(Originally published May 19, 1982)
Language is the means by which we communicate with each other and I don't know another language other than English, where one word can have so many connotations.
Take the word SINGLE - more often than not, it is associated with multiple persons, places or things .... It is sort of like being alone in a crowd....
This being "alone in a crowd" starts early on in life. Our first taste of this happens in the nursery of the maternity ward when we are surrounded by other screaming, squirming single entities (except in the case of Siamese twins) and on to kindergarten where we are lined up SINGLE file for fire drill time.
There are SINGLE family dwellings that sometimes house a multitude of people and when renting a SINGLE motel room, you almost always end up with two double beds. Speaking of beds, you know twin beds are just a pair of singles.....
SINGLES CLUBS and SINGLES BARS are so crowded you couldn't be alone if you wanted to, and if you wanted to be alone, you sure wouldn't be at gatherings of SINGLES.
In sports, a SINGLE in a ball game is really a team effort to score and a SINGLES tennis match is played by two people.
Music has even pitched a tune for the SINGLE, like "I wish I were SINGLE again", which tells us the party of the first part is sort of sorry they joined with the party of the second part. Barbara Mandrell's rendition of "Sleeping SINGLE in a Double Bed" could be taken for an invitation...
I know lots of SINGLE parents with multiple offspring, whose offspring are noted for the quote "There isn't a SINGLE good thing to eat in the refrigerator" and speaking of eating, the food industry has even capitalized by producing SINGLE servings. As my luck runs, I open can of "soup for one" and immediately hoards of people materialize - forcing me to open all the remaining SINGLE serving foods I have in stock.
Well, by now I am sure I have thoroughly confused you, but you know, there isn't a SINGLE thing I can do about it.
-GRANNY
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Dieting
(Originally published May 12, 1982)
With summer fast approaching, the great concern and/or obsession in this country seems to be the pound. I'm not speaking of the British pound sterling, but ... the extra pound or two that hangs over a chair when seated, or the pounds that won't allow last year's bathing suit to be worn with out threats of obscenity.
The second largest past time in this country isn't TV as one would imagine, (the first being eating), not at all, it is dieting. Everyone who is ANYONE at all, is on a diet (If you don't believe me, just ask 'em).
During the great depression of the 30's there is no mention of dieting, that I could find in the textbooks. Nearly everyone in the country was as lean as the times. The big objective then was just to keep body and soul together.
Prosperity not only brings more FOOD to the LARDER, but. ... more LARD to the FOODER, and more sheckels in the pockets of what I call the "fat merchants". Now, "fat merchants" sell illusions -"buy my merchandise" get "slim and trim" and life will be "HAPPY EVER AFTER." (I know some skinny people who are miserable).
In some cultures fat is the "in" thing. For example, in old China the more blubberous the wife, the more prosperous the husband. (This rule must have been made by men), but there were drawbacks from the wife's point of view. The husband would parade his portly wife before the townspeople to declare how rich he was and then "split" to where he had a couple of "slim and trim" concubines stashed.
And take the Potentates of India -not once will you find one of them ordering a "salad" from the menu of the local oasis. Their weight was their fortune, and literally so. Once a year their subjects paid tribute to them. The "big boys" were weighed and in return were given a pound of gold for each pound of "fat." Now that's one time when gluttony paid off. All through history "fat" was equated with wealth and happiness. Look at Buddah - that fat little dickens has lasted for several thousand years. The great artists of history seemed to prefer painting ladies of the larger variety.
Well, back to the subject of fat-food and fads. There are thousands of aids to help us get thin - pills, diets by the gross, exercise gyms, special scales to weigh food, weight watchers, overeaters anonymous, hypnosis, counters, imitation foods, sugar free, fat free, and they all cost a FORTUNE.
It just doesn't make sense to spend all that money for FOOD to get thin when the answer is so simple - just fill your plate with every thing that you crave and enjoy - chew each bite 20 times -- but don't swallow. It works every time!
Well, must run - time for the Richard Simmons Show, then have to at the health food store on the way to aerobic dance class.
-GRANNY
With summer fast approaching, the great concern and/or obsession in this country seems to be the pound. I'm not speaking of the British pound sterling, but ... the extra pound or two that hangs over a chair when seated, or the pounds that won't allow last year's bathing suit to be worn with out threats of obscenity.
The second largest past time in this country isn't TV as one would imagine, (the first being eating), not at all, it is dieting. Everyone who is ANYONE at all, is on a diet (If you don't believe me, just ask 'em).
