What ever happened to the city park? Today I drive past the park and see a beautifully landscaped area with a lovely gazebo and an awesome memorial to our war veterans. There is still a grouping of baseball diamonds on the north side and a playground with all sorts of entertainment options for the young. There is a very functional brick shelter house along with three or four covered picnic areas and a scattering of tables throughout the grassy expanse. Two rustic looking wooden cabins stand at the west end of the two blocks set aside for recreational activities. However, the public park in my hometown just isn't what it used to be.
My memories come flooding back as I reflect upon this part of town. As a youngster I spent many happy hours there. The ball diamond that lies to the east was once an outdoor swimming pool. Whenever the pool was open, I was there. Back then we didn't know about sun screen and skin cancer and didn't give a second thought to staying under the hot rays all day long. Once summer hit I was perpetually brown. I don't mean lightly tanned... I mean BROWN....dark brown. I never took many swimming lessons but must be part fish because I loved the water.
The pool had three diving boards - a one meter, a two meter and a three meter. I eventually worked up the nerve to dive off the one meter but only ever jumped feet first from the tallest board.
The pool wasn't the only attraction for my friends and me. Though the playground area wasn't nearly as elaborate as it is now we still enjoyed hours of fun on the swings, slides, jungle gym, giant strides and merry-go-rounds. If we became bored with the games we played in our own neighborhood, we would head across town to the park where there was no end to the diversions that kept us occupied. If we tired of the playground we could always go watch a soft ball game. There was always a game going on in one of the fields. Even if you didn't particularly care for soft ball, as we got into our pre-teen and teen-age years, it was enjoyable just to watch the boys!
The two little log cabins, that don't seem to get much use anymore, were at one time teaming with boys and girls as they attended scout meetings. The south bungalow was the boy scout house and to the north was the girl scout house. We sang and crafted, earned badges and learned many new things under the roofs of those little structures. The boy scout house is still in use as such but the girl scout house had been turned over to the American Legion and stands pretty quiet.
The center of the park used to hold two long wooden shelter houses where many family reunions were held. They had screened windows but the reunions were always held during the hottest part of the summer and there was just no way to keep cool within those buildings. As I think back on those gatherings I can still smell the sweat, fried chicken, coffee and cigar smoke. I can hear the clink of the horseshoes as the men challenged each other to game after game. There were no refrigerators in the building but we kept nibbling on the food that had been prepared much earlier in the day and never seemed to get sick. The stiffling heat caused a mighty thirst which we quenched with warm kool-aid from one of the many gallon jugs lined up on the table.
The women gossiped and fanned while the children headed for the pool. On any given day, the shelter houses were packed. If you wanted to reserve a space for your party you made sure to do so months in advance.
The most memorable of all activities the park had to offer were the weekly band concerts. Every Thursday night Grandpa and Grandma would pick us up and off to the park we would go. Once we arrived the problem of finding a suitable parking place was a priority. My mild mannered grandfather would drive around the park while the best back-seat driver of all times, my grandmother, would point out one spot after another. "Go there," she would say, and grandpa would calmly pass on by. "Now, just stop here," she would implore as we cruised past a space that a tricycle wouldn't even fit into. Finally, much to his wife's chagrin, grandpa would settle on the place he wanted and switch off the ignition. Sometimes we would sit in the car as the band played and at other times we would perch on the hard benches in front of the stage. Some towns had an actual band shell but all we had was a raised stage where the musicians sat in a semi-circle around the conductor. The instrumentalists consisted of high school students and adults with a musical background. They played for perhaps an hour or so and the music they produced was wonderful. I was especially fond of the John Phillips Sousa marches. At some point during the concert we would slip off to the little concession stand and get a bag of popcorn or an ice cream cone. I loved that little store! Years later the people who ran the Scout Stand, as it was called, would offer me my first real job.
I spent three summers working in the Scout Stand, and got to know the likes and dislikes of every customer. After an afternoon of swimming, the children would climb up on the bench outside the window in order to get a good view of all the penny candy. Then they would carefully make their choices and still end up trading with their friends after the purchase was made. The junior high boys would always order "suicides," a mixture of every kind of soda pop we had. One of the towns "simple" guys would spend his days watching ball games and always top it off with a cherry nut ice cream cone. The smell of popcorn would bring the older men from the horse shoe pits and the teens would stop by for a frozen Snicker bar. On nights when there was a big concert or tournament game, three of us would be required to take care of business and we would be tripping all over each other in the small confines of the concession stand. After the rush we would collapse onto a stool and enjoy one of the treats we had been serving up all night.
The only time our city park is packed any more is during our annual Labor Day celebration. On that day you can barely manuevure through the crowded walkways. There is excitement and fun and merriment, but the next day all is once again quiet. Oh for the days when the city park was alive with people and activity every day.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Chickens
Today I'm thinking about chickens. Why chickens, you ask? They have been brought to mind lately as I have been researching my father's childhood in hopes of writing his life story. I find that he and I had something in common when were were tots. He didn't like chickens and neither did I! His story goes something like this.
Bernie never really had an affinity for the poultry that graced the farm yard. One day when he was about four years old his mother heard a terrible ruckus outside. Peering out the kitchen window she witnessed their mean old rooster chasing a screaming Bernie around the yard. That darned rooster was actually attacking her little boy! After rescuing her son from the cruel bird she decided their dinner that evening would consist of roasted chicken.
