WHAT"S IN A NAME?

I think it was Shakespeare that didn't think a name was very important. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet," he wrote. Correct me if I'm wrong.

How a human can remember the names of everything they know and everybody they know is beyond me. And we remember the names of people we saw in movies or TV or on the Post Office Wanted Posters. I have to confess, I am beginning to have a hard time remembering names of famous people due to old age. My old age, not their's.

I said to my hubby once a long time ago, "I don't like telling anybody that my name is Smith."

"People think I'm lying."

Smith is your name, not mine! How would you like to have to have my maiden surname as your last name just because you married me?"

He wasn't going to bothered with such a silly question, so I got no comment. Things have changed for the better in today's world!!!

Well, what if his last name had been Temple, and my first name was Shirley? I'd have to go around telling people that my name was Shirley Temple, and I would die of embarrassment.

Or what if his last name had been Mylzinkomakovich? If someone asked me my name, I would just say, "None of your beeswax!" Or "Who wants to know?" Or lie and say "Mary Jones."

Anyway, I wanted my own name back, but of course, I couldn't get it. Then something wonderful happened! I saw my grandmother's death certificate dated April, 1910 and her father's name was written on it. His name was Smith!!

I am entitled to the name Smith even if he didn't marry my grandmother's mother. His appendix ruptured and he died before they could tie the knot. Well, that's one story, anyway. So I feel a little better now about using the Smith name. Of course, maybe they just put Smith on the death certificate and it wasn't true at all. But then, "What's in a name?"

GROUND BEEF

When I was nine, my mother tied a dime into a hanky and pinned it to my dress and sent me off to a grocery store two blocks away to buy a pound of ground beef. Yes, a dime! Not only was meat cheap but was wrapped in paper that I could use later to draw my pretty ladies on. Even the string was saved and was tied to a big ball of string saved from former grocery purchases.

I remember getting a candy bar once in a while, too, and the real, honest-to-goodness tin foil that it was wrapped in was also saved and added to the ball of tin foil that my brother claimed. When the ball of tin foil got heavy enough, it could be sold for some very scarce stuff----money. Talk about recycling!

Fast forward a few years. The price of ground beef went up, of course, and it was scarce. If my mother gave me some money to buy a pound of ground beef, I would also need to have a little stamp torn out of a ration book, or I could not buy a pound of ground beef or any other meat. The meat went, rightly, to the armed forces first and then to the civilians. Gasoline was severely rationed, too, along with coffee and sugar, if memory serves.

My father learned to make a good hamburger probably when he was a cook's helper in the First World War. Today you get a rather dry patty wrapped in a rather dry bun, but in those days you dredged the bun in the frying pan grease that came from the meat that was still holding on to some of its fat and along with french fried potatoes cooked in real lard, you had something that you wouldn't believe could taste so good.

I don't remember seeing very many obese people like you see today, because even it you ingested lard, you didn't have as much to eat as people usually do today. Oh, yes, there were people who were bottomless pits, so they loaded up on potatoes and bread and put on the pounds. A couple of ladies in my neighborhood must have weighed three hundred pounds, more or less. But they didn't live long lives.

But my skinny, little fat-free grandmother lived to be eighty-seven.

The Broken Ribs

I was busy with my household duties, and as I came down the stairs, I heard a knock on my front door. I knew it was somebody I probably didn't know because my friends and relatives came the back way. Usually it is salesmen, politicians or Mormon missionaries that use the front door.

I peered through the little window to catch a glimpse of who could be out there, and saw a perfect stranger--a man. So I opened the door a little and he immediately called my attention to my neighbor who was lying in the gutter across the street.

The stranger said, "I recently had heart by-pass surgery and I can't lift anything over a few pounds, but we need to get this man off the street."

There was no way I could lift a man over six feet tall and my husband was at work, so I said I'd get Joe who lived across the avenue. Joe came right away and got Ed up, and here comes Ed's daughter just off the city bus. So she went into the house and got Ed's wheelchair. Ed's wife was seeing her eye doctor and was not at home when Ed, who was a victim of Parkinson's disease, decided to mow his lawn which sloped down to the curb. No one wants to think of themselves as somewhat helpless, so Ed decided there would be no one to stop him that day.

So Ed was lifted into his wheelchair and was now safely in his home with his daughter, and that

was that. Or so I thought.

Some time later, Ed's wife knocked on my back door with the accusation that my husband had broken two of Ed's ribs when he lifted him off the street. I set her straight on that.

Well, she advised me, "Next time you see Ed fall outside, go over to him and take two pills out of his shirt pocket, one pink and one blue, and give them to him."

I told my husband all about this when he came home and he said, "If there is a next time, just call 911."

Now why didn't I think of that?

My Problem with A. Einstein

I was watching a scientist on TV the other day, and he, of course, mentioned "The Theory of Evolution" and I am always interested in stuff that is way above my head.

But after listening to him, I came to one conclusion: The trouble with Einstein is that he was of the male gender.

I say this because the TV scientist, whoever he was, told his audience that if we could travel in a time warp, we could take off for somewhere in the vast universe and come back only to find that we had not left yet. Now that boggles the mind! Especially a woman's mind. Why?

Because.

Think of it. If a woman was three months pregnant when she took off from Earth and met up with a time warp, would she arrive back on Earth still three months pregnant, or with a child that was 5,000 years old, or would she now be two months pregnant, not three months?

Now you know why men get exasperated with their women.

Too Many Moves

The reason I have a great recall of many experiences back to the age of three, is because my family moved from house to house to house to house. I remember certain things that took place in each of these many houses. I can't explain why the folks moved so many times, though.

By the time I was three, we had moved four times, but all within the same area. The next house was rented and called Keller's house and had trees in the back yard where huge green worms lived and fell on me while I used the swing my father put up for me. I guess swinging shook them out of their cozy home. Of course, I gave up swinging. So we moved to the next block, but down a block or two. I loved this house when I was four because it had blueberries in the front yard. It was a two story house, but unfinished upstairs. This is where I learned what was underneath the sheet rock or plaster. Here is where one of my little friends dropped a whole roll of toilet paper into the toilet. I was so scared that I would get blamed. I don't remember getting punished, though.

I don't think we stayed there very long, and soon moved out of the "additions to the city" to the city proper. Twelfth Street South. I loved this house. It had an ironing board that dropped out of the kitchen wall and a swinging door between the kitchen and dining room. By this time I was six, and was bullied by an older girl who waited in the bushes to pounce on me on my way home from the nearby school. My mother reported her to the school principal, and she quit pouncing.

Then we moved to 2nd Street South and 2nd Avenue where my father ran a gas station and the house came with it. But because my father extended credit to his customers, people didn't pay their bills, and Pa lost the gas station along with the house, and we had to move again.

We moved to 2nd Street North in the upstairs part of the two family house. I wrote a blog about living there. Just an awful experience, and I didn't even mention the bullies. We endured living there for about two years, and then bought a home and we were back to an addition to the town again. Loved this house, but had to move because the people that sold it to us, really didn't own it. So we moved to another addition to the town. Then this house was offered for sale, and we couldn't buy it. So my mother said, "We are going to build our house and quit moving!" And they did. Little by little it came into fruition and was quite attractive for those Great Depression days.

But eventually Ma wanted Pa to build another house, so he did, right next door to that house. There they lived until Pa retired.
Pa built a cabin on Lake Vermillion and they lived there in the summer. In the winter, they lived in Mississippi where Pa built another very nice little house. But then they then moved to Florida, and bought another house. (Pa was tired of building houses) I think Hurricane Katrina destroyed the Gulf Coast house, and a fire destroyed the Lake Vermillion Cabin.