During the great depression of the 30's there is no mention of dieting, that I could find in the textbooks. Nearly everyone in the country was as lean as the times. The big objective then was just to keep body and soul together.
Prosperity not only brings more FOOD to the LARDER, but. ... more LARD to the FOODER, and more sheckels in the pockets of what I call the "fat merchants". Now, "fat merchants" sell illusions -"buy my merchandise" get "slim and trim" and life will be "HAPPY EVER AFTER." (I know some skinny people who are miserable).
In some cultures fat is the "in" thing. For example, in old China the more blubberous the wife, the more prosperous the husband. (This rule must have been made by men), but there were drawbacks from the wife's point of view. The husband would parade his portly wife before the townspeople to declare how rich he was and then "split" to where he had a couple of "slim and trim" concubines stashed.
And take the Potentates of India -not once will you find one of them ordering a "salad" from the menu of the local oasis. Their weight was their fortune, and literally so. Once a year their subjects paid tribute to them. The "big boys" were weighed and in return were given a pound of gold for each pound of "fat." Now that's one time when gluttony paid off. All through history "fat" was equated with wealth and happiness. Look at Buddah - that fat little dickens has lasted for several thousand years. The great artists of history seemed to prefer painting ladies of the larger variety.
Well, back to the subject of fat-food and fads. There are thousands of aids to help us get thin - pills, diets by the gross, exercise gyms, special scales to weigh food, weight watchers, overeaters anonymous, hypnosis, counters, imitation foods, sugar free, fat free, and they all cost a FORTUNE.
It just doesn't make sense to spend all that money for FOOD to get thin when the answer is so simple - just fill your plate with every thing that you crave and enjoy - chew each bite 20 times -- but don't swallow. It works every time!
Well, must run - time for the Richard Simmons Show, then have to at the health food store on the way to aerobic dance class.
-GRANNY
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Mother's Day
(Originally published April 28, 1982)
It doesn't take a lot of skill or know-how to become a biological parent (the most under-developed nations are full of them), BUT it takes lots of love - patience - understanding - and sometimes tears, to become worthy of the beautiful title in the world MOTHER.
Now, MOTHERS come in all sizes (tall, medium, and short), (fat, skinny and just right), and colors (black, brown, white, red, and yellow.) Some have "happy" dispositions. Some, after a hard day with a bunch of kids, have lousy dispositions. Some are strict ("No. you cannot stay out all night after the Prom"). Some are lenient ("Sure. Invite the whole graduating class over for breakfast!"). Some of us are MOTHERS by choice - and some are just victims of circumstance.
What constitutes a good "MOTHER"? I'm sure I don't know. If you would ask 500 children that question - you would get 500 different answers and here are just a few:
A GOOD MOTHER IS . . .
One who makes sure you always have clean sox in the drawer (and they match).
One who will blow on a cut while putting iodine on it.
One who cooks one tiny fish ( minnow size).
One who cries with you when you bury your pet snake.
One who can find a whole shoestring one minute before the bus comes.
One who gives you an Easter Basket, and you just turned 29.
One who is nice to your friends, even the weird ones.
One who will paint your room the school color - purple.
One who thinks you are pretty or handsome, even when you are sure you aren't.
One who swats you on the "B .. "when you are wrong, then hugs you for no reason at all.
One who is there when you need her, and stands back when you don't without getting her feelings hurt.
All mothers aren't great - but let's face it - neither are all children. Some mothers I know must have attained "saint hood" to put up with the things their children did. I'm sure Whistler's Mother never would have never him a paint brush if she had known he was going to paint that lousy picture of her. Henry Ford's mother must be proud to know Hank liked her cooking so well, he named a car after it (Pinto).
Now President Reagan's mother has a right to be upset - never did she think he would call his wife "Mommie". Lillian Carter must have been mortified when she heard Billy still wasn't "potty trained". And if Mrs. Franklin hadn't been a lenient Mom and let little Benjamin play out in the rain with his kite, we still would be eating dinner and watching TV by candlelight. Elizabeth Taylor's Mom, I am sure, didn't mean it when she said, "When at first you don't succeed, try, try, again". The "Mona Lisa's" mom is probably still wondering why "Mona" has such a smile on her face. Mrs. Graham didn't know what she was saying when she yelled, "For Heaven's sake, Billy, will you quit talking" - or maybe she did. Bo Derek's mom just knew she wouldn't make it in business, she could only count to 10.
Just leave you with one thought, "LOVE" the Mother you have. They only come one to a customer and there are no refunds or exchanges.