Later on the story was a little different. She wasn’t quite as compassionate when having trouble getting her eldest son toilet trained. One day she decided that maybe she could scare him into doing his duty in the right place. The hens of those days were a little different than they are in the present day. Today eggs are hatched in incubators. Broodiness has been bred out of chickens because it reduces egg production. There was a time when the hatching was done by a hen sitting on a nest full of eggs for 21 days Back in those days in the spring time hens would get broody which meant all they wanted to do is find a nest full of eggs to sit on. They would get rather mean and pick at anything that came near. Knowing that Bernie was deathly afraid of “broody” hens, she locked him in the grain bin in the barn with a broody hen. It didn’t work but made the little guy even more afraid of those chickens.
This was not Bernie’s only encounter with farm fowl. One day Bernie was teasing and taunting some of the chickens. After stirring them up and raising their ire he ran for the door of the chicken coop only to find it fastened tight. As he pushed and pushed, trying to escape the angry flock, he heard a tirade of chastisement coming from the other side of the door where his mother was holding the door firmly shut.
When I was a toddler, I remember visiting my grandparents farm and coming away with the same fear and trepidation that my dad encountered there. I don't recall the exact details, as I couldn't have been more than two or three years old, but I must have gone out to the chicken yard with grandma. I imagine she went to feed them and, being the curious sort, I tagged along.
However, once within the confines of the fenced in area where the chicken resided, I wasn't nearly as interested. In fact, I became downright scared! Those feathered fiends all seemed to be coming at me at once and they had sharp little beaks and made a lot of noise and furiously flapped their wings at me. Later, in the safety of my own room at home, with my mom and dad near by, I still couldn't forget that traumatic experience. Most kids think there are monsters in their closets. I thought there were chicks under my bed. I just couldn't rest that night until my mother had gathered the imaginary hatchlings into her apron and tossed them out the door.
I can not imagine where the term "to be chicken" or "chicken out" came from. Those foul creatures are certainly not "chicken." Maybe it's because they are bullies and make others "chicken."
As I was thinking about chickens today I realized that there are countless phrases that refer to poultry. Consider these: Caught with egg on your face. The rooster makes all the noise, but the hen rules the roost! The rooster may rule the roost, but the hen rules the rooster! Fussing like an old hen. Quit your squawking. Nest egg. Scratching out a living. Up with the chickens. Walking on eggshells. Fly the coop. Dumb cluck. Yolks on you. Does a chicken have lips? Hen party. Chicken feed. Birds of a feather flock together. Don't want to put up a squawk. Hatch an idea. Coming home to roost. Pecking order. Henpecked. Rule the Roost. Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Not everything it's cracked up to be. Something to crow about. Hen cackle. To be a Mother Hen. Don't brood over it. Madder than a wet hen. To lay an egg. Run around like a chicken with its head cut off. Ruffle your feathers. Stick in your craw. Bad egg. Nobody here but us chickens. Strutting' your stuff. To bed with the chickens. Feather our nests. I'm going to wring his neck. As scarce as hen's teeth.
Those chickens sure are popular! I think where they're most popular though is in the stewing pot, or on a barbeque, or in the oven. To this day, my dad's favorite meal consists of fried chicken, baked beans and potato salad. I rather like to eat chicken myself! Do you suppose that's our final say over our former tormentors?
Bernie never really had an affinity for the poultry that graced the farm yard. One day when he was about four years old his mother heard a terrible ruckus outside. Peering out the kitchen window she witnessed their mean old rooster chasing a screaming Bernie around the yard. That darned rooster was actually attacking her little boy! After rescuing her son from the cruel bird she decided their dinner that evening would consist of roasted chicken.
Later on the story was a little different. She wasn’t quite as compassionate when having trouble getting her eldest son toilet trained. One day she decided that maybe she could scare him into doing his duty in the right place. The hens of those days were a little different than they are in the present day. Today eggs are hatched in incubators. Broodiness has been bred out of chickens because it reduces egg production. There was a time when the hatching was done by a hen sitting on a nest full of eggs for 21 days Back in those days in the spring time hens would get broody which meant all they wanted to do is find a nest full of eggs to sit on. They would get rather mean and pick at anything that came near. Knowing that Bernie was deathly afraid of “broody” hens, she locked him in the grain bin in the barn with a broody hen. It didn’t work but made the little guy even more afraid of those chickens.
This was not Bernie’s only encounter with farm fowl. One day Bernie was teasing and taunting some of the chickens. After stirring them up and raising their ire he ran for the door of the chicken coop only to find it fastened tight. As he pushed and pushed, trying to escape the angry flock, he heard a tirade of chastisement coming from the other side of the door where his mother was holding the door firmly shut.
When I was a toddler, I remember visiting my grandparents farm and coming away with the same fear and trepidation that my dad encountered there. I don't recall the exact details, as I couldn't have been more than two or three years old, but I must have gone out to the chicken yard with grandma. I imagine she went to feed them and, being the curious sort, I tagged along.
However, once within the confines of the fenced in area where the chicken resided, I wasn't nearly as interested. In fact, I became downright scared! Those feathered fiends all seemed to be coming at me at once and they had sharp little beaks and made a lot of noise and furiously flapped their wings at me. Later, in the safety of my own room at home, with my mom and dad near by, I still couldn't forget that traumatic experience. Most kids think there are monsters in their closets. I thought there were chicks under my bed. I just couldn't rest that night until my mother had gathered the imaginary hatchlings into her apron and tossed them out the door.
I can not imagine where the term "to be chicken" or "chicken out" came from. Those foul creatures are certainly not "chicken." Maybe it's because they are bullies and make others "chicken."