But as far as I go, I have lived in this house for thirty-eight years. I think I might get an urge to move one of these days. It's just in me.

SCHOOL DAZE

School is starting again this month. I was four years and four months old when I was sent off to attend kindergarten. I had never ventured out into the world alone until this day in September, 19--. I probably followed behind my brother who was four years older and hated girls. He got over that condition later in life.

So my teacher instructed me to sit on my little green chair and then she commenced to give the kids some religious education. I remember reciting the little poem every morning that most of you readers will still remember. It goes:

Thank you for the world you sweet
Thank you for the food we eat
Thank you for the birds that sing
Thank you, God, for everything.

Although I loved the poem it was hard to think of the world as "sweet" when I was made to sit next to little Billy, who smelled bad.
I mean, Billy reeked of something horrible, and not only that, but the teacher was a full-blown alcoholic who ruled the little kids with a wooden ruler in her hand. Once she broke it in half when she hit little Jimmy on his head. You can imagine how hard it was to go back each day to face a person like she was. Later, she was dismissed and replaced by a lovely lady.

Little Billy's mother was reported to the health department, but that really didn't change anything. Years later, Billie went to war, was captured by the enemy, spent many months in a prisoner of war camp, was freed and discharged with back pay, bought a small airplane, crashed it and died.

But to go back to my childhood memory, that little poem we were taught while we sat on the little green chairs made me wonder about this sweet world and so I
asked my mother where I was before I came to this world. She answered," There wasn't any you!"

Wow! I was in the state of shock after hearing that I didn't exist before I came here. I found that hard to believe. I also wondered how I could move around and make noises without being plugged into an outlet in the wall like the vacuum cleaner was in order to do its work. But I was afraid to ask my mother another question for fear of another disheartening explanation.

But I still ask questions and I still wonder. It makes for an interesting life, sometimes.

On the Street Where I Live

I'm sitting at my computer, and I'm looking out the window and I look down my quiet street. Once in awhile a car drives by, a dog takes a person for a walk, or the mailman puts something in the mailboxes. There are no people starving on this block, nobody is shooting off a gun, and a riot would be unheard of. It's just a quiet American street.

Then I click on the news on CNN.com.

Suddenly, images of starving, crying, naked children appear. Politicians are verbally stabbing each other with sharp, hurtful words. The stock market is having a nervous breakdown. Tornadoes are wiping out American towns. Authorities are trying to track down escaped murderers. Animals are being abused, along with women and children. Famous people in sports and Hollywood and the clergy are confessing their sins day in and day out. Every other advertisement claims that they can get rid of the fat on your belly in no time at all.

I think I am going to remove CNN.com as my home page. Well, maybe not. I really need to know if the eggs I might eat are safe or if the aspirin I take is contaminated.

At least I hardly ever buy a copy of The Enquirer.

The Lowly Egg

Everybody's worried about eggs these days. If we eat an egg, will we get terribly sick or not, we wonder. I checked out my eggs in my refrigerator and they seem to be OK. But, how do I know for sure? So I won't use eggs for awhile and then I should be OK.

My mother raised chickens once long ago. My father built a chicken coop on our little lot on the outskirts of town where people could do pretty much as they pleased. One neighbor had a cow. One neighbor had a couple of goats. Some neighbors had vicious dogs. If a dog was too vicious, somehow it would get very, very sick and die. That was because people would put some poison out for stray dogs to eat. Sometimes the gentle dogs would end up dead, too.

My brother used to stand up on top of the chicken coop with his bow and arrow and wait for a rat to come along who hoped to get some of the chicken feed for his dinner. My brother was a sharp-shooter, you betcha!

Today, rats are still getting into these crowded coops where they raise chickens. They may be the culprits who are giving the hens the salmonella microbe that manages to invade the egg. I did some research on this subject. The cages where the poor hens are held prisoner are filthy with more than rat poop. I think there are going to be some changes made very soon if people do some protesting. Or quit buying eggs.

My mother took good care of her chickens, even to giving some of them names. I remember one called "Crooked Neck" especially, she really had a very crooked neck, thus her name. My mother sold the eggs to a few neighbors, who complained about the high price. My father hated to bring out the old axe in preparation for our Sunday dinner. I only watched one time after a beheading, when the sacrificial fowl ran around without her head attached. But she tasted good.

A Bird in the Hand

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, they say. By that, I guess they mean we should be thankful for what we actually have and quit lusting after stuff we don't have at the moment. All good things come to those who wait, somebody else has said. Of course, that is not true, but I digress.

Birds are wonderful whether they are sitting on your finger or singing some delightful song in a bush nearby.

The fact that I can play the piano a little is because of a bird, or two birds, in fact. This seems far-fetched, but isn't at all. You see, my mother was an amateur artist, and she was good, but very good, and one day she painted a picture of two birds, one a very large beautiful, colorful bird with wings outstretched and showing off its beauty in the air. The little-nothing of a sparrow was sitting in the right corner of the painting looking up at the gorgeous bird with a pathetic, defeated look on its little-nothing face. My mother won a nice prize when she entered it in an advertising contest.

She always wanted a piano, even as a little girl, so she used her prize money to buy a used piano with lots of music included. My mother never learned to play that piano, except for two or three chords, but I was given a few lessons by a very good teacher until the money became scarce which didn't take long in those days.

When you think of the unending array of birds that exist on our planet, it is astounding! From the busy little humming bird to the majestic eagle and beyond--it is quite overwhelming. From the blue-footed booby to the Minnesota loon with its crazy laugh, it is just fantastic.

A friendly little chickadee followed me around one day when I was mowing the lawn. I couldn't believe it! This little bird hopped along in the grass right behind me and later sat on the picnic table and jumped up on my finger. The next day I found some bird feathers and "stuff" in my yard. I assumed that this little chickadee was not successful in her attempt to make friends with a neighborhood cat.

I heard a mother robin "talk" to her baby who was just learning to fly. I could tell they were actually communicating because the baby was responding in a certain way. I also once saw both robin parents trying to encourage a crippled baby robin to learn to fly. It was touching.

So I have decided to take up painting birds on canvas. I probably won't win any prizes, but I am going to enjoy every minute of it. And when I'm not painting birds, I'll be at my organ having fun playing such pieces as "Yellow Bird" and "When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin' Along".

The Tramp with the Golden Smile

When I was a kid during the Great Depression, a tramp came knocking at our door. He said he was hungry and would like to have something to eat. So my mother, who often took in stray cats and dogs, invited the man into our humble home. The man was trying to earn his fare to other parts of the world by selling small items like shoe laces and thimbles.

So the man sat down at our dining room table and smiled in gratitude at my generous mother. Even at my tender age, I noticed that his teeth were filled with many gold fillings. I silently wondered how he could afford such expensive dental work.

So, as he drank his coffee and ate his day-old piece of bakery, he began to talk about himself. It seems he was headed for Hawaii and he would fly, not go by boat.

When he arrived in Hawaii, he planned to run in an election and become the president of Hawaii.

I began to get a little suspicious, even though I was young I knew that the president of Hawaii was the same person as the president of the United States of America. My mother didn't seem to be disturbed at all by this man who lived in fantasy land.

Guess what? He came back the next summer for another cup of coffee and a piece of day-old bakery.

Well, maybe this is the way he saved enough money for a trip to Hawaii.......or maybe he pawned some of that gold.

I sometimes wonder where he ended up in reality, or if he ever did.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Most of us are concerned about our hair. After our health, our families, our bank account balance, if any, hair seems to be high on the list of important things that must be dealt with just about every day.