-GRANNY
It doesn't take a lot of skill or know-how to become a biological parent (the most under-developed nations are full of them), BUT it takes lots of love - patience - understanding - and sometimes tears, to become worthy of the beautiful title in the world MOTHER.
Now, MOTHERS come in all sizes (tall, medium, and short), (fat, skinny and just right), and colors (black, brown, white, red, and yellow.) Some have "happy" dispositions. Some, after a hard day with a bunch of kids, have lousy dispositions. Some are strict ("No. you cannot stay out all night after the Prom"). Some are lenient ("Sure. Invite the whole graduating class over for breakfast!"). Some of us are MOTHERS by choice - and some are just victims of circumstance.
What constitutes a good "MOTHER"? I'm sure I don't know. If you would ask 500 children that question - you would get 500 different answers and here are just a few:
A GOOD MOTHER IS . . .
One who makes sure you always have clean sox in the drawer (and they match).
One who will blow on a cut while putting iodine on it.
One who cooks one tiny fish ( minnow size).
One who cries with you when you bury your pet snake.
One who can find a whole shoestring one minute before the bus comes.
One who gives you an Easter Basket, and you just turned 29.
One who is nice to your friends, even the weird ones.
One who will paint your room the school color - purple.
One who thinks you are pretty or handsome, even when you are sure you aren't.
One who swats you on the "B .. "when you are wrong, then hugs you for no reason at all.
One who is there when you need her, and stands back when you don't without getting her feelings hurt.
All mothers aren't great - but let's face it - neither are all children. Some mothers I know must have attained "saint hood" to put up with the things their children did. I'm sure Whistler's Mother never would have never him a paint brush if she had known he was going to paint that lousy picture of her. Henry Ford's mother must be proud to know Hank liked her cooking so well, he named a car after it (Pinto).
Now President Reagan's mother has a right to be upset - never did she think he would call his wife "Mommie". Lillian Carter must have been mortified when she heard Billy still wasn't "potty trained". And if Mrs. Franklin hadn't been a lenient Mom and let little Benjamin play out in the rain with his kite, we still would be eating dinner and watching TV by candlelight. Elizabeth Taylor's Mom, I am sure, didn't mean it when she said, "When at first you don't succeed, try, try, again". The "Mona Lisa's" mom is probably still wondering why "Mona" has such a smile on her face. Mrs. Graham didn't know what she was saying when she yelled, "For Heaven's sake, Billy, will you quit talking" - or maybe she did. Bo Derek's mom just knew she wouldn't make it in business, she could only count to 10.
Just leave you with one thought, "LOVE" the Mother you have. They only come one to a customer and there are no refunds or exchanges.
-GRANNY
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Daylight Savings
(Originally published April 21, 1982)
Well, the government is right on time again. Just when you are licking your wounds and about to recover from the last assault "Income Tax", they "zap" us with good 'ole "Daylight Savings Time". For over 15 years we have gone along with "their little joke" and I am about to rebel.
I am familiar with all kinds of "savings" -"savings accounts" -"savings bonds" -"saving souls", "saving yourself' until you are married" and during, the big one (WWII) I was the champion "saver" of aluminum foil from cigarette packages, but I sure wish some government official would explain to me, how in the heck can you save an hour of sunlight? I have tried by "locking it in a vault," "catching a few rays in a brown paper bag," "pulling the shades when I find a whole room of the glitter," but it always disappears when the sun goes down.
Now, maybe this isn't much to get 'riled' over, but doesn't the government know how much trouble this causes the masses?
I wonder how many people are still trying to re-set their sun dials or program a stomach not to get hungry for another hour. It's no wonder the weary mothers of America are about to march on Washington - just when your get kids in the habit of going to sleep at 8:00 PM, when it is nice and dark, we are given another hour of sunshine.
Another thing that bothers me is what kind of 'dividends' the government plans to pay us on the 'savings'. To be fair, how about 15 minutes a week, compounded semi-annually. Let's see, that comes to approximately ... Oh, never mind, they would goof that up too. They would have to rewrite the calendar and some "big wheels" would probably have Saturday coming on Monday - let's leave well enough alone.
And doesn't the government know I am a busy lady (trying to get enough together to pay income taxes again next year). I really don't have time to dash outside each morning, run from tree to tree like the "town crier" calling "wake up and chirp little birdies - you think it is 4:00 AM, but Capitol Hill says
5:00 AM."
Well cheer up, we only have six more months of this. Americans are known for our strength, we can make it, one day at a time.