As I was thinking about chickens today I realized that there are countless phrases that refer to poultry. Consider these: Caught with egg on your face. The rooster makes all the noise, but the hen rules the roost! The rooster may rule the roost, but the hen rules the rooster! Fussing like an old hen. Quit your squawking. Nest egg. Scratching out a living. Up with the chickens. Walking on eggshells. Fly the coop. Dumb cluck. Yolks on you. Does a chicken have lips? Hen party. Chicken feed. Birds of a feather flock together. Don't want to put up a squawk. Hatch an idea. Coming home to roost. Pecking order. Henpecked. Rule the Roost. Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Not everything it's cracked up to be. Something to crow about. Hen cackle. To be a Mother Hen. Don't brood over it. Madder than a wet hen. To lay an egg. Run around like a chicken with its head cut off. Ruffle your feathers. Stick in your craw. Bad egg. Nobody here but us chickens. Strutting' your stuff. To bed with the chickens. Feather our nests. I'm going to wring his neck. As scarce as hen's teeth.
Those chickens sure are popular! I think where they're most popular though is in the stewing pot, or on a barbeque, or in the oven. To this day, my dad's favorite meal consists of fried chicken, baked beans and potato salad. I rather like to eat chicken myself! Do you suppose that's our final say over our former tormentors?
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Mistaken Identity
This week the pages of my life seem to have been ripped from an episode of the Twilight Zone. Last Friday my assistant at work confronted me with the question, "Are you quiting?" Her worried inquiry made me laugh outright as I have been employed at the same business for more than twenty five years. Why in the world would I consider looking for employment elsewhere at my age? There is nowhere in this small, northwest Iowa, rural community where I could start anew and receive the same compensation I now receive. My pay is very reasonable, the insurance is good and I get five weeks paid vacation per year. Not only that, but I like my job ... it is what I know and what I wanted to be when I grew up!
I countered my friends inquiry with, "Where did you get that idea? Don't you think you would be the first to know?" Well, it turns out that a former employee had put the same question to our customer service clerk. She had been very straight forward when she told the employee, "I hear Audrey isn't working here anymore." The clerk was somewhat dumfounded as she knew that I had been at work every day that week and had not mentioned anything about leaving. She tried to correct the bearer of the news and at that point was told that this report came from a very reliable source. As the week went on I tried to find out who that source had been, to no avail. I then started making my own assumptions. Could it have been wishful thinking on the part of an employee who isn't crazy about me? Could that person have discretely put the notion in someone else's head that maybe I wasn't happy here and that I was possibly thinking of resigning my postion. I began to get a little paranoid about that possibility as, for the most part, I feel that I am fairly well liked. Then another possiblity occured to me. My husband started a new job in November and was actually hired by a staffing service. This company pays him on a weekly basis so I stop each Friday and pick up his check. That had to be it! Someone had seen me going into the employment agency and assumed that it was because I was looking for new employment opportunities.
Yesterday the icing on the cake was applied. I decided to ask another long time employee about the rumor and see what he knew. Yes, Larry had heard the same rumor and was frankly quite shocked at the onset simply because, he also was told that the source was very reliable. We had no sooner finished our discussion than he went into the sit-down deli area to chat with some customers. He immediately came back to where I was standing and told me yet another amazing story. One of the customers he spoke with said he was surprised to see Audrey here. One of his friends from Omaha had called him this week and told him that, after all these years, Audrey had changed jobs. How that rumor got down the road 150 miles to Omaha, I will never know! I searched my brain for answers to this very perplexing quandry I had been thrown into. It was no big deal except, what if my boss got wind of this and thought I was abandoning my duties?
All of a sudden it was as if a one hundred watt bulb enlightened my thought processes. It had to be a case of mistaken identity. I reflected back over the past few months. I recalled a day about a year ago when I stopped at the jewelry store to pick up a ring I had left there for repairs. When I inquired about it the clerk said, "Oh, we have your Mother's Ring ready too." I told her that I hadn't left my Mother's Ring there but she insisted and produced a lovely ring that I would have liked to claim, but it simply wasn't mine. She looked at the tag and said, "Well, it says Audrey Winter here. That's funny, there must be another Audrey Winter." A couple months later I received a piece of mail from a local surgeon with the results of a procedure I supposedly had done. Since I was positive that I hadn't had the procedure, I called his office to tell them they had sent the mail to the wrong person. I had to do a little convincing with them too, but when I told them my date of birth they were persuaded to agree that the report did indeed belong to a different Audrey Winter.
A couple of months after that incident I came home from work to a message on the anwering machine telling me to call the hospital. They needed to discuss the procedure I would be having the following day. Once again, I knew nothing about this test and had to convince the admisssions clerk that it wasn't me she wanted.
The identity crisis continued as I stopped at the pharmacy last week to pick up a prescription for my husband. The window attendant informed me that they had my prescription ready too. I knew that I had picked up my bottle of pills a few days prior to this, so was rather confused. I expressed my bewilderment to the clerk and she took a better look at the package. "Oh," she exclaimed, " this is one we owed you." From that comment I made the assumption that I hadn't noticed, but my prescription must have been short and they owed me a few more. Thinking nothing of it, I proceeded home only to find, when I arrived there, that the pills were not mine after all. They belonged to an Audrey Winter in a neighboring town. I returned the bottle to the pharmacy and am hoping that this mistake will make all the health care providers a little more aware of the fact that there may be two patients with the same name.
