  Big buddy had called for him for a long time. He heard him, but the smells of the forest were too enticing.

This particular day he lifted his nose into the air and grew giddy with the wonderful odors that wafted on the breezes.  “I must see where all these smells are coming from,”  he thought to himself.   So off he bounded.

Oliver ran quickly on his four sturdy legs, his tail like a plume, stuck in the air.  There was a squirrel smell.   The squirrel had not been there for a long while.  Move on.  There a possum smell.  Not much to Oliver’s taste, but playing with a possum as it played dead was great fun.

Then Oliver smelled coyote.  These were ones with whom he did not want to cross paths.

Deeper into the forest Oliver ran, nose to the ground.  Suddenly, he saw movement.   A rabbit!   Off Oliver went chasing the rabbit among the trees until the rabbit reached his home in the ground and popped inside.  Oliver sniffed around the hole and would have dug around it if the ground had not been frozen solid.   “Hmm,”  Oliver thought to himself.  “I’m hungry, must go home.”  But which way was home?

The day was coming to an end.  Oliver had been in the forest all day. His buddies would be home fixing supper and doing homework around the kitchen table while the dogs would be eating their final meal of the day and settling down for the night.  The sun was lowering in the sky  Oliver ran and ran, so full of life and happiness just being alive when suddenly, SNAP!  He felt a great pain in his back leg as a coyote trap snapped its ugly jaws around it.  He yipped in pain, trying to jerk away from the trap.  But the trap was attached to a chain that was wound around a tree.  Whoever had set this trap meant to keep his prey right there.

Again and again Oliver pulled and could not get free.  Blood gushed from the gruesome wound.  The sun went down.  It was cold.  Oliver was all alone.  He whined and moaned.  The pain was great, but nobody could hear him or knew where he was.  The pain was almost too much to bear.

Day 2

   Oliver had managed to sleep a bit through the night, but the pain and his hunger would not let him sleep very long.  He also was beginning to feel a terrible thirst.

   All that day he pulled and pulled to try to get away from the trap, but it just held on tighter.  The pain was so great.  Where were his buddies?   All that long day Oliver felt sad and lonely and scared.  it was cold and night came again and the forest was quiet all around except for the rustling of the night creatures and the birds who were settling in for the night.

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  Day 3

  Another long night for Oliver.  He had heard an owl hooting in the tree above him.  A sad, lonely sound to Oliver.  He missed his buddies. He missed his soft bed and the warm house.  Most of all he missed his food and a cold drink of water.  He spent part of the day trying to pull free, to no avail.  He lay panting and feeling very sad.

Day 4

  Snow fell gently on Oliver as he lay with his nose on his forelegs.  A tear fell from the corner of his eye.  He had been forgotten.   He didn’t realize his buddies were looking for him and calling his name into the forest, but Oliver had traveled so far from his home, he could not hear them.  He only felt the pain of the trap on his leg. He pulled and pulled on it.  His beautiful golden coat had become dirty and stuck through with dead leaves and twigs.  Night came.   Nobody came to save him.

Day 5

  Oliver felt dizzy and sick.  Where was he?  Why wasn’t he in his nice, warm bed?  Where were his two little buddies who lay on top of him and scratched his ears?   He slept and dreamed of playing with Lily and Farley in the yard with his buddies all around.   Would he never see them again?  Pull on the trap chain again and again, but it remained securely wrapped around the tree.  Night time and danger was lurking.

  That Night Oliver heard strange noises in the forest.  He smelled smells that worried him.  He must get free.  Pull harder.  Lunging and jumping with every bit of strength he had.  The chain moved a bit, but still was attached to the tree.  He did not want to give up.  His buddies were waiting

Day 6

   Oliver was so tired from the last night’s exertions.  He felt so helpless.  Suddenly a squirrel came close to him and sniffed Oliver.  Seeming to know it had nothing to fear from the sad looking dog, the squirrel proceeded to gnaw on a nut it had just dug up from a hole where it had hidden it in the Autumn.  Oliver just lay there and watched it listlessly.  “I’d bite you in two if I could get to you,” he thought about the cheeky squirrel.  It made him angry.  “If only,”  he thought.   Oliver was in that poor, thin, starving dog somewhere.  He was so cold, hungry and thirsty.  Why was he here?  Did no one love him anymore?