-GRANNY
Well, the government is right on time again. Just when you are licking your wounds and about to recover from the last assault "Income Tax", they "zap" us with good 'ole "Daylight Savings Time". For over 15 years we have gone along with "their little joke" and I am about to rebel.
I am familiar with all kinds of "savings" -"savings accounts" -"savings bonds" -"saving souls", "saving yourself' until you are married" and during, the big one (WWII) I was the champion "saver" of aluminum foil from cigarette packages, but I sure wish some government official would explain to me, how in the heck can you save an hour of sunlight? I have tried by "locking it in a vault," "catching a few rays in a brown paper bag," "pulling the shades when I find a whole room of the glitter," but it always disappears when the sun goes down.
Now, maybe this isn't much to get 'riled' over, but doesn't the government know how much trouble this causes the masses?
I wonder how many people are still trying to re-set their sun dials or program a stomach not to get hungry for another hour. It's no wonder the weary mothers of America are about to march on Washington - just when your get kids in the habit of going to sleep at 8:00 PM, when it is nice and dark, we are given another hour of sunshine.
Another thing that bothers me is what kind of 'dividends' the government plans to pay us on the 'savings'. To be fair, how about 15 minutes a week, compounded semi-annually. Let's see, that comes to approximately ... Oh, never mind, they would goof that up too. They would have to rewrite the calendar and some "big wheels" would probably have Saturday coming on Monday - let's leave well enough alone.
And doesn't the government know I am a busy lady (trying to get enough together to pay income taxes again next year). I really don't have time to dash outside each morning, run from tree to tree like the "town crier" calling "wake up and chirp little birdies - you think it is 4:00 AM, but Capitol Hill says
5:00 AM."
Well cheer up, we only have six more months of this. Americans are known for our strength, we can make it, one day at a time.
-GRANNY
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Pet Peeves
(Originally published April 14, 1982)
I am so glad Miss Spring has finally evicted that Old Man Winter and can't say that I am sorry to see him go as he was a lousy tenant. Never did see such a grumpy, gripey old man. Think some of his personality rubbed off on me as I sure have acquired a bunch of "PET PEEVES" this winter.
Gee, do I feel better getting all this garbage out of my system. The sun is out and the flowers are beginning to bloom. It's going to be a GREAT DAY.
-GRANNY
I am so glad Miss Spring has finally evicted that Old Man Winter and can't say that I am sorry to see him go as he was a lousy tenant. Never did see such a grumpy, gripey old man. Think some of his personality rubbed off on me as I sure have acquired a bunch of "PET PEEVES" this winter.
- CHAIN LETTERS - My mailbox must have "Granny Gullible" written all over it or a magnet that attracts this unusual mail, as I have received letters promising everything from FAME and FORTUNE, to threats of "PASSING ON TO THE GREAT CHAIN LETTER IN THE SKY", if the chain broken. Well, to date, FAME has eluded me and I am still waiting for my FORTUNE, but to keep from "PASSING ON," I've sent out prayers, poems, books and even a lock of my hair (it must work, I'm still here).
- TELEPHONE SOLICITORS -Now don't get me wrong, I know jobs are important and I am all for full employment, but PHONE SOLICITORS need a new title such as MEDIUM or MIND READER. How else do they know the minute I step into the tub or shower - get on the top rung of a ladder with a drippy paint roller or relax in the recliner, to ring the phone? Beats me.
- COMPUTER LETTERS -Now this one is a "loo-loo". You cannot argue with a machine (I've found that out with my typewriter - I write TOMATO - it writes TOE-MAH-TOE). About the fourth letter I receive from MR. COMPUTER, telling me that my payment is late while I am holding a cancelled check that was cashed two days before the payment was due, just about causes me to "Blow my Computer Top." Let's face it, they are just "cold hearted and unfeeling" - DOWN WITH COMPUTER LETTERS.
- STANDING IN LINE AT THE BANK - No matter which line I get in - the next line moves faster. Inevitably I get behind someone depositing their LIFE SAVINGS (all in pennies) or someone trying to prove "their checkbook is right" but HALLELUJAH! - this one I have solved by going to the drive-in bank, (sure wish that car ahead would move on). How can anyone miss the slide-out drawer and drop all their pennies?
- For the last half hour I have been trying to wrap a gift, if I can ever find the end of the SCOTCH TAPE. Houdini wouldn't do a better job of disappearing than the end of the roll. I have just sent my Senator a request to put a bill before Congress requiring all tape manufacturers to include a "TAPE END FINDER" with all merchandise, under penalty of imprisonment.