Shortly after my discussion with Larry at the store I spotted my cousin doing some shopping. She works at the pharmacy so I asked her if she knew of another person, that frequented the drug store,with the same name as me. Yes! In fact she had been going though records one day when she ran across this other person and thought they had the wrong address on my records. After closer inspection she discovered that this was an entirely seperate account. The name was the same but the birthdate was different. "But," she said, "her handwriting is exactly like yours! The signatures are almost identical!" Well, this really got me thinking.
When I got home yesterday I accessed the internet and started searching. Indeed, there is another person with my name living close by. I soon found her husband's name, her address and phone number. Not only that, but I found her age and was astounded to discover that we are both 57 years old!
Today I called my twin. She was aware that she has a name twin but hasn't encountered the incidents that I have. We had a nice conversation and I found out that she is working at a fairly new fast food joint in the same town where I work. Someone put that information with my name and came up with me and a new career. The mystery has been solved.
I countered my friends inquiry with, "Where did you get that idea? Don't you think you would be the first to know?" Well, it turns out that a former employee had put the same question to our customer service clerk. She had been very straight forward when she told the employee, "I hear Audrey isn't working here anymore." The clerk was somewhat dumfounded as she knew that I had been at work every day that week and had not mentioned anything about leaving. She tried to correct the bearer of the news and at that point was told that this report came from a very reliable source. As the week went on I tried to find out who that source had been, to no avail. I then started making my own assumptions. Could it have been wishful thinking on the part of an employee who isn't crazy about me? Could that person have discretely put the notion in someone else's head that maybe I wasn't happy here and that I was possibly thinking of resigning my postion. I began to get a little paranoid about that possibility as, for the most part, I feel that I am fairly well liked. Then another possiblity occured to me. My husband started a new job in November and was actually hired by a staffing service. This company pays him on a weekly basis so I stop each Friday and pick up his check. That had to be it! Someone had seen me going into the employment agency and assumed that it was because I was looking for new employment opportunities.
Yesterday the icing on the cake was applied. I decided to ask another long time employee about the rumor and see what he knew. Yes, Larry had heard the same rumor and was frankly quite shocked at the onset simply because, he also was told that the source was very reliable. We had no sooner finished our discussion than he went into the sit-down deli area to chat with some customers. He immediately came back to where I was standing and told me yet another amazing story. One of the customers he spoke with said he was surprised to see Audrey here. One of his friends from Omaha had called him this week and told him that, after all these years, Audrey had changed jobs. How that rumor got down the road 150 miles to Omaha, I will never know! I searched my brain for answers to this very perplexing quandry I had been thrown into. It was no big deal except, what if my boss got wind of this and thought I was abandoning my duties?
All of a sudden it was as if a one hundred watt bulb enlightened my thought processes. It had to be a case of mistaken identity. I reflected back over the past few months. I recalled a day about a year ago when I stopped at the jewelry store to pick up a ring I had left there for repairs. When I inquired about it the clerk said, "Oh, we have your Mother's Ring ready too." I told her that I hadn't left my Mother's Ring there but she insisted and produced a lovely ring that I would have liked to claim, but it simply wasn't mine. She looked at the tag and said, "Well, it says Audrey Winter here. That's funny, there must be another Audrey Winter." A couple months later I received a piece of mail from a local surgeon with the results of a procedure I supposedly had done. Since I was positive that I hadn't had the procedure, I called his office to tell them they had sent the mail to the wrong person. I had to do a little convincing with them too, but when I told them my date of birth they were persuaded to agree that the report did indeed belong to a different Audrey Winter.
A couple of months after that incident I came home from work to a message on the anwering machine telling me to call the hospital. They needed to discuss the procedure I would be having the following day. Once again, I knew nothing about this test and had to convince the admisssions clerk that it wasn't me she wanted.
The identity crisis continued as I stopped at the pharmacy last week to pick up a prescription for my husband. The window attendant informed me that they had my prescription ready too. I knew that I had picked up my bottle of pills a few days prior to this, so was rather confused. I expressed my bewilderment to the clerk and she took a better look at the package. "Oh," she exclaimed, " this is one we owed you." From that comment I made the assumption that I hadn't noticed, but my prescription must have been short and they owed me a few more. Thinking nothing of it, I proceeded home only to find, when I arrived there, that the pills were not mine after all. They belonged to an Audrey Winter in a neighboring town. I returned the bottle to the pharmacy and am hoping that this mistake will make all the health care providers a little more aware of the fact that there may be two patients with the same name.
Shortly after my discussion with Larry at the store I spotted my cousin doing some shopping. She works at the pharmacy so I asked her if she knew of another person, that frequented the drug store,with the same name as me. Yes! In fact she had been going though records one day when she ran across this other person and thought they had the wrong address on my records. After closer inspection she discovered that this was an entirely seperate account. The name was the same but the birthdate was different. "But," she said, "her handwriting is exactly like yours! The signatures are almost identical!" Well, this really got me thinking.
When I got home yesterday I accessed the internet and started searching. Indeed, there is another person with my name living close by. I soon found her husband's name, her address and phone number. Not only that, but I found her age and was astounded to discover that we are both 57 years old!