If we are not washing it, curling it, cutting it, dying it, bleaching it, perming it, combing it, brushing it or blow-drying it, we are cursing it. (everybody probably has a bad hair day once in awhile) I knew a teen-ager who even laid her long hair on an ironing board and proceeded to iron out the natural curl.

Young people upon noticing a white hair, pull it out of their scalps without a thought. But older folks do not want to lose a single hair, no matter what color it is.

If you are as old as me, you can recall Veronica Lake, the movie star who wore her very long blonde hair over one eye. I think it is uncomfortable to look at someone who is hiding one of their eyes. Maybe one was brown and the other was blue, It happens.

Then there was Mitzi Gaynor, singer, dancer, actress, who right on the stage "washed that man right out of her hair and sent him on his way." Mitzi's hair was cut very short so it was easy to do, but long-haired girls would have a hard time doing that. That reminds me of the story of Rapunsel who had very, very long hair. She was a prisoner in a tower in days of old, and she would sing beautiful songs that filled the air night and day. Of course, a prince rode by one day and heard her sing. " I must have her", he thought. So he asked her to let down her golden hair so that he could climb up to her using it for a ladder night after night. Ouch!! You'd think, being a prince, he would ask the king, his father, for a long ladder, but he didn't even think of that.

I read that the Walt Disney Studio is coming out with a new cartoon this coming November with a new, improved version of this old fairy tale. It will appeal to boys this time instead of to only girls, so it will have sword fights and violent stuff like that to make it exciting. I read that the golden hair of the girl in the new movie is going to be seventy feet long. That must be a misprint, but I can hardly wait to see this new Disney movie! I don't mind a little violence as long as the best man rescues and wins the damsel and agrees to pay her hair-dresser's fees for life.

It's Nice to be Loved

Early every morning I send e-mails to three of my daughters to let them know I made it through the night. This morning my internet was down and I couldn't send the good news to my "kids".

And I wanted to go to the super market to buy a Sunday paper and stuff, so I decided to leave a message on the phone in case they called to see if I was OK.

Big mistake! I shoulda stayed home. (but then I would have missed running into an old dear friend)

The message I installed on the phone wasn't very clear to them and they got really worried as to my well-being. So one daughter who was vacationing in Chicago, called the daughter in Florida (or visa versa) and the daughter in Florida called the daughter in Alaska (or visa versa) and one of the daughters called my grandson who lives in Duluth. You think YOU are getting confused? The daughter in Chicago was able to reach me by phone when I came back from shopping, as did a granddaughter in Anchorage. The grandson also called me. The Florida daughter told me that they had started a nation-wide hunt for me. !!

After many minutes with the automaton at Charter.net and running back and forth between the phone and the computer, I finally got reconnected with the internet. (I do have a cell phone, but I never use it, except in an emergency)

But it was worth it because now I am positive that my children love me. Before, I wasn't too sure. Ahh, I'm just kidding!

So when my family reads this, I want them to know that I love and appreciate all of them, and next time I lose an internet connection, I will call at least one of them and they can spread the message that all is well.

Now I am going to work on my next blog entitled "Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow." (That's Hair, not Here)

The Joys of the Internet

I took the plunge into Facebook a while back when I had very little knowledge of how it worked. I know why they named it Facebook. There are lots of fascinating faces there to look at in one's spare time. If you Google "Annabelle Nelson Smith" you will see a bit of my Facebook page. You could ask to be my friend and I could either accept you or ignore you. Some people have hundreds of "friends". I don't see how they can handle that many.

I am friends with some distant relatives in Sweden, but seeing that I don't understand the Swedish language, I don't visit those pages very often. The only Swedish word I know is "gazoonheidt", or something like that, that you utter after someone has sneezed. I think it means "Please use some Kleenex next time." Actually, one of these Facebook relatives did fly over the ocean from Sweden and visited with my daughter in Florida recently. That was very nice. I have a photo of him and Mickey Mouse taken when he visited Disney World.

I also got in touch with my former sister-in-law in British Columbia whom I haven't seen for twenty years. Facebook is fantastic for getting in touch and staying in touch with people you knew at one time. It is also very convenient for keeping in touch with your children if you have any and you are on speaking terms. I had to go to my daughter's Facebook page to find out if her son, Tom, would be available to mow my lawn today. That daughter lives in Alaska. Tom lives in Duluth. It's a long story that I am sure you would not be interested in. Don't get me wrong, we are on speaking terms. This said daughter put a lot of
pictures of me and other members of the family on my Facebook page recently. I would rather have had a professionally done , airbrushed photo of me put there. But I am still speaking to her anyway.

Google is another wonderful service. When I first googled my name, all I got was obituary notices of people with the same name. But that has changed and there are Annabelle Smiths all over the place and they are presumably still alive. I Google everybody that I happen to think of. I Google the old Hollywood movie stars to find out what they died from and when. I Googled "What to do about an ant hill" the other day. I got lots of help, and started to mix up the Borax and sugar to sprinkle on the hill in my back yard when I saw that Mother Nature had rained them out. Temporarily. Googling is a great pasttime.

I live in fear that my computer might conk out and I won't be able to Google for a day or two.

Mysterious Happenings

Let me bring you back in time when my husband had gone to work in a far-a-way state because jobs were scarce here. Someone knew I was alone, and so about four AM almost every morning, he would come and knock on the wall of my house. He seemed to know that that was a bedroom wall. Of course, I told the authorities about it, but there was nothing much they could do.

Some people even thought I was just making it up because I wanted my husband to come home. Well, his job ended after some months and home he came. Four o'clock the next morning after his arrival, came the knocking on the bedroom wall once more. I was glad that my husband heard it along with me, so nobody could ever accuse me of making up that story to get him to come home. That was the end of the knocking because the prowler now knew that I was not alone anymore. I had a pretty good idea who it was, but without proof, I kept it to myself. This (?) person spent some time in jail for other misdeeds that were much more serious.

Fast forward to 2009. I am now a lonely old widow, but somebody wants me to know that I am not always alone. He is out in my yard getting into rather harmless mischief. I bought myself an infra-red camera that enabled me to see what was going on in my back yard during the night. It was connected to my combination TV and VCR tape player. The next day I could watch the tape of the back yard happenings during the night before, if I so desired. I haven't watched all the tapes because it would take hours and hours and I have better things to do.

But someday I might watch all the tapes just to confirm my suspicions. But why waste precious time?

Cats I Have Known

At the moment, I am cat-sitting. Olive, the cat, is hiding somewhere in my house, I know not where. She comes out to eat in the middle of the night when she is perfectly sure I am in dreamland. She is a beautiful cat, and I want us to be friends, but so far, no deal. But she hasn't been here even one day as yet. So there is hope.

She's so different from my last cat. Angelique couldn't get enough of me. She drove me nuts because she wanted to be my Siamese twin, but she was not a Siamese cat and I wasn't either, of course.

But I did have a Siamese cat once. I remember standing at the sink washing dishes and Serena with the beautiful blue eyes would climb right up my back. It's better to avoid cat's claws if possible. Olive has been de-clawed, so I don't have to worry about her climbing up my back. Besides, I doubt if she'll ever feel that friendly towards me.

Another cat I owned was named Tootsie. They say cats get more attached to the property owned by their masters than they do to their masters. Tootsie was a good example of that. When we moved to this town, 60 miles south of our native stamping grounds, Tootsie wasn't happy at all. So she left. Ten days later she had found her way back to our new residence. I heard her meowing at the door one day and I was happily shocked to see Tootsie there. But heaven only knows what she had suffered as she tried to get back to her old home and then realizing that she had to come back to the new house. She was like a shell-shocked veteran of a terrible war. I have never known a shell-shocked person, but I have a pretty good idea thanks to Tootsie.