Day 7

    A day of rest from pulling on the chain.  By this time Oliver had grown use to the pain.  His leg was growing numb. If it  wasn’t attended to soon, gangrene would set in. Luckily, Oliver knew nothing about gangrene.  All he knew was that he wanted the trap off his leg. He wanted out of the forest and into the arms of his buddies.    What was that?   He heard rustling in the brush. He smelled what he didn’t want to smell.  Coyotes were close.  But the worst had not yet happened.

To be continued………

Authors in the Family and Letter writing

I always have loved to write.  If I were disciplined enough and didn’t have so many hobbies like quilting, knitting, gardening and reading, I might have had time to write a book.  I have written short stories for my grandchildren in which they are the main characters, but that is as far as I have gotten to being an author.  Writing here on my blog seems to satisfy my need to write.

Our oldest granddaughter actually wrote a book when she was fourteen and had it published.  One of our grandsons likes to write and wrote a story about me trying to get to my birthday party.

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I guess that’s me in the picture!

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Wish you could read it. According to the story, I took a subway from Chicago to Lafayette, Indiana. There was a ship wreck and cyclone I had to deal with also.  Quite a feat if I do say so myself.  But I did get to my birthday party!

His brother made a really nice birthday card for me also.

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Better than any store bought card any day in my estimation.

I got a letter the other day from the same grandson who wrote the story, asking for a size 11 pair of socks.  I think he was asking for his dad because I did not knit his dad socks for Christmas this year.   Not sure.  I was just glad to get a letter. The art of letter writing in this day of cellphones and texting and E-mails has gone the way of the Dodo bird.  It takes time to gather a pen and paper and sit down and write down your thoughts, then find an envelope and a stamp and go to the mailbox and mail the letter. If someone does that for you, it’s a real blessing. It means they are thinking of you and you are worth their time.  I wrote him back and also told him to tell his brother to write me also and I would write back.  Maybe we have started something here.  Maybe I need to sit down and write a letter to everyone who means something to me.  Have you ever written a person and told them what they have meant in your life?  A teacher, or relative or friend?     I bet if you did, they would be so happy to get it. I got a birthday card a couple of weeks ago in which a friend had written a prayer for me and it meant so much.   For some reason, a letter means more than a text or even a quick phone call because it means the person thinks you are worth it.

Do they even sell stationary any longer?  I remember as a girl looking at all the pretty stationary and spending time selecting some. Stationary came in pretty boxes and there was usually a picture of something on the top of each page.   I had pen pals I wrote to in Sweden and around the United States.   The two girls I wrote to in Sweden would send me little gifts and I would send them something and we did this for a few years and then we lost contact.  I still have a picture they sent me of the two on them on ice skates  by a lake.   Hard to imagine they are old ladies like myself now.    I often wonder about them. I tried to find them on the internet, but someone I contacted, who  I thought might be one of them, never contacted me back, so I figured it was the wrong person.

I just finished writing a story based on my daughter’s Golden Retriever who lost a leg in a trap a few weeks ago.  I tried to write it from the dog’s point of view and I tried to imagine what he went through, caught in a trap in the middle of the forest for fourteen days.   I still am amazed he survived his ordeal.  My daughter says he runs fast now and coming toward you, you can’t even tell he is missing a leg, but he limps when he walks. It’s amazing how resilient animals are.  After I have done some polishing of the story I will give it to my daughter and her family to read and then I may post it on here.

Have you written a letter recently?   Is there someone who would LOVE to hear from you?

In other news, the work on my shop is going quite well. I have several shelves painted and all but one wall painted and now I am working on the floor.   It takes two days for each coat of paint I put on the floor to dry so it’s a slow process.  Plus, I can only do small portions at a time as I have to move stuff from one side to another.  When this gets done, I am done for a while. I did mention to David that my girly room is in need of fresh paint and he told me to get one project done before I started thinking of the next one!  Maybe this Autumn that room will get freshening up.

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It looks like the walls are pink, but they are dazzling white.

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It’s so nice to have clean, freshly painted walls on which to hang things again. I have decided I am not going to burn candles in here anymore as everything was blackened by the candle smoke.   I have burnt a lot of candles in here through the years.   While I love to burn candles, they do leave a bit of soot even if you cannot see it at the time.   So air fresheners will have to do unless someone can give me some advice on what to use. I’d like to do something with peppermint extract because spiders don’t like peppermint.

I also am trying to make some little quilts from these two books I got in the mail a couple of weeks ago.