Today I called my twin. She was aware that she has a name twin but hasn't encountered the incidents that I have. We had a nice conversation and I found out that she is working at a fairly new fast food joint in the same town where I work. Someone put that information with my name and came up with me and a new career. The mystery has been solved.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Dreary Day
The rain assaults my window as the wind howls through the trees surrounding our farm. It is a gray and dismal day causing even the cheeriest soul to wither into solitude. As the blustery weather continues beyond the confines of my home I feel fortunate to be sequestered in my warm cocoon. Even so, I sense that the circulation to my extremities is not what it should be. My toes are so cold I can barely feel them and my fingers refuse to obey the signals sent from my brain. My knees shriek out in protest each time I bend or straighten them and the bursitis in my right shoulder is definitely responding to the foul weather conditions. After my burst of energy yesterday when I tackled the bathroom cabinets, today brings a depression that makes it difficult to even perform the most menial task. A cup of hot tea sounds delicious, but the basic and simple chore of running the water and punching the microwave button just seems too challenging at the moment. I've always been quite self sufficient, but at times like this I think Scarlett O'Hara's mammy would be a great addition to our family. She would tuck a blanket around my shoulders, bring me a cup of tea brewed to perfection and coo words of comfort in my ear. I wouldn't have to be assailed with the bitter north wind as I opened the door to let the dog out ... she would do that for me. I think I'll take a nap and dream of the old south where the magnolias scent the air and the weeping willow trees gently sway with the breeze. I'll be sitting on the wide veranda sipping a mint julep and the rays of the sun will be tanning my pallid skin. Wake me when the Iowa sun is shining and my tulips are blooming.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Stuff and Nonsense
I have disposophobia. It's not something that keeps me home bound or from boarding an airplane. It doesn't leave me cowering in fear at the sight of a snake or a trembling mass of jelly when I encounter an insect. I can enter an elevator without breaking into a cold sweat and suffering from shortness of breath. Nevertheless, I am a disposophobic. This malady makes me fearful of getting rid of stuff. Now some may call me a pack rat and I will agree. Some may even go as far as to say that this is an obsessive-compulsive disorder. I don't think my problem has quite reached that level. A person who is an obsessive-compulsive hoarder can barely walk through his home. He has acquired so much stuff that he must travel from room to room via narrow paths winding through the mountains of things he just can't live without. The windows offer no view of the great outdoors because of the accumulation piled in front of the panes. Though I have some "artistic" clutter I can still move freely through most of my home. My closets, computer room and basement are the problem areas.
The first obstruction I meet when getting rid of things is nostalgia. I have many items that I just can't seem to part with because of sentimental value. On my closet shelf are two sweaters, knitted for me years ago by my ex-mother-in-law. They are no longer in style and my daughters have assured me they will never want them. Even so, the garments remain on the shelf. In the basement are boxes full of toys that gave my children years of joy and now do nothing but collect dust. I keep them just in case my future grandchildren want to see what entertained their mom or dad as a youngster. I have piles of duplicate photographs because the price was the same whether getting one or two sets. You never know when someone may want a copy of Scott making funny faces or Sarah hanging from the monkey bars or Tobi modeling her cheerleader outfit.
Rationalization presents my next dilemma. I am convinced that there is a direct correlation between throwing something out and needing that exact item the very next day. I believe this rational comes from my mother. She saved everything. If I needed a coffee can, an egg carton or a cottage cheese container for a school project or girl scout craft, all I had to do was ask mom. Not only did she have one for me but she could supply said item for the entire class or troop. Following in mom's footsteps, I find that when my friends have need of an unusual item, I am the one that has it all. Whether it's a get-up for a costume party or a spring-form pan, I can supply it.
I am confidant that if I keep my clothes long enough they will come back into style or I will have lost enough weight to fit into them once more. Periodically I do purge my closets and dresser drawers, but it usually ends up being a very stressful task and I don't eliminate even half of what I should.
Along the same line as "I'll use it someday" is "I'll fix it someday." Scattered around my house are purses with broken handles, picture frames with no glass and garments with broken zippers. It would be a shame to throw those things away just because of one little flaw that is so easily remedied. It just seems that I never get to the repairs.
I'm an avid crafter but have such varied interests that I need a whole room to hold my crafting paraphernalia. I started to organize it but had to make a greeting card in a hurry and the supplies from that project never got put away. Then I had to do a quick craft for children's church and those things are still spread over the counter. In the meantime, I decided to make a gift for a friend at the last minute and just never got around to putting that stuff away either. While the craft room was a great idea, it has become a jumble of paint, paper, ribbon, rubber stamps, decorative scissors, stencils and various other accouterments of an artist.
Adding to all the aforementioned confusion are magazines dating back to 1995 which have many great recipes and tips that I will someday clip and store in nicely organized notebooks. Next to my sewing machine are stacks of fabric that will be sewn into lovely outfits. Laying across the table saw is a partially finished shelf for the kitchen. All I have to do is sand it and paint it and then talk my husband into putting it up. The family room we have planned and started will be great once I get all the overflow of crafts, sewing and rarely used kitchen appliances moved to a better place.
Now should we talk about food? My two refrigerators and large chest freezer and packed to to gills. All my kitchen cupboards are filled to overflowing and the pantry room in the basement looks like a small grocery store. I don't know why I tend to hoard food. It's not a matter of having starved as a child. Though my family wasn't rich, we didn't lack for anything we needed and always had plenty to eat. With my storehouse of provisions you would think I feed an army every day, or at least a large family. Not so. I prepare daily meals for only my husband and myself. We entertain periodically but not on such a regular basis that I need to be prepared at all times. And guess what? I never know what to make for dinner!