Back at the old place I had a neighbor who owned a cat named Mujer (cat talk for Mother). Mujer wanted to live with us, not with the neighbor, so Mujer was visiting us all the time. Don't for a minute think that cats can't read your thoughts. They can.
One day my youngest daughter was sobbing away on my bed, I have forgotten why, and Mujer was trying to comfort her.
We were amazed! So we decided to test this sympathetic cat. Later, my daughter laid across my bed and pretended to cry her
heart out. Mujer was not moved at all. She was wise to our foolish antics.

I only wish Olive would come out of her hiding place and be my friend today!

The Three Humans

Once upon a time there were three humans that lived in a forest in Northern Minnesota. Papa Human had built a cabin on a little stream in order to get away from civilization for the summer months when little Baby Human didn't have to go to school.

One day Mama Human was putting breakfast on the table for her family, when Papa Human said, "Let's go for a walk down the edge of the stream this morning and enjoy listening to the birds sing, and the frogs croak and all that good stuff".

So Mama Human left three bowls of blueberries in cream on the table and took little Baby Human by the hand and off they went to enjoy nature at her finest.

In the meantime a little baby bear cub had lost her mother in these Minnesota wilds and was wandering around looking desperately for something to eat.

This baby bear was given the name "Hope" by some other humans that wanted to study her and her mother, Lily. even before little baby Hope was born in a cave.

All of a sudden Hope came upon the little cabin by the stream. She smelled the blueberries through the open window, and decided to have breakfast right then and there. So she peeked in the window and didn't see any humans, so she entered the cozy kitchen and examined the bowls of blueberries. Well, she was so hungry that she ate all three bowls of berries. But now little Hope was tired after all that wandering around looking for her mother, so she fell asleep in little Baby Human's bed.

The three Humans came back from their walk eager to eat their blueberries and cream, but were shocked to find that someone
had beaten them to it.

They looked all over the cabin for clues and then came upon an amazing sight. A great big MaMa Bear curled up in the Papa Human's bed with her little baby. So Lily and Hope were reunited and lived happily ever after.

You can see Lily and Hope in action on YouTube.com.

Long Livers and Big Hearts

I was just sitting here thinking about Noah. I don't know if he had a last name, but I guess in those days, people didn't have last names. My little great-grandson is named Noah, but my Noah has a last name. But I hope he doesn't live as long as the Biblical Noah lived.

The original Noah lived for a very long time. In fact, Noah lived for nine-hundred and fifty years! Can you imagine writing in your diary for nine-hundred and fifty years? Without a diary, it would be hard to remember what happened five hundred years in the past. Or even two-hundred years in the past when you were seven-hundred and fifty years old. Can you imagine getting all those birthday presents through the years?

My mother only lived to be ninety-seven. My father only saw ninety years of earth-life. That was pretty good for these days.

I went to a style show last week. This was a production put on for us old ladies. One of the models was one-hundred years old! She walked around our tables ( where we sat munching on decadent goodies), showing off her lovely outfit. She didn't look a day over ninety! Truthfully, she really looked awfully good! I can only imagine what Mrs. Noah must have looked like.

But Noah must have had a very big heart, and loved her all through those years, I suppose. But I think she might have raised a little Cain herself when Noah imbibed the homemade wine and staggered off to bed. Well, nobody's perfect, I always say.

I've always said that if I was a Sunday School teacher, I wouldn't even last one Sunday.

Growling

I need help! Let me explain what's going on and maybe I can find someone with a good explanation.

Yesterday morning I got up as usual and was reading the morning paper when suddenly I heard a growl. Then another, and another and probably ten growls, all tolled. So I had to investigate. No human or animal was outside, and there were no cars being used by the neighbors.

So I figured it is the furnace or the gas hot water tank, and I went down the stairs to the basement while the growling continued. It wasn't the furnace, but it did sound like it came from the hot water tank. As I bent down to turn down the gauge, it gave me one more little weak growl and that was it for the day.

Of course I called the city office and asked them to send someone out to check on my water heater. They came out very promptly and checked out the tank and the furnace very carefully. They showed me my dirty furnace filter, and I promised to buy a new one soon.

I was relieved that my heating system and water tank were in fine shape, but still I wondered what this growling must be.

So the day passed and so did the night, and as usual I got up very early again (5) and started to make my coffee.

Then I heard three growls!!

So down the basement stairs I went again, but there were no more growls.

I will have recording equipment set up tomorrow morning and by golly, I will find out what is going on!


Stay tuned!

My Old Friend Carol

I just heard in a round-about way that a friend of mine from years past was having Hospice care at home. My cousin was also her cousin.

Carol's mother kept her when she was born, although Carol's mother was not married to Carol's father. So Carol never really had a normal home life. Her mother finally found a husband, but this guy was a buyer for Sears and traveled much of the time, staying in hotel rooms all over the country. Carol's mother wanted to be with Harry, so Carol was left some of the time with her aunt who was married to my uncle. So we were very close during her stay with them.

Carol was the prettiest girl I ever saw. Everyone told her she should go to Hollywood and become a movie actress. Fat chance.
I remember one Easter when Carol's mother came to visit her with a big Easter basket full of goodies and a pretty blue organdy dress. Then off her mother would go again leaving Carol behind with her big Easter basket full of chocolate bunnies and colorful little eggs and her beautiful blue organdy dress.

Carol said to me once in a very sad voice, "My mother is sitting in some hotel room polishing her fingernails instead of being with me." Actually, Carol was feeling very resentful.

Well, guess what? Harry had a kid, too. A younger boy, named George. I don't think anybody bothered much with George, either, because one night I remember that Carol, I and this George kid, were at my uncle's home baby-sitting my little cousin.
George found a bottle of white shoe polish and proceeded to cover most of his skin with it when Carol and I weren't looking.
Then George got into the baby buggy and pretended he was a baby---a very white baby. I don't know what became of George, but I think his mother took him after she found another husband and had a home for him.

Well, Carol finally went to live with her mother but we kept in touch from time to time. I went to Minneapolis in 1954 to visit her one winter in her upstairs apartment where she and her two kids lived. Yes, now Carol was divorced from her first husband and she was trying to support her family by working in a jewelry store. She had met another fellow and he wanted to give her everything, but didn't have the means. So he took a gun to Chicago and held up a bank. He was shot dead on the spot. I couldn't believe what I was hearing!

We lost touch for years, but she did get married again and had another child. I saw her once around that time. That didn't work out either, so she was single again, trying to support her family. Then she married again and after the third husband died in Arizona, I heard from Carol and she sent me a picture of herself..... still looking very lovely. We corresponded for awhile and lost touch again.... until recently when I heard that she didn't have long to live.

I never will forget Carol, she was one hell-of-a lady!

Blue- Footed Boobies

Today I received the cutest little present! A Blue-Footed Booby! It came all the way from the Galapogos Islands which are
located 500 miles off the coast of Ecuador.

These Boobies actually have great big blue feet, not to mention blue bills. The one I got today is not life-size because my granddaughter couldn't get a real one into her back- pack. So I got one only four inches tall. She also gave me a refrigerator magnet that has a picture of a booby on it. She has been living lately with these Boobies and it is so good to have her back home at least for awhile. We went out for lunch today and had such a good time. We both talk a lot.

It won't be long before she will be flying to the Philippines for more serious studying. She studies birds. Now I will have to do some research to find out what kind of birds live on the Philippine Islands. Hopefully there will be some really cute ones so she
can bring me another cute little ceramic bird.

They will go really well with my cute little ceramic frogs.

If you want to see the mating dance of a male and female Booby, you can see it on YouTube. The female was not at all impressed.