Gee, do I feel better getting all this garbage out of my system. The sun is out and the flowers are beginning to bloom. It's going to be a GREAT DAY.
-GRANNY
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Easter
(Originally published April 7, 1982)
Easter always brings fond memories of years gone by. With five tots growing up in our house (3 girls, 2 boys), EASTER was always joyous, but hectic. The festivities usually started bright and early on Saturday morning with a loud "thump, thump, squish" coming from the kitchen signalling the fact that one of the LEAGUE had managed to "drop" the eggs earmarked for DYEING. This was always followed by a flood of tears that spread like the DOMINO FACTOR and in seconds the whole LEAGUE had formed a "Glee Club" of Woeful Wailing. With tears dried and more fresh eggs (I felt so lucky to have gotten the last dozen in the store), the DYEING of the Egg Ritual would begin.
Now, EGG DYEING is an art dating back to the middle ages. The results can be as diversified as the "DYE-EE" wants. My LEAGUE was diversified - some liking the soft pastels, some the bold bright colors and some who like each end of the egg a different color, BUT... there is always one who can't stand it until he dips his eggs into all the colors and every year, we all knew to whom the "Black eggs" belonged.
The other members of the LEAGUE were always helpful in instructing the younger ones in the RITUAL, but it is amazing how a slight slap on the hand, by an elder LEAGUE member (cause "you're not doin' it right") can force an egg off the dipper, splashing into the red dye, upsetting the dye dish and ultimately turning all white dishtowels into flags for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Hours later, after the last bit of dye has been scrubbed off innocent faces and blond heads reappear, dispelling fears of green hair sticking out under pink bonnets, the LEAGUE is tucked into bed. Now is the time for "Mama Rabbit" to get to work. Retrieving the gaily colored baskets from their hiding place and putting in the grass . . . THE GRASS . . . where is it?? Out comes the car and the hunt is on, with a small prayer that at least one bag of grass can be found at this time of night... (did you know that green crepe paper works just as well, only you have to work hard at shredding it or you will miss the Sunrise Services.) Mission finally accomplished - eggs hid (I thought we dyed 12 eggs, but could only find 11 to hide), baskets in place, and off to bed when a wee voice insists she will choke without a glass of water. Hurrying down the hall with five drinks in hand, the 12th egg is found -- all four ounces of it -- squeezing up between my toes.
I could ramble on for hours, but you know it is all worth it, especially seeing the little faces beaming on Easter morning. I know, sometimes we get a little carried away by the commercialism of the holiday, but remembering the words of the MASTER - "Suffer the little children to come unto me," I just know he doesn't mind a little egg dye and gooey chocolate, as long as they do come. Til next week!
-GRANNY
Easter always brings fond memories of years gone by. With five tots growing up in our house (3 girls, 2 boys), EASTER was always joyous, but hectic. The festivities usually started bright and early on Saturday morning with a loud "thump, thump, squish" coming from the kitchen signalling the fact that one of the LEAGUE had managed to "drop" the eggs earmarked for DYEING. This was always followed by a flood of tears that spread like the DOMINO FACTOR and in seconds the whole LEAGUE had formed a "Glee Club" of Woeful Wailing. With tears dried and more fresh eggs (I felt so lucky to have gotten the last dozen in the store), the DYEING of the Egg Ritual would begin.
Now, EGG DYEING is an art dating back to the middle ages. The results can be as diversified as the "DYE-EE" wants. My LEAGUE was diversified - some liking the soft pastels, some the bold bright colors and some who like each end of the egg a different color, BUT... there is always one who can't stand it until he dips his eggs into all the colors and every year, we all knew to whom the "Black eggs" belonged.
The other members of the LEAGUE were always helpful in instructing the younger ones in the RITUAL, but it is amazing how a slight slap on the hand, by an elder LEAGUE member (cause "you're not doin' it right") can force an egg off the dipper, splashing into the red dye, upsetting the dye dish and ultimately turning all white dishtowels into flags for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Hours later, after the last bit of dye has been scrubbed off innocent faces and blond heads reappear, dispelling fears of green hair sticking out under pink bonnets, the LEAGUE is tucked into bed. Now is the time for "Mama Rabbit" to get to work. Retrieving the gaily colored baskets from their hiding place and putting in the grass . . . THE GRASS . . . where is it?? Out comes the car and the hunt is on, with a small prayer that at least one bag of grass can be found at this time of night... (did you know that green crepe paper works just as well, only you have to work hard at shredding it or you will miss the Sunrise Services.) Mission finally accomplished - eggs hid (I thought we dyed 12 eggs, but could only find 11 to hide), baskets in place, and off to bed when a wee voice insists she will choke without a glass of water. Hurrying down the hall with five drinks in hand, the 12th egg is found -- all four ounces of it -- squeezing up between my toes.