When I got home from work today I decided that it was the time to get at least one cleaning project completed. I chose the bathroom cupboards as my victims. We have two bathrooms, so I thought it would be good to do both at once. I pulled things out of those cupboards that I had forgotten we had. Some made me stop and think, "Why did I ever buy that?" After everything was out of the cabinets and strewn across the floor I found that I had: twenty five little purse sized tissue packets, at least five various and sundry wrist braces - all for the right hand, seven bottles of toilet bowl cleaner of which most had been opened, eighteen toothbrushes, five containers of baby powder, four scented powder and two medicated powder, five aerosol cans of air freshener, three opened five hundred count boxes of cotton swabs along with another bag of one thousand, also opened and .... a partridge in a pear tree! Now, I will admit that some items just got shuffled from one bathroom to the other and I did still keep items that will probably never get used, but at least it is all organized. I actually filled a large garbage bag with refuse and loaded a box for the Goodwill. I will give my bachelor son some of the many bath towels that have been accumulating over the years and the worn ones that I received as wedding gifts in 1973 will be put to better use as shop rags.
Now that I've started, I think I'll keep going. Perhaps the kitchen cupboards will be next ... or the top of my husband's dresser ... or the computer room! It's such a hard decision! Maybe I should put in a call to that popular TV show "Clean Sweep" or have a professional organizer come over to give me some guidance. No, I don't think so. I happen to like all my stuff! There's an idiom about "stuff and nonsense" meaning that it is senseless or without meaning. Many would say that all my stuff is a lot of nonsense. My husband's friend comes over and asks why we have all this junk. I always say, one man's junk is another man's treasure!
The first obstruction I meet when getting rid of things is nostalgia. I have many items that I just can't seem to part with because of sentimental value. On my closet shelf are two sweaters, knitted for me years ago by my ex-mother-in-law. They are no longer in style and my daughters have assured me they will never want them. Even so, the garments remain on the shelf. In the basement are boxes full of toys that gave my children years of joy and now do nothing but collect dust. I keep them just in case my future grandchildren want to see what entertained their mom or dad as a youngster. I have piles of duplicate photographs because the price was the same whether getting one or two sets. You never know when someone may want a copy of Scott making funny faces or Sarah hanging from the monkey bars or Tobi modeling her cheerleader outfit.
Rationalization presents my next dilemma. I am convinced that there is a direct correlation between throwing something out and needing that exact item the very next day. I believe this rational comes from my mother. She saved everything. If I needed a coffee can, an egg carton or a cottage cheese container for a school project or girl scout craft, all I had to do was ask mom. Not only did she have one for me but she could supply said item for the entire class or troop. Following in mom's footsteps, I find that when my friends have need of an unusual item, I am the one that has it all. Whether it's a get-up for a costume party or a spring-form pan, I can supply it.
I am confidant that if I keep my clothes long enough they will come back into style or I will have lost enough weight to fit into them once more. Periodically I do purge my closets and dresser drawers, but it usually ends up being a very stressful task and I don't eliminate even half of what I should.
Along the same line as "I'll use it someday" is "I'll fix it someday." Scattered around my house are purses with broken handles, picture frames with no glass and garments with broken zippers. It would be a shame to throw those things away just because of one little flaw that is so easily remedied. It just seems that I never get to the repairs.
I'm an avid crafter but have such varied interests that I need a whole room to hold my crafting paraphernalia. I started to organize it but had to make a greeting card in a hurry and the supplies from that project never got put away. Then I had to do a quick craft for children's church and those things are still spread over the counter. In the meantime, I decided to make a gift for a friend at the last minute and just never got around to putting that stuff away either. While the craft room was a great idea, it has become a jumble of paint, paper, ribbon, rubber stamps, decorative scissors, stencils and various other accouterments of an artist.
Adding to all the aforementioned confusion are magazines dating back to 1995 which have many great recipes and tips that I will someday clip and store in nicely organized notebooks. Next to my sewing machine are stacks of fabric that will be sewn into lovely outfits. Laying across the table saw is a partially finished shelf for the kitchen. All I have to do is sand it and paint it and then talk my husband into putting it up. The family room we have planned and started will be great once I get all the overflow of crafts, sewing and rarely used kitchen appliances moved to a better place.
Now should we talk about food? My two refrigerators and large chest freezer and packed to to gills. All my kitchen cupboards are filled to overflowing and the pantry room in the basement looks like a small grocery store. I don't know why I tend to hoard food. It's not a matter of having starved as a child. Though my family wasn't rich, we didn't lack for anything we needed and always had plenty to eat. With my storehouse of provisions you would think I feed an army every day, or at least a large family. Not so. I prepare daily meals for only my husband and myself. We entertain periodically but not on such a regular basis that I need to be prepared at all times. And guess what? I never know what to make for dinner!
When I got home from work today I decided that it was the time to get at least one cleaning project completed. I chose the bathroom cupboards as my victims. We have two bathrooms, so I thought it would be good to do both at once. I pulled things out of those cupboards that I had forgotten we had. Some made me stop and think, "Why did I ever buy that?" After everything was out of the cabinets and strewn across the floor I found that I had: twenty five little purse sized tissue packets, at least five various and sundry wrist braces - all for the right hand, seven bottles of toilet bowl cleaner of which most had been opened, eighteen toothbrushes, five containers of baby powder, four scented powder and two medicated powder, five aerosol cans of air freshener, three opened five hundred count boxes of cotton swabs along with another bag of one thousand, also opened and .... a partridge in a pear tree! Now, I will admit that some items just got shuffled from one bathroom to the other and I did still keep items that will probably never get used, but at least it is all organized. I actually filled a large garbage bag with refuse and loaded a box for the Goodwill. I will give my bachelor son some of the many bath towels that have been accumulating over the years and the worn ones that I received as wedding gifts in 1973 will be put to better use as shop rags.