My Obituary!

A few years ago one of my daughters told me that I should prepare my own obituary because all my children couldn't possibly remember where I had worked during my working years.

So I have been planning to write it now for maybe ten or twelve years. I'm beginning to forget all the places that I worked, too!!

For research purposes, I read the obits of perfect strangers besides people I might have once known, and I have come to the
conclusion that very few people can write a really good obituary. The writers, even if they were close family members, did not know their loved ones in a very intimate way. You may read, "Lora Jane loved to read books and she worked the daily crossword puzzle." That doesn't say much about Lora Jane. But there's more. "Lora Jane was employed by the local men's shirt factory (sweat shop) for six years."

You've got to picture Lora Jane huddled over her power sewing machine sewing the same type of seam for the many thousands of shirts that were brought to her station. If she made a mistake, the shirts were returned to her for ripping and correcting. I tried this job for three months. But I will not mention that in my obituary. And I hope nobody else does.

I doubt if I'll mention that I was one of those Avon Ladies that used to ring your doorbell. They don't do that anymore, they get your order through the internet. It was a pleasant job, though, and you got to talk to lots of nice ladies who stayed home all day and were very glad to talk to an Avon lady because they were so bored looking at the walls. Once a man in his pajamas invited me to come in, but I declined.

Like everything else, Avon has changed a lot. They just sent me an e-mail telling me that they missed me (as a customer). I haven't ordered from them for quite awhile. Even with free shipping, it just isn't the same fun it used to be.

And we won't mention the little business I started in my old home town. I wanted to help my kids make some money, so I bought a lot of popcorn and some paper bags and popped the corn and buttered and bagged it and the kids had an evening stand at the corner of the block we lived on. They did a thriving business. I popped the corn in a heavy aluminum pot, which is the best way. My relatives have often remarked that I would have made a successful business woman. But I can't put such a thing in my obituary, can I?

Will I mention that I bought a Kiln and opened a ceramic studio in my basement? Had to spend $500 for better electric house wiring and about the same for the kiln. But we had a ball for quite awhile. Every morning I would go down to the basement and open the kiln to see how the glazes we applied the night before turned out on our figurines and pots, etc, after being baked. It was like Christmas every morning.

I even tried to be a clothing alteration person in my home. I was a failure.

But I was successful as a fashion illustrator when the clothing stores wanted drawings of the latest ladies' fashions printed in the paper. I was paid good money. So I think I will mention that when the time comes.

Otherwise, I guess my obit will be just about like every other housewife-mother. Not very impressive.

Blogs on Snobs

I don't think I've ever told my kids about my humiliation at the hands of snobs. So here is one story. I, of course, will not use anybody's real name. (except for Gloria)

When I was sixteen and school was out and I needed a little money, I applied for a job with a doctor's family who would be spending the summer at their lake cabin. I was to be the wife's helper in the kitchen and around the cabin. My friend, Gloria had applied for a similar job with another doctor's wife at their nearby cabin. But this family had small children. So there was no room for Gloria in the cabin, and she spent her nights in the pump house. Rather noisy at times! I, at least had my own room although the odor of mosquito dope was horrible.

I lasted four days.

Each morning before anyone else got out of bed, I was to light a fire in the fireplace, and then go to where the doctor and his wife were sleeping and wake them up using a nice, cheery tone of voice. While helping the lady of the cabin in the kitchen she would brag about her very prominent family members. One day I set a bottle of catsup on the table where the family was going to have their lunch. My mistress exclaimed, "Don't ever put the bottle of catsup on the table! Put it in a container with a spout." This was a table in a screened-in porch in the middle of a woodsy area! I, of course, ate alone in the rather primitive kitchen. I think you get the picture.

But I drew the line at scrubbing out their outhouse. So I left for good after I finished that job. It really stunk.

Memories of Gloria

I hadn't seen Gloria for many, many years, but I did get a letter from her a few years ago, wanting to know how I was doing.
She was a grade school chum of mine and we were good friends. She even beat up a skinny little kid that teased me. Yes, I asked her to! She gave him a bloody nose, and he never teased me again. Now that's what I call a good friend!! (kidding)

In her letter, Gloria said she had driven her motor home all by herself from somewhere in the West to Montana where one of her
daughters lived. Gloria also mentioned that she had some type of heart trouble. I answered her letter, but sadly, never heard from her again.

Gloria had married a man much older than she was, and so became a widow too soon. Together, they raised pure-bred horses in Illinois. Gloria was a pharmacist and her husband was a civil engineer. Pretty good for a little fatherless girl, raised on welfare with a mother that made her wear high-topped shoes when she was in grade school. Her mother had a shot gun handy in case you weren't welcome on her property.

Gloria played the violin and the clarinet. She said the father who had walked out on the family of three children was a lawyer. Knowing Gloria's mother, that was just not easy to believe. (think: Ma Kettle) In high school, Gloria didn't pay much attention to me anymore, because she was
doing her darndest to get in with the "Fifth Avenue" crowd. But I think they snubbed her because of her background. She just
disappeared from the scene after that, and I don't know much about her life. I never went to any high school class reunions for just exactly that reason (snobs), so I didn't learn till much later what she was up to.

Gloria was a really nice, smart person, and I am sorry that we were not life-long friends. And I think she had the same thought
about me when she wrote me that last letter.

Venison, Anyone?

I live where the lots are fifty feet wide and almost every lot boasts a house. But still we have our creeks and trees and wildlife to
make our city a great place to live.

The deer are especially interesting. Sometimes its just one little lonely deer coming through my yard, and once it was a whole herd of twenty or more that I watched come up from a dry creek nearby and disappear behind the house across the street.

I've seen deer climb up on a big snowbank to avoid an oncoming car. I've had many deer in my back yard eating the apples that have fallen from the apple tree. It's a wonderful sight. One time, my cat sat in the kitchen window watching the deer eat my
fallen fruit. One of the deer happened to notice my cat in the window and started staring at her. The cat stared back. They kept this up for quite awhile until I started to think they had fallen in love and the buck would crash through my window to be with
his lady love. So I took my cat away to avoid such a catastrophe.

But there is sadness, too. Around Easter of this year, as it was turning dark, my widowed neighbor got a call from the police.
They told her she was going to hear a gunshot in her back yard, but not to worry. There was a wounded deer lying there suffering and another neighbor saw this and called the police. The police came and shot the doe and carried her out to the curb to be picked up later. The doe would have had her baby in a few weeks, but it was not to be. I don't know how she was injured.

But life goes on. And wild life will go on in my neighborhood, too. And I think it is a good thing.

America's Little Darling

During the dark days of the Great Depression, Providence sent us a wonderful gift: a darling little girl with saucy curls all around her head, a dimpled, cheerful smile and talent for singing and dancing. Not to forget, she could really act, too. When she turned on the tears, you forgot about your own troubles and sympathized with the character she was playing. She was a wonder!

Today is her birthday. She is eighty-two years old! And I hope she has many more, and that they are good ones.

It's time that we received something equally wonderful!

Instead of crime, violence and the crap that we get today on TV and elsewhere, we need a healthy shot in the arm of up-lifting ideas. There must be some creative brains out there that are hiding their light under a bushel.

We don't need another Shirley Temple, of course. I hope that what it is that we so desperately need is on its way to us as I write this. I don't know what or who it will be, though.

I'll be patiently waiting.

Aunt Mabel

My aunt Mabel was perfect! At least that's what I thought when I was a young child. I wanted to grow up to be just like her.
I think I almost worshipped her sometimes.