I could ramble on for hours, but you know it is all worth it, especially seeing the little faces beaming on Easter morning. I know, sometimes we get a little carried away by the commercialism of the holiday, but remembering the words of the MASTER - "Suffer the little children to come unto me," I just know he doesn't mind a little egg dye and gooey chocolate, as long as they do come. Til next week!
-GRANNY
Saturday, March 24, 2012
The Garden Tiller Gang
(Originally published March 24, 1982)
Spring is here!!
How in the world did I ever come to that conclusion, you ask yourself... well, it was the deafening roar that woke me up. At first, I thought it might be a tornado, but the sky was too bright, not a cloud in sight, so I knew that wasn't it. The noise grew louder and as I peeked out of the window, there it was. . . .
The GARDEN TILLER GANG had returned - just like the swallows to Capistrano. A lump came to my throat and tears to my eyes. I knew I had to face one more year of being intimidated. The smug look on their faces as they plowed up Mother Earth made me shudder. In my youth (two or three years ago), I too had visions of a garden that would make Jack Tobin green with envy and I tried, heaven knows, how hard I tried.
I just don't know what happens between the time I plant and the time for harvest, but . . . my eggplants never have yolks, the bell peppers won't ring, sweet peas only bloom for me (never set on pods), my cucumbers contain enough gas to fill 75 Goodyear blimps, and I have given up completely on cabbage. They never break through the soil (do you suppose I plant them too deeply?) I've even tried the old Indian method on corn putting a fish on each mound for fertilizer, and all I got was 250 purring neighborhood cats with silly grins.
Let's face it, the only time I ever had a green thumb was the year I accidentally stuck it in the Easter egg dye. Oh well, tomatoes give me the hives and my kids think anything green on the table has molded, so to the GARDEN TILLER GANG I say, "Go forth and plant." As for me, I will take my chances at the local supermarket.
Remember, a conscience doesn't always keep us from doing something. .. it just keeps us from enjoying it. "Til next week".
-Granny
Spring is here!!
How in the world did I ever come to that conclusion, you ask yourself... well, it was the deafening roar that woke me up. At first, I thought it might be a tornado, but the sky was too bright, not a cloud in sight, so I knew that wasn't it. The noise grew louder and as I peeked out of the window, there it was. . . .
The GARDEN TILLER GANG had returned - just like the swallows to Capistrano. A lump came to my throat and tears to my eyes. I knew I had to face one more year of being intimidated. The smug look on their faces as they plowed up Mother Earth made me shudder. In my youth (two or three years ago), I too had visions of a garden that would make Jack Tobin green with envy and I tried, heaven knows, how hard I tried.
I just don't know what happens between the time I plant and the time for harvest, but . . . my eggplants never have yolks, the bell peppers won't ring, sweet peas only bloom for me (never set on pods), my cucumbers contain enough gas to fill 75 Goodyear blimps, and I have given up completely on cabbage. They never break through the soil (do you suppose I plant them too deeply?) I've even tried the old Indian method on corn putting a fish on each mound for fertilizer, and all I got was 250 purring neighborhood cats with silly grins.
Let's face it, the only time I ever had a green thumb was the year I accidentally stuck it in the Easter egg dye. Oh well, tomatoes give me the hives and my kids think anything green on the table has molded, so to the GARDEN TILLER GANG I say, "Go forth and plant." As for me, I will take my chances at the local supermarket.
Remember, a conscience doesn't always keep us from doing something. .. it just keeps us from enjoying it. "Til next week".
-Granny
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Teenagers
(Originally published March 10, 1982)
I think of all God's creatures put on this earth for our benefit and sometimes, our consternation - the TEENAGER - I do believe ranks NUMERO UNO (No. 1) in God's attempt to teach us PATIENCE, UNDERSTANDING AND TOLERANCE.
Having been blessed with five of my own choosing and countless thousands of others that have aimlessly meandered through my kitchen, slept on the divan, raided the refrigerator and used my bathroom, used my bathroom, and used my bathroom, I still love 'em.