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I really love this quilt on the cover and want to make it.  There will be some appliqueing in my future.  In this book, Kathleen Tracy writes of a young woman, Adelia, who lived during the Civil War and shows us some of her diary entries.  It is very interesting. I love reading about this time in American history although it was a very hard time and many lives were lost.

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This is another quilt in the book that I want to try. I love green and pink together.  So Spring like.

I am working on this quilt right now and am loving the process.

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It’s a small quilt and just about all I can handle right now.   Its from this book by Jo Marten.  I want to make every single quilt in his book.  I’m thinking of having a quilt wall in my shop of all little quilts.

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It’s becoming Spring in my neck of the woods. Daffodils are blooming on the south side of my shop and many more are getting ready to burst into bloom.  I know this sounds crazy, but I’m kind of sad to see Winter go as I had so many plans to finish so many projects that did not get done.  I did get some more socks knitted.

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Believe it or not, David loves these and wore them to church this morning.

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These go in the gift bag. I have another pair completed and am working on my Christmas socks. Yes, Christmas. I think about Christmas all the time because I make so many presents.  But the Christmas socks will be mine. The first pair of Christmas socks I knit turned out to be too pink, so they go in the gift bag also.  I also have yarn to knit David Christmas socks.  So, there you go.

Spring starts next week.   Enjoy it because right behind it comes Summer and the heat.   I hope we have a mild Summer this year. Not too hot or cold.

I will leave you with a smiling face.

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Molly Marshmallow says, “Hi.”   Took her to the vet for some shots and  she remembered him from when she was there a few months ago because she got so excited when he walked in the door like she was greeting her long, lost friend.  She doesn’t greet me like that!  Here’s to happy dogs. Bye.

 

 

Learning in the Fifties

I grew up in the fifties and sixties of the last century.  That sounds like so long ago, but to me it seems just like yesterday.  I attended a little school in a little town of about 400 people where the first through the senior classes were all in one building.  A two story brick school house with no air conditioning.  When it got hot, we opened the windows.  It was heated by a big furnace in the basement cared for by our one janitor, Mr. Mikesell.   I sat at desks where there were holes for inkwells  in the top though we didn’t use them anymore. My desk had carvings on it that other pupils had made while sitting in them.   Our books and yellow writing tablets were put underneath on a shelf.   The classroom smelled of chalkdust, paste and crayons.

We had a music teach, Miss Hower. She seemed like a little woman to me even though I was a little girl. She would come to our classroom once or twice a week to teach music. She was always wearing a dress with a full gathered skirt, a jacket or sweater and tiny heels.  She was soft spoken, but she taught us well. She had one of those pitch pipes she would blow to get the note we were to start on in a song.  Our favorite time in music class was when we could pick out the songs to sing in our songbook.   Now, I don’t know what crazy things they may or may not be teaching in public schools today, but our choice of music was not what I would think children should be singing in the classroom although I loved these songs.  One of our favorites was called, and I am serious, “There is a Tavern in the Town.”   I can still remember all the words.  Picture a classroom of second and third graders belting out this song at the top of their voices.

There  is a tavern in the town, in the town.

And there my true love sits him down, sits him down

And drinks his wine mid fancy free

And never, ever thinks of me!

Fair thee well for I must leave thee

Do not let this parting grieve thee

But remember that the best of friends

Must part, must part.

Adieu, adieu kind friends,  adieu, adieu, adieu

I can not longer stay with you, stay with you-u-u

I’ll hang my heart on a weeping willow tree,

And may the world go well with thee.

I can’t imagine what my father and mother thought of this song as they did not drink, but I am sure I sang it around our house. I loved it!

Another song we sang was “Barbara Allen.  A song that always made me sad.

I know there are several verses to it, but I can only remember three of  them

Twas in the merry month of May

When the green buds they were swelling,

Sweet William on his death bed lay.

For the love of Barbara Allen.

Oh, mother, mother, make my bed

Oh, make it long and narrow.

Sweet William died for me today,

I’ll die for him tomorrow.

And here’s where I would feel like crying…..

They buried her in the old church yard,

And they buried him beside her.

And from his grave there grew a rose,

And from hers grew a briar.

And the song from the war years, years before any of us were born.

Don’t sit under the apple tree

With anyone else but me,

Anyone else but me,

Anyone else but me, no, no, no.

Don’t sit under the apple tree,

With anyone else but me,

Til’ I come marching home.

I just got word from a guy who heard

From a guy next door to me,

The girl he met just loves to pet

And it fits you to a T!

So, don’t sit under the apple tree

With anyone else but me,

Til’ I come marching home.