She was the secretary to the dean of our local junior college. She had gone to a business school in a bigger city, and she really knew her stuff. I remember seeing the college yearbook from the 1930's where she was photographed with the dean and the caption read "The Owl and the Pussy Cat". Mabel was the pussy cat.

Mabel knew how to dress. Big white hats, white collars on dark clothes. Stunning! She was usually smiling her pretty dimpled smile, just making you feel good. Mabel seemed to like having a six-pack near by, but I never saw her acting ridiculous! She was always the perfect lady. Much like my sister, the school teacher, was. It just wasn't in me, though, to be the perfect lady.

I felt so honored one day when I was about nine, and Mabel was sitting in an easy chair and her leg fell asleep. She asked me if I would rub her leg and get the circulation going again. So I knelt at her feet and did the best job I knew how. Finally, I could do something nice for Mabel! She was always doing something for me.

Mabel finally met the man of her dreams, Henry. Henry lived in Michigan, so Mabel moved to Michigan where they got married and lived on Henry's brother's farm. Mabel was now a secretary to one of the executives of the Pontiac Motor Company. One day Mabel and Henry decided to go farming in Southern Minnesota, just vegetables, no cows, maybe chickens. On the automobile ride to
Minnesota, Henry suddenly took sick and died. So Mabel went back to live in Michigan. She came to Minnesota and visited us once in awhile, but then she met Bob a widower with grown children and she married again and lived in Michigan. Later, she and Bob went to Turkey, of all places, to live where Bob taught people the ropes in the Turkish Steel mills. She came back and gave me a present from Turkey!

Well, that was just like Mabel, my dear aunt. Mabel and Bob spent their retirement years in Clearwater, Florida until Mabel had a losing struggle with Parkinson's disease and died in a nursing home in Michigan.

Rest in peace, dear Aunt Mabel.

Is Government Bad?

I once had a little four-year-old boy along with his younger sister who was three. So when I left them in care of a baby-sitter I usually bribed them to be good while I was gone by bringing home something from the "dime store" for their enjoyment.

One winter's day I went downtown to shop and bought my two little ones a big wad of play money. I gave it to the oldest, and
told him to divide up between himself and his little sister because I was going to be to busy with the usual chores.

So they sat on the floor with the play money and preceded to do as they were told. When I glanced over to see how things were developing, I couldn't believe my eyes!

Little son had divided the "money" into three piles!

"Who is the extra pile for?" I asked my little boy.

"It's for the government," he replied.

"What did you say?!!!" I exclaimed in a very shocking tone.

"Government". explained my son.

The little girl piped up with "Is that a bad word, Mama?"

High School Art Class

When I was in high school in Northern Minnesota, I had a wonderful art teacher, Miss Ylinen.

She was like a friend, even coming to my home and visiting, and inviting me to her apartment.

But she got married, and in my town, in those days, if you were a woman and you got married,

well, that was the end of your teaching career in that school district.

She was my inspiration. She introduced me to oil painting, water colors and drawing with color crayons on muslin fabric and even puppet making.

I did a painting in class of a little girl playing a piano, and Miss Ylinen liked it. She told me that

she was going to enter it into a competition in Pittsburgh, PA. But before she could get it ready to be mailed, she had to have permission from the principal or somebody higher. So Mr. Skustad

came to look at the entries one day and when he looked at mine he remarked, "You are not going to waste postage on that painting, are you?"

"Yes, I certainly am!" she replied. And she did. She was allowed to go to Pennsylvania to view

all the entries, 1200 of them, from kids all over the nation. When she came back, she told me

that when she started up the steps, the first painting she saw was mine! It won a Certificate of Merit with a gold seal, yet!

Miss Ylinen eventually got married and went to live in California. There she was hired by the

Walt Disney studios. I think she probably painted the backgrounds for many of the Disney

animated movies. Of course, I lost touch with her, but I will never forget her.

According to Statistics

I just heard a doctor on TV tell the viewing public how dangerous it is to drink soda pop. The latest warning comes from a study of many people who were stricken with pancreatic cancer, and it was determined that the cause was that they drank soda pop while they were still alive. Even two cans a week can be lethal. He said it was the sugar in the pop that did it, but the sugar in fruit juice was safe. I think the doctor owns some orange groves somewhere.

I read in the paper last week that soda pop if ingested, can help destroy the calcium in your body.

On my last visit to the clinic for a check-up, the doctor remarked, "I'm concerned about your drinking a can or two of pop every day." But my calcium test proved normal, so I don't think I

have to go on the soda pop wagon just yet.

I'll bet if you ask the recycling guys how many empty pop cans they pick up each week, you would hardly be surprised. Nation-wide it must run into the millions of aluminum cans. Of course there are many other dangers that we flirt with constantly, but only once in awhile do we have to pay for our outlandish behavior. And a lot of the time, we don't have to pay until the end of our lives. Statistics have substantiated that.

For years, I have figured that I would die from pancreatic cancer because my aunt Esther died from it, and I look a little like she did. Studies have shown that if you resemble your aunt in one thing, you will take after her in another thing. There was no study made of uncles. But, even so, I am happy to say that I did not look like either one of my uncles. They liked their drinks an awful lot stronger than pop. Both died in their sixties. Heart.

Through the years one study or another told us not to cook in aluminum pots, or we would get demented earlier than normal. Oleo margarine had some coloring in it that would do us some harm, but butter wasn't much safer. Fried chicken had some kind of a dangerous hormone in it, so hubby told me not to serve chicken anymore as no chicken was going to fool around with his hormones. I broke my wedding vow and disobeyed him and kept right on frying chicken. (actually, I baked it coated with Shake and Bake). And don't forget about the mercury in some fish. Reminds me of the time the Pope said his people could now eat meat on Fridays. So hubby made a new rule that I was supposed to obey, and that was------in order to keep the fishermen in business, we would now have fish every Friday.

No kidding! Of course, I had to break that wedding vow again. I didn't care much for that vow, anyway, and I think they quit putting it in there some time ago. They finally wised up.

The cows in Minnesota some time ago might have been eating grass laced with strontium 90 which was radio- active stuff, and very dangerous. My milk was delivered by a very nice milkman and one time I had to tell him his milk tasted awful. Secretly, I thought it might be the strontium 90, but he did some investigation and found out that his cows had gotten into a pasture and were eating some kind of weed that made the milk taste awful! They corrected that problem.

I'm glad milk doesn't come in aluminum cans or we all might age faster than normal. And of course, the baby's plastic milk bottles are suspect right now. I'm not sure what happens when babies drink milk from those bottles but everything can't be harmful! But I guess statistics prove otherwise.

Take care.

To Cook or Not to Cook?

That 's a good question. I used to be a really good cook. Honest. My sister told me many times that I should open my own restaurant. And she had gourmet taste buds, you betcha!

A few months ago I received a card in the mail telling me that some lady whom I had never heard of signed me up for a year's subscription to EveryDay with Rachael Ray. That cost her$15 or $20, and it must be a mistake, but today I got another issue. I only cook for one person, so this lady by the name of Mary must have wanted to torture me with all these pictures of luscious food.

When you cook for one, you can't even call it cooking.

I used to cook for seven and loved to do it. I picked up hints here and there to make my food taste even better. Like put a little sugar in the cooking water when you cook carrots or peas.

When you make tuna fish salad, rub the bowl with a garlic clove, but don't put any garlic in it.

Years ago, I realized that President Lyndon Johnson's daughter was a spoiled rich girl at that time because she was quoted as saying, "Cooking is easy, just follow the recipe."

Ha!

Mrs. Nixon couldn't cook, either. Richard would go to their little personal kitchen in the White House and fix his own snack, which I heard was cottage cheese with catsup. Poor Dick.