I would, however, if it were at all possible, slightly redesign all homes that house TEENAGERS. For instance, all doors would be revolving (like the big department stores) and the words "SHUT THE DOOR" taken out of the vocabulary. All bedrooms would come equipped with padded soundproof walls, eliminating a few more words like "QUIET DOWN" - "KNOCK IT OFF" -"TURN IT DOWN". Bed clothes would be on the floor (and why not, all the clothes end up there anyway). Bathtubs would come in your choice of grey, dark grey, black or mud colored rings, doing away with the necessity of the "THIRD DEGREE" of "Who left the ring in the tub".
Pets are another thing entirely. I couldn't count the times these famous words have been spoken: "But, Mom, you won't have to do a thing" as I mopped up a puddle or drove around the block for the umpteenth time whistling for "ROVER". I have been mother to nearly everything that jumps, crawls, flies, purrs, barks, and once, was keeper of a "mole". (How was I supposed to know moles were sightless - the Vet. was nice but I know he thought me a little stupid when I asked if it took as long for their eyes to open as kittens.) I once inherited a puppy that cried so much, I tied a dishtowel around my waist and put the puppy in it (I now know how the Indian squaws felt with their papooses - you do learn how to bend over without crushing the poor thing)
The list could go on forever. I have become quite fond of bathing at 2:00 AM (the only time the bathroom is empty). It is becoming easier to NEVER forget to buy washing detergent because you know a pile of grimy gym clothes will appear like magic at 10:00 PM, and friends communicate by mail (after the 40th time the operator confirms that the phone is REALLY BUSY and not out of order).
I have GOOD NEWS parents, all things come to an end - just hang in there and enjoy these years because in a twinkling of an eye, it will all be over.
-Granny
I think of all God's creatures put on this earth for our benefit and sometimes, our consternation - the TEENAGER - I do believe ranks NUMERO UNO (No. 1) in God's attempt to teach us PATIENCE, UNDERSTANDING AND TOLERANCE.
Having been blessed with five of my own choosing and countless thousands of others that have aimlessly meandered through my kitchen, slept on the divan, raided the refrigerator and used my bathroom, used my bathroom, and used my bathroom, I still love 'em.
I would, however, if it were at all possible, slightly redesign all homes that house TEENAGERS. For instance, all doors would be revolving (like the big department stores) and the words "SHUT THE DOOR" taken out of the vocabulary. All bedrooms would come equipped with padded soundproof walls, eliminating a few more words like "QUIET DOWN" - "KNOCK IT OFF" -"TURN IT DOWN". Bed clothes would be on the floor (and why not, all the clothes end up there anyway). Bathtubs would come in your choice of grey, dark grey, black or mud colored rings, doing away with the necessity of the "THIRD DEGREE" of "Who left the ring in the tub".
Pets are another thing entirely. I couldn't count the times these famous words have been spoken: "But, Mom, you won't have to do a thing" as I mopped up a puddle or drove around the block for the umpteenth time whistling for "ROVER". I have been mother to nearly everything that jumps, crawls, flies, purrs, barks, and once, was keeper of a "mole". (How was I supposed to know moles were sightless - the Vet. was nice but I know he thought me a little stupid when I asked if it took as long for their eyes to open as kittens.) I once inherited a puppy that cried so much, I tied a dishtowel around my waist and put the puppy in it (I now know how the Indian squaws felt with their papooses - you do learn how to bend over without crushing the poor thing)
The list could go on forever. I have become quite fond of bathing at 2:00 AM (the only time the bathroom is empty). It is becoming easier to NEVER forget to buy washing detergent because you know a pile of grimy gym clothes will appear like magic at 10:00 PM, and friends communicate by mail (after the 40th time the operator confirms that the phone is REALLY BUSY and not out of order).
I have GOOD NEWS parents, all things come to an end - just hang in there and enjoy these years because in a twinkling of an eye, it will all be over.
-Granny
Friday, February 24, 2012
The Mid-Winter Blues
(Originally published February 24, 1982)
How to beat the "doldrums" or the "mid-winter blues". I really don't know, but my common sense tells me to do something constructive - it makes the dreary days go by faster. I noticed an advertisement expounding the virtues of wallpaper and how "for a few cents" you could transform any room in your home into a "fairyland". Well, human nature being what it is, I envisioned myself as the most creative person to walk the earth since Michael Angelo painted the Sistine Chapel and proceeded to assemble the required materials. After spending a few more "CENTS" than my budget had originally allowed, I suddenly realized "I don't know how to wallpaper," and it would be too humiliating to return to where the supplies were purchased and admit this . . . so, the search began for the information I so desperately needed.