Now that I've started, I think I'll keep going. Perhaps the kitchen cupboards will be next ... or the top of my husband's dresser ... or the computer room! It's such a hard decision! Maybe I should put in a call to that popular TV show "Clean Sweep" or have a professional organizer come over to give me some guidance. No, I don't think so. I happen to like all my stuff! There's an idiom about "stuff and nonsense" meaning that it is senseless or without meaning. Many would say that all my stuff is a lot of nonsense. My husband's friend comes over and asks why we have all this junk. I always say, one man's junk is another man's treasure!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Time After Time
I will never have time on my hands. Unlike many others, I would not be bored if I did not have a job to go to. Will Rogers said "Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save." I disagree. In my retirement I will not be wondering what to do with all my free time. I have so many unfinished projects and things that I would like to do that this will never be a problem. The problem is that time just keeps slipping away and I keep wondering where it went. In my youth I remember older people making the comment that the older you got the faster the time flew by. At the time I wondered why they would say such a thing when everyone knows that a minute is a minute, an hour is an hour and a day is a day no matter what your age. Now I understand! (Does that mean I've reached old age?) Yes, it is true... time flies!
Geoffrey Chaucer said, "Time and tide wait for none." This is a fact ... time definately does not stand still ...however, Mark Twain observed that this is "a pompous and self-satisfied proverb, and was true for a billion years; but in our day of electric wires and water-ballast we turn it around: Man waits not for time nor tide." The more advanced we become the more accurate this is. We just don't have time to wait for anything anymore. We hurry here and there packing as much "stuff" as we can into a twenty-four hour period. We have an obsession with cramming the backpack of our lives so full we lose track of the most important things. We search through life like a woman rummages through an overstuffed purse .... and we just can't find that one thing we need the most ... time. A comment attributed to Queen Elizabeth I in which she said, " All my possessions for a moment of time" turns out to be apocryphal, but it sounds good anyway! William Penn said it best when he commented, "Time is what we want most, but... what we use worst."
It seems there has long been a fascination with the subject of time. Benjamin Franklin's reflections include, "A stitch in time saves nine" and "Remember that time is money."
People have sung about time. Bob Dylan crooned, "The times they are a-changing" while Mick Jagger intoned, "Time is on my side, yes it is." Jim Croce had "Time In a Bottle" and the group, Chicago asked, "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" In 1942 Dooley Wilson sang the renowned "As Time Goes By" as Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman gazed at each other over a little corner table at Rick's. Even in childhood we learned about time in the songs "Hickory Dickory Dock" and "Grandfather's Clock." When in a vehicle for an extended period of time many children will agree with Tennessee Williams that ''time is the longest distance between two places" (Are we there yet?!)
We can’t forget about the time machines that have sprung from the imaginations of writers and film makers. The forerunner of these probably dates back to 1895 when H. G. Wells penned "The Time Machine." And wouldn't we all like to have that DeLorean that transported Doc Brown and Marty McFly both to the past and the future! In one of my favorite Star Trek episodes a time portal called The Guardian of Forever carries some of the Enterprise crew back to the great depression era of the '30's. The episode entitled "The City on the Edge of Forever" reminds us, as do most fictional accounts relating to time travel, that we can't change the past or the future. As a youngster I was captivated by a Madeleine L'Engle novel entitled, "A Wrinkle In Time." This was a very controversial book of the early 1960's that dealt with travel into the fifth dimension, but I admired the authors imagination.
The Bible also has a lot to say about time but one of my favorite passages is Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 which says,
For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.
Mark Twain believed that 'regret for wasted time is more wasted time.' He's got a point, but I like T. S. Elliot's observation that 'time you enjoyed wasting is not wasted time.' After pondering all these things ... my laundry needs to be done, my dishes are waiting in the sink and the bed is still unmade. They say there is no time like the present so ... it's time to go!
Geoffrey Chaucer said, "Time and tide wait for none." This is a fact ... time definately does not stand still ...however, Mark Twain observed that this is "a pompous and self-satisfied proverb, and was true for a billion years; but in our day of electric wires and water-ballast we turn it around: Man waits not for time nor tide." The more advanced we become the more accurate this is. We just don't have time to wait for anything anymore. We hurry here and there packing as much "stuff" as we can into a twenty-four hour period. We have an obsession with cramming the backpack of our lives so full we lose track of the most important things. We search through life like a woman rummages through an overstuffed purse .... and we just can't find that one thing we need the most ... time. A comment attributed to Queen Elizabeth I in which she said, " All my possessions for a moment of time" turns out to be apocryphal, but it sounds good anyway! William Penn said it best when he commented, "Time is what we want most, but... what we use worst."
It seems there has long been a fascination with the subject of time. Benjamin Franklin's reflections include, "A stitch in time saves nine" and "Remember that time is money."
People have sung about time. Bob Dylan crooned, "The times they are a-changing" while Mick Jagger intoned, "Time is on my side, yes it is." Jim Croce had "Time In a Bottle" and the group, Chicago asked, "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" In 1942 Dooley Wilson sang the renowned "As Time Goes By" as Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman gazed at each other over a little corner table at Rick's. Even in childhood we learned about time in the songs "Hickory Dickory Dock" and "Grandfather's Clock." When in a vehicle for an extended period of time many children will agree with Tennessee Williams that ''time is the longest distance between two places" (Are we there yet?!)
We can’t forget about the time machines that have sprung from the imaginations of writers and film makers. The forerunner of these probably dates back to 1895 when H. G. Wells penned "The Time Machine." And wouldn't we all like to have that DeLorean that transported Doc Brown and Marty McFly both to the past and the future! In one of my favorite Star Trek episodes a time portal called The Guardian of Forever carries some of the Enterprise crew back to the great depression era of the '30's. The episode entitled "The City on the Edge of Forever" reminds us, as do most fictional accounts relating to time travel, that we can't change the past or the future. As a youngster I was captivated by a Madeleine L'Engle novel entitled, "A Wrinkle In Time." This was a very controversial book of the early 1960's that dealt with travel into the fifth dimension, but I admired the authors imagination.