But to get back to R Rae's magazine-----why does she print recipes calling for food you never, ever heard of or never hope to hear of like ground lamb? I can't see grinding up a cute little lamb. I couldn't eat it. You are supposed to add three cups of arugula to the lamb mixture. What the heck is arugula? Then there is a recipe for cooked lettuce with sugar and peas. I mean, who boils lettuce with sugar? My mother never did.

But there is a good recipe for apple pie in this magazine with wonderful crust made with a beaten egg white and vegetable shortening AND butter. That one I will try. I might have to

eat the whole pie myself, but I think I could do it.

The other day I was telling a couple of my grown granddaughters about the prune whip I used to make when I was very young. One of these granddaughters is getting an education in nutrition and might end up working in Betty Crocker's Kitchen! Anyway, they thought prune whip sounded quite good and they might try to make some. I must remember to pick up some prunes next time I go to the super market along with some ciabatta rolls if I can possibly find them. I'll let you know if the prunes made a tasty dish.

Happy cooking, until next time! Bon appetite, or whatever.

Remember Woolworth's?

Remember Woolworth's that wonderful five and dime store that went out of business in the late nineties? I worked for them once. Here's my story.

I heard that Woolworth's was coming to our new mall and I wanted a piece of the action. And boy, did I get it! I walked over there one day to be interviewed for a job. The manager looked a lot like Robert Vaughn, the actor, and he invited me to sit down in his office and he said to me, "Sell yourself!"

Well, I was quite taken aback because I had never sold myself before. But I caught on and began to tell him how talented I was in the advertising business, having won a prize once for the best advertisement and did some other work in advertising. And I could draw!

I successfully sold myself and I was put on the payroll, as the only person in the advertising department. But the store was still closed and the merchandise was being labeled with prices and stocked where it belonged. They asked me if I wanted to help with this kind of work while I waited for my advertising job to materialize. I was not one to turn down a few bucks, so I said, "O K."

The people who were opening the store came up from Minneapolis and would be leaving when their work was finished, except for the manager. Here's where I learned what people from the big city could be like. I once heard the manager yelling at the new department heads, degrading and humiliating them in a horrible way that completely sickened and disgusted me. But then some of the department heads had their fun with the lowly help like me,too. Well, they didn't know that I was hired as the advertising person. One pale little male department head gave me and another lady orders one day to clean up after the workmen had finished working in the cafe. It was full of cigarette butts and we had to get down on our hands and knees and pick up the butts and put them in a container by hand. He looked a lot like Audie Murphy, the war hero turned actor, but a hero, he was not! Why we obeyed this nin-com-poop, I'll never know.

The personal assistant was a lady with a bad leg and she had it in for me, too. She would jump on me for no reason and let me have it with both barrels . I was bewildered because I wasn't doing anything wrong and didn't deserve to be treated that way. She later said her leg gave her a lot of pain and so she took it out on others. Bull! She enjoyed what she was doing.

One day I was summoned into the personal office and the lady with the limp asked me in a very unpleasant voice, "What are YOU doing here?" You know, like I had a nerve even setting foot on that holy ground. Then the personal director, a nice lady, said, "Annabelle is our advertising person."

Well, whatever her name was, Margaret, I think, almost fainted! From then on she greeted me very pleasantly every time she saw me, calling me Love or Honey.

And the pale little department head that had fun giving me demeaning jobs trembled in fear every time he saw me after that. I would glare at him hoping to see him shrivel up and die.

But there were other reasons why that job was not for me, so I left. I knew the man that took over for me, but by then I had moved to another town so I don't know how it went for him.

It wasn't terribly long before Woolworth's closed all its stores and became just a memory.

BBC Comedy Shows and What I Learned From Them

"Waiting for God" now there was a wonderful learning experience. Diana Trent was a woman's libber's dream. With a rough exterior shown to the world at large, inside of her dwelt a heart of gold.

She fought injustices and rallied to the causes of fairness to humans who deserved it. Diana had been a photographer/journalist who hung out with fellow journalists in foreign bars hoping to run into Ernest Hemmingway before he did away with himself. She had lived an exciting life which was now reduced to life in a retirement village. No wonder she was bitter with a repulsion to growing old.

She lived at BayView, a retirement village managed by a young, handsome egomaniac by the name of Harvey. She'd give him a swipe in his you-know-what whenever she had the chance. Harvey would fall to the ground writhing in pain much to our pure delight. Diana had a relationship with her fellow tenant, Tom, who lived right next door and they shared a patio together where Diana would paint pictures that wouldn't sell and Tom would have imaginary affairs with Golden Age Hollywood movie stars and fill Diana in on their antics. He would also

climb imaginary mountains and sail imaginary seas. After forty years of being an accountant, could you really blame him?

Then there was Jane, Harvey's assistant, who hid behind a door when God handed out the good looks. Gentle, good Jane worshipped Harvey. Actually Harvey relied on Jane a lot because only half of Harvey's brain was in working condition. Harvey drew the boundaries for Jane. Jane longed to just touch Harvey, but was not allowed to. Once in awhile she forgot herself and her

hand would land on his arm or shoulder. "Jane, you're touching me!" he would sternly remind her and she would quickly remove her hand.

In the last episode Jane and Harvey became husband and wife, and it was very evident that Jane was not the shy little mouse that even she thought she was. We were all so glad for Jane, knowing that she would be the brains in that family, but she would never let him think that he was.

Diana's investments went bad and she lost her savings. Tom invited her to move in with him, and she reluctantly agreed to. They fought like cats and dogs, but really adored each other. Tom wanted to marry Diana, but she wouldn't hear of it. But they took care of each other in sickness and in health, for better or for worse but without any formality or legality. True love, to be sure.

I learned from Waiting For God that living in a Retirement Home can be a lot of fun if you are armed with a cane, a sense of humor, a stubborn attitude and a never-say-die outlook on life.

Now I have 69 episodes on DVD's of Are You Being Served? to go through.

My Imaginary Friend Joe

Seeing that everything is covered with dangerous ice today, I thought I might amuse some of you with this new blog.

This is a story told to me by a man named Joe Songtitle. He lived his miserable life by way of song titles, and thus his name.

First, he told me, he flew his airplane Way Down Yonder in New Orleans to find the "Girl of My Dreams", as he put it. He found a Million Dollar Baby in the Five and Ten Cent Store and invited her to "Come, Josephine in My Flying Machine" and we'll have Cocktails for Two in My Blue Heaven."

Well, Josephine was afraid of airplanes, so she told him to Go Fly a Kite. That was the end of that romance. So Joe sold his airplane and went On the Road Again, singing, "California, Here I Come."

In the Golden State he met Sierra Sue, who was sad and lonely, and jumped at the chance to have a fling with Joe. After a bit, he told her he wanted to find A Sweet Little Nest Some Where in the West and Let the Rest of the World Go by. But Sierra Sue wanted to be where the

action was, so she said to him, "Hit the Road, Jack, and Don't Come Back No More, No More, Hit the Road and Don't Ya Come Back No More."

So Joe decided to go South of the Border where he might have better luck. It Was Fiesta Down in Mexico so he decided to stay and see the show. He knew that Frenesi meant please love me, and he could say, Frenesi. A lovely senorita caught his eye and they went dancing bye and bye, but she was doing the Charleston to a rhumba rhythm. But, regardless, Joe proposed marriage to Maria Elena and she said, "Yes, We Have No Bananas." Well, Joe saw plainly that they didn't speak the same language so he dumped her and decided to go back to his hometown, New York,

New York, a wonderful town, The Bronx is up and the Battery's down; the people ride in a hole in the ground.

