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This is a fearful time in our country! One terrible event after another! Would it never stop?! It’s been difficult to clear my thoughts and contain the pain of 2020! The pandemic, the post election horror, and the attack on our federal capital has simply been overwhelming. Writing this blog has been difficult.
I am tempted to begin with “it’s the best of times and the worst of times” but Charles Dickens beat me to it. He opened his novel, Tales of Two Cities, with this wildly descriptive sentence that pretty accurately reflects our present wildly descriptive situation. The year 2020 is finally over, a year that certainly fits the phrase “the worst of times” and we can only hope that 2021 will contain much less “worst of times,” and much more of the “the best of times!”
Can’t ignore how serious life is and it’s made me wonder, why do I write this blog? Is there any purpose to my stories? Am I trying to say something meaningful? I began my blog describing myself as a recovering housewife as I suggest poetically in my “Ode to Recovering Housewives.” I also explain in another poem, “An Ode To Love and Peace,” that I want my life to be worthwhile, and find the way to the peace so many poems, stories, movies and speeches yearned for in poems, novel, movies, and speeches.
Thinking back on my childhood I remember telling Mom that one day I would write a book, and when she asked what my book would be about, I said “I’m not sure, Mom, but I won’t always be living here on the farm with you and Daddy. I do want to see some of the world one day.” Now that I have seen some of the world, I wonder if it’s given me anything to say that might be meaningful and enlightening. Maybe a glimpse into my childhood tales I’ve described so far will suggest an answer. Let’s see….where were we?
In my first story I “thrilled and astonished” you with my paper doll phobia described in many romantic and dramatic stories involving my collection of Hollywood actresses and actors, who sometimes swore endless love for each other and other times demanded yet another divorce. Mom was highly entertained with these episodes as she lurked behind doors while cleaning our old farm house listening to these fantastic tales, and hopefully adding some laughs to her weary task.
Mom taught me how to bake and cook when I was about 9, which I consider childhood another phobia. I baked several times a week using my Grandfather’s favorite recipe book that he gave Mom. I used these recipes so often baking stains make it impossible to read. After a few year following other people’s recipes, I got into creating my own creations, some were successful and some not so successful.
The most interesting baking in the family probably has been Lily’s (my granddaughter) version she created as a tot. Potions! The main ingredient tended to be good old fashion mud with a few unusual combinations of ingredients she found in the cupboard containing things like vinegarm, spices, etc. (a lot of etc. as I remember!) Tasting these creations turned out to be rather risky never knowing quit what was in them. Our taste buds certainly took a real beating.
“Showing My Calves” I am sure was puzzling at first but describing some of my experiences in the show ring showing cattle must have cleared that up. My brother Dave, who taught me how to “show my calves,” gave me these words to live by whether in or out of the show ring! “Keep an eye on the judge,” “Keep moving slowly and cautiously,” and “Always pull ahead to attract attention.” Without leading a cow this advice does take on new meaning.
Georgie Porgie, my handsome, hard working, funny, generous, wonderful dad still makes me laugh especially when remembering all his silly teasing of Mom. She hated mice (who doesn’t) so when he called her Mousie, the routine that followed was she would pick up the nearest broom (we only had one, I think) and chase him out of the back door. Once a salesman was standing at the door as Dad sailed by! “Never saw him again!” Dad laughed every time he told the story.
My grandparents were completely different from each other. Dad’s parents were farm folks and Mom’s were from the city. Dad’s mother loved to take long quiet walks in the woods to pick wild flowers. His father raced around in his little gray coup driving it as though he was still driving a team of horses. He ran through the back of the garage once yelling “Whoa, Dammit, Whoa!”The car obviously didn’t understand “Whoa!”
Mom’s Dad was a mathematical genius and the first CPA in the state of Wisconsin. Her mother, “full of hell” as Mom’s said, loved to sled with Mom’s friends and once had to be dug out of a snow drift when she lost control of her sled. She also fell through the ice once which pretty much finished her skating career.
Just before Christmas I was going to get into some Christmas stories, especially about my Mom and Dad’s annual exuberant “putting up the Christmas tree” exchanges, and my annual exuberant discussions with my brother on how to decorate the tree. Of all the decorations most important to Dave was the tinsel. It was vital that it was hung on each branch without ever touching another branch. Never figured out why this was so important to him! I suspect that most families have their own versions of Christmas tree and decoration experiences.
Family stories can be lots of fun and perhaps to some extent even meaningful. I remember as a child my mother often found me in some secluded place contemplating what? The seriousness of life? Could I get a new bike for my birthday? Why did my brother tease me so much? Who knows? But my tendency to get into deep thought about the issues of the world followed me into adulthood. So look out! I might be on the verge of confounding you with all the answers to life’s problems! That certainly is something to look forward to!
gloss paper
Contemplating the Future