The Bible also has a lot to say about time but one of my favorite passages is Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 which says,
For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.
Mark Twain believed that 'regret for wasted time is more wasted time.' He's got a point, but I like T. S. Elliot's observation that 'time you enjoyed wasting is not wasted time.' After pondering all these things ... my laundry needs to be done, my dishes are waiting in the sink and the bed is still unmade. They say there is no time like the present so ... it's time to go!
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Splendor of Firenze
It was exactly one year ago today that my husband, brother, sister-in-law and I were strolling the streets of Firenze, otherwise known as Florence, Italy. This was our last "hurrah" .... our last full day in Italy. The following day we would fly back to Tim and Lissa's current home in Germany and the next day we would embark on our 10 hour flight back to the States.
Florence has to be one of the most beautiful and interesting cities in Italy. It is one of the oldest and it's history is facinating. Had I only researched the city before our trip I could have enjoyed it even more. However, though I knew virtually nothing about Florence, we spent a very enjoyable day there. We left our temporary home of Cortona that morning as the many bells of the walled city pealed their welcome to the day. We drove down the hill to the city of Camucia where we purchased our train tickets to Florence. After about an hour ride we arrived at the Stazione Santa Maria Novella. We exited the station to find a bustling city where the streets were already teaming with vendors, merchants and tourists. It was like a huge flea market and as we ambled through the many booths we found everything a person could ever need or want. There where shoes and leather jackets, souveniers and glassware, belts and scarves, food and drink. Of course, we discovered a few items that we simply could not live without and made our purchases. A breathtaking site met us as we approached the first piazza. The Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore and it's Campanile di Giotto dates back to the 1300's. The Basilica (cathedral) and Campanile (tower) are beautifully painted in a design that takes your breath away. Then you look beyond this awe inspiring site to see the red capped Brunelleschi's Duomo (Cupola) rising 142 feet, peeking out above the roof tops. The self supporting contruction of the dome was an arcitectual marvel and a ground breaking technique for the time and continues to astonish people today. Due to time constrictions we did not go inside either the church or the dome, but I fully intend to return to Florence someday and do exactly that. Our self guided walking tour next took us to the Piazza della Signoria where we observed even more amazing art work of the masters. There, under the imposing facade of the Palazzo Vecchio, stand many sculptures, statues and fountains which truly display the talents of the artists of the Renaissance.
We continued on to the Galleria dell' Accademia where we stood in line for around one hour. The wait was well worthwhile, if for nothing else than to gaze on Michelangelo's David. The awesome 5.17 meter statue was completed in 1504 after just two years of work. As the day drew to an end we strolled along the Arno where the impressive Ponte Vecchio Bridge spans the river. Though the dwellings built on the bridge were once homes, they now accomodate many jewelry and specialty shops. The bridge was built in 1333 and was the only bridge spared in World War 2. It would have been a terrible tragedy to lose such a picuresque landmark! So, that is the story of our day of sightseeing in the beautiful city of Firenze! One day we will return!
Florence has to be one of the most beautiful and interesting cities in Italy. It is one of the oldest and it's history is facinating. Had I only researched the city before our trip I could have enjoyed it even more. However, though I knew virtually nothing about Florence, we spent a very enjoyable day there. We left our temporary home of Cortona that morning as the many bells of the walled city pealed their welcome to the day. We drove down the hill to the city of Camucia where we purchased our train tickets to Florence. After about an hour ride we arrived at the Stazione Santa Maria Novella. We exited the station to find a bustling city where the streets were already teaming with vendors, merchants and tourists. It was like a huge flea market and as we ambled through the many booths we found everything a person could ever need or want. There where shoes and leather jackets, souveniers and glassware, belts and scarves, food and drink. Of course, we discovered a few items that we simply could not live without and made our purchases. A breathtaking site met us as we approached the first piazza. The Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore and it's Campanile di Giotto dates back to the 1300's. The Basilica (cathedral) and Campanile (tower) are beautifully painted in a design that takes your breath away. Then you look beyond this awe inspiring site to see the red capped Brunelleschi's Duomo (Cupola) rising 142 feet, peeking out above the roof tops. The self supporting contruction of the dome was an arcitectual marvel and a ground breaking technique for the time and continues to astonish people today. Due to time constrictions we did not go inside either the church or the dome, but I fully intend to return to Florence someday and do exactly that. Our self guided walking tour next took us to the Piazza della Signoria where we observed even more amazing art work of the masters. There, under the imposing facade of the Palazzo Vecchio, stand many sculptures, statues and fountains which truly display the talents of the artists of the Renaissance.
We continued on to the Galleria dell' Accademia where we stood in line for around one hour. The wait was well worthwhile, if for nothing else than to gaze on Michelangelo's David. The awesome 5.17 meter statue was completed in 1504 after just two years of work. As the day drew to an end we strolled along the Arno where the impressive Ponte Vecchio Bridge spans the river. Though the dwellings built on the bridge were once homes, they now accomodate many jewelry and specialty shops. The bridge was built in 1333 and was the only bridge spared in World War 2. It would have been a terrible tragedy to lose such a picuresque landmark! So, that is the story of our day of sightseeing in the beautiful city of Firenze! One day we will return!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)