In New York he saw The Girl Behind the Venetian Blind and fell madly in love with her at first sight. He found out that her name was Jeannie With the Light Brown Hair, who was looking very blond at the moment. (well, after all, this was New York)

He went to her door and knocked. She opened the door and Joe said, "A You're Adorable, B You're So Beautiful, C You're a Cutie full of Charm. Jeannie fell into his arms and said, "D You're a Darling, and E You're Exciting! And Joe remarked, " F You're a Feather in My Arms and G You Look Good to Me, H You're so Heavenly, I You're the One I Idolize."

She said, "J We're Like Jack and Jill, K You're So Kissable, L is the Love light in Your Eyes.

So Joe and Jeannie got married and had two children. They named them---EM 'N OPEE. (read slowly)

And they all lived happily ever after.

Returning to Paradise?

We are all familiar with the story of Adam and Eve who, because they wanted to live forever, were evicted from their place of residence.

In the garden they had no need for a street sign or a house number because there would never be a relative or two driving up with their luggage announcing that they were going to visit for a week or two or longer). The only voices they heard other than their own was the voice of that serpent, until later, of course.

I imagine they enjoyed the singing of the birds and the croaking of the frogs. I know I would have, but they needed more. People are funny that way, we always want more. It seems to be a human failing. And the serpent promised them more.

So the drug companies of today are trying to give us the "more" that we need.

"If you want more years added to your life, take this pill and it will flush out your clogged arteries, and you will have a longer life."

"Depressed? Take this pill and it will fix that chemical imbalance in your brain and you will live a happier life------happier, therefore, longer."

"Too much lard on the old bones? Drink this green tea, jump up and down for twenty minutes a day, and the fat will fall off, and you will live a longer life." On and on. So the ads promise.

Mind you, I'm not saying this stuff doesn't work, because it usually does.

Until something better comes along.

Even in our Garden of Medications we must be careful where we walk, because there is a serpent lurking behind the label. It's the warning that comes with every medication.

Well, this will be all for now, as it is time for my synthroid.

How to Lose Customers

Because of the icy roads and walks, I have been in hibernation for quite a while. This morning

I decided to venture out and see how much the world had changed since I last left my house.

First I went to Kmart, where I have been shopping for the last thirty-eight years without hardly

a complaint. Today I had three complaints!!

First, I hope they are covered well by insurance because their parking lot is a life-threatening stretch of ice-covered asphalt. But with the help of my cane, I made it to the door without breaking any bones. I bought many things, almost $100 worth of stuff and went to check out.

I wrote out a check and presented it to the young man who attempted to see if it was any good.

The register refused to accept it! The young man tried again. No luck. This was preposterous!

I did mention to him that he should call the manager, but I guess he didn't hear me. Or didn't want to hear me.

So I got out my credit card. Which, by the way, is not a Sears/Kmart credit card because I cancelled that one when I saw how much interest they wanted to charge. Preposterous!

It seems that Kmart approves of any credit card, so I took my basket of bags and started for the exit. As I pushed the door open I got beeped!! Absolutely preposterous!!

A clerk from the customer service desk came over to me and looked at what I had bought. She found a blood pressure monitor that I bought here and took the strip off that was responsible for accusing me of being a shop-lifter and I told her about the check fiasco and that I didn't think I would bring my trade to this store anymore.

Then I proceeded to the Super Market which was very close by. Their parking lot was free of

ice. And not only that they had a big new supply of Little Debbie Peanut Butter Crunches that I

cannot live without. So I was happy.

I drove home and tried out my new blood pressure monitor. It read 110 over 75. Kmart didn't

succeed in raising my blood pressure at all!!

Equal Employment Opportunity Amendment

Young people, I hope you are well acquainted with the E.E.O. amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America. It arrived in 1972. I needed it in 1970.

I worked for a newspaper. They had two wage scales in force. One for men, one for women. The guys I worked with in the back shop preparing the newspaper for the photographer and the press got more than twice as much money as I did. I worked harder than they did. And that's a fact!!

The production manager knew it and he went the General Manager one day

and tried to get me a raise. He came back with the great news that I would now get $.05 more an hour than before. Oh, Happy Day!

They really did know that I was valuable so I was the only one who was allowed to write my hours worked using a pencil on the time card. Everybody else had to punch in. The production manager hinted vaguely that I could stretch every three hours into four hours and nobody would take me to task. In other words, my cheating would be condoned because they knew I really wasn't getting paid what I was worth.

I wasn't raised to be dishonest, so I couldn't do that.

But I did enjoy the job. The guys were a lot of fun to work with. Howie would amuse me at times by rolling one eyeball round and round while the other one stayed in place. I've never

seen anyone else do that. And Floyd used to swivel his hips like crazy when the bosses weren't looking. Howie told me confidentially that Floyd killed a six-pack every night, and Floyd told me that Howie's lake cabin wasn't as nice as he described it. Frank was in charge of the huge

so-called computer that printed out the text for the news and such. Frank was on the phone to

Chicago almost every day because he had so much trouble with that computer. It was no wonder that Frank went gambling every Friday night. Herb, who quietly kept to himself,

pasted up the want-ads and took a swig of his "cough medicine" several times a day. I was left

to guess what that cough medicine really was. Then there was Jake who also kept quietly to himself at his work station. One day he came up to my drafting table and said, "I don't drink,

I don't smoke and I don't chase women!" I replied, " And you don't brag much, either, do you?"

One day, before work started, a couple of girls put a bottle of laxative on his table.

To make this report more interesting, I will mention that one day Stan, the photographer, invited me into his dark room.

They were a great bunch, including the ladies, a few of whom decided to go on a sit-down strike one morning in the coffee room. (they, like me, were grossly under-paid) They were told where the door was and they came begging to get their jobs back.

I found out later that the EEO Amendment wouldn't have done me any good. The publishers would have known exactly how to use the loop holes to their advantage.

A Visit to a Spiritualist Church

Back in the early 70's having recently moved to Duluth, I decided to accept an invitation to visit the local Spiritualist Church. The invitation was in the local newspaper and was very intriguing because I had never had the experience of hearing from the other side before.

My daughter came with me and we took a seat in the very back of the church. We witnessed the usual service and listened to a woman who spoke to the congregation while apparently in a trance. When she finished, she was a little wobbly until she fully emerged from the trance. I can't remember what she talked about. Nothing spectacular, I'm sure. Another lady sang a

lovely song or two. A child was presented with a red rose for some reason.

Then the minister of the church began to speak. A young couple seated close to us didn't say a word, but the minister assured them that their deceased child was well taken care of on the other side. The wife began to cry. She didn't audibly confirm she had lost her child, but you could see that the minister was right about her losing a child. He then pointed to a lady that I

knew slightly and said he saw that she was a healer. He was right! She was a chiropractor. I'm

sure she was a visitor just like me, not anyone that he knew.

Then he pointed to me! He said he wanted to talk to the lady in the light-colored raincoat in the back row. That was me! I had never seen him before, and he knew nothing about me. I squirmed a little, and wondered what on earth was going to happen now.

He went on to say that he saw two spirits behind me. One was a woman with her hair done in

braids coiled in back of her head. The other was a man who was having some distress in his chest.

We had been working on our family tree. My grandma who wore her hair in that fashion in the pictures we have of her and who died at the age of 29 had been on my mind a lot in the past few days, so she must have been one of the spirits. And the other spirit must have been my old boss who had been murdered by a bullet to his chest, and this was such a shock to me that he also had been on my mind much of the time. So this minister was either reading my

thoughts that had been hanging around my mind during this time, or he actually saw two spirits. He certainly had some kind of a gift. I didn't respond, but I still wonder what was really happening that day.

It was a very interesting experience!