We probably didn’t even know what petting was at that age, but we loved singing that song.  My question is, who put those songs in children’s songbooks back in the fifties?   I find it funny now.

We had three recesses every day. One in the morning. One after lunch and a third in the afternoon.  In good weather we would race to the schoolyard trying to get one of the swings before they were all taken.  These swings swung high and we’d swing so high the chain would buckle and of course we would jump out at the highest point.  There were teetor-totters and we tried bumping each other off them by dropping down hard on the ground while the other one was in the air.  I had the wind knocked out of me several times doing that.  Playgrounds looks so dull and uninteresting now and I wonder how the children can have fun in them.  We had a merry-go-round that the big boys would spin while the rest of us would hold on for dear life. I lost several dress sashes on the merry-go-round when they would get caught and I would fall off.  I look back now and wonder how we all survived, but we did.  And it was glorious fun.

If you have seen the movie, Christmas Story, my classrooms looked a lot like Ralphie’s  and his teacher reminds me a whole lot of my first grade teacher, Mrs. Retherford.    I loved school, but would cry every Sunday night when I realized I had to go back to school on Monday.   We had three reading groups, the Cardinals, the Bluebirds and the Robins. The Cardinals were the best readers and I was in that group as I had pretty much taught myself to read before I went to school.  I have never lost my love of reading.  I felt sorry for the Bluebirds who were struggling learning to read.   They all learned to read, though and that is what was important.

When someone would get sick in the classroom and didn’t make it to the bathroom which was in the basement of the building, Mr. Mikesell would come in with his mop and bucket and as we kids watched fascinated, he would mop up the mess without acting like it affected him at all while we kids went “eww” and “ick,” and when he left, our teacher would thank him and he would shake some good smelling powder on the floor.   It was a common occurance in our classroom, it seemed.

When it was too bad to take recess outdoors, we would play in our classroom, writing on the blackboard, coloring or jumping rope. I loved jumping rope and could jump hundreds of times before the rope would catch my legs.

Lunch time was the social time of the day as we would sit with our friends and either ate our lunch we brought from home or ate a hot meal prepared by the cooks, who were usually someone’s mothers.  The meals were delicious and we could go back for seconds.  One of the cooks baked homemade cinnamon rolls once in a while and you could smell them baking all over the school and by lunchtime you would be so hungry.  Friday was fish day for the one Catholic family who lived in our school district.  I loved fish day.

So many memories of my school days.  I pretty much loved learning and still do.  My second grade teacher, Mrs. Farmer, turned me onto writing and I thank her for teaching me how to write a good story.  My first story was about an apple and what happened to him as he was picked and taken to be made into apple cider.    I wish I still had that paper.

How was your school years?  Do you have fond memories or would you rather forget them?  Good teachers can make a big difference in how children look at education.  Here’s to those teachers who made us want to learn.  Bye.

Roy Rogers

    Happy trails to you, until we meet again.

 Happy trails to you, keep smiling on ’til then

Who cares about the clouds when we’re together

Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.

Happy trails to you, ’til we meet again.

If you grew up in America in the 1950’s, you probably watched the Roy Rogers’ show on television. Roy Rogers was the ultimate cowboy.  My brothers and I watched it every week without fail watching Roy and his wife, Dale Evans, fight the bad guys.  Roy rode his beautiful horse, Trigger, a palomino.  Years later, he would have Trigger stuffed and put in the Roy Rogers museum.  At the end of every show Roy and Dale would sing the above song.   One thing I always noticed.  When Roy Rogers was on his horse galloping after a bad guy, his cowboy hat never fell off his head.  Don’t know why I noticed that, but I did.

  This is a long way around to telling you about another dream I had the other night and forgot to write about on my last post.  I dreamed I was at Roy Rogers’ funeral.  There were a lot of people there, but no one was crying. In fact, people looked pretty happy. And then, I noticed something you don’t see at funerals. The guy they were remembering was alive and standing in the crowd of people, talking and laughing with them   Yes, there was Roy Rogers standing there.  It made me so happy to see him. And then I woke up.   I know Roy Rogers is happy where he is right now so the dream actually made me happy, too.

 There was actually Roy Rogers’ fabric for sale a few years ago and I got some.  I hate to cut it up, though.   Maybe I’ll get it out and make a little quilt to remind me of all those shows I watched  with Roy and Dale.

  Here’s to Roy Rogers, one of the greatest cowboys of all time.  I hope to see him one day.  Bye.