At first shyly, and then slyly, I queried my friends, family for the knowledge they possessed on "going around corners" and so forth, when it suddenly dawned on me, "these people weren't giving their secrets away." If I wanted to pursue this, it was going to be by trial and error or get the information from a book. A BOOK!! Why didn't I think of that sooner - everything you ever want to know is in a "BOOK" someplace. (Up to this time my envisioned "fairyland" was becoming more of a monster case).
How smug I felt as I sat down to read my coveted copy of "THE ABC'S OF WALLPAPERING". The ABC's I could understand thoroughly, it was the XYZ's the book didn't tell me about that got me into trouble. For example: Never cut around the electrical outlet with a long handled butcher knife (none with a metal handle) - (The doctor said I was very lucky, especially since I was standing in a puddle of water that had dripped out of the sponge I was using to mop up the spilled paste). Never, and I mean NEVER set your bucket of paste on the floor when you have an animal in the house. (We hope the dog will be out of intensive care tomorrow and as soon as the bloat in his stomach goes down, we can bring him home). Last, but not least, NEVER lay your last roll of wallpaper anywhere near the fireplace (especially if you have one of those log rollers that transform old newspapers into tightly rolled logs for burning) - I didn't get too mad at that, it is hard to distinguish between a hand-made newspaper log and a roll of wallpaper.
ALL THINGS ACCOUNTED FOR - it didn't turn out too badly. The job did cost a little more than I had anticipated, with the vet's bill, doctor's house call and an extra roll of wallpaper, but I must say the electrician was reasonable, those two outlets needed rewiring anyway. The room is beautiful (a real FAIRYLAND), the dog is OK, but he growls a lot when left in the newly papered room alone, and I hope to have the loan paid off by next winter when I can get CONSTRUCTIVELY CREATIVE again.
-Granny
How to beat the "doldrums" or the "mid-winter blues". I really don't know, but my common sense tells me to do something constructive - it makes the dreary days go by faster. I noticed an advertisement expounding the virtues of wallpaper and how "for a few cents" you could transform any room in your home into a "fairyland". Well, human nature being what it is, I envisioned myself as the most creative person to walk the earth since Michael Angelo painted the Sistine Chapel and proceeded to assemble the required materials. After spending a few more "CENTS" than my budget had originally allowed, I suddenly realized "I don't know how to wallpaper," and it would be too humiliating to return to where the supplies were purchased and admit this . . . so, the search began for the information I so desperately needed.
At first shyly, and then slyly, I queried my friends, family for the knowledge they possessed on "going around corners" and so forth, when it suddenly dawned on me, "these people weren't giving their secrets away." If I wanted to pursue this, it was going to be by trial and error or get the information from a book. A BOOK!! Why didn't I think of that sooner - everything you ever want to know is in a "BOOK" someplace. (Up to this time my envisioned "fairyland" was becoming more of a monster case).
How smug I felt as I sat down to read my coveted copy of "THE ABC'S OF WALLPAPERING". The ABC's I could understand thoroughly, it was the XYZ's the book didn't tell me about that got me into trouble. For example: Never cut around the electrical outlet with a long handled butcher knife (none with a metal handle) - (The doctor said I was very lucky, especially since I was standing in a puddle of water that had dripped out of the sponge I was using to mop up the spilled paste). Never, and I mean NEVER set your bucket of paste on the floor when you have an animal in the house. (We hope the dog will be out of intensive care tomorrow and as soon as the bloat in his stomach goes down, we can bring him home). Last, but not least, NEVER lay your last roll of wallpaper anywhere near the fireplace (especially if you have one of those log rollers that transform old newspapers into tightly rolled logs for burning) - I didn't get too mad at that, it is hard to distinguish between a hand-made newspaper log and a roll of wallpaper.
ALL THINGS ACCOUNTED FOR - it didn't turn out too badly. The job did cost a little more than I had anticipated, with the vet's bill, doctor's house call and an extra roll of wallpaper, but I must say the electrician was reasonable, those two outlets needed rewiring anyway. The room is beautiful (a real FAIRYLAND), the dog is OK, but he growls a lot when left in the newly papered room alone, and I hope to have the loan paid off by next winter when I can get CONSTRUCTIVELY CREATIVE again.
-Granny
Friday, February 17, 2012
Cabin Fever
(Originally published February 17, 1982)
Hi again everybody - you know, waking up this morning to the bright sunshine really gave me a fright - for a moment I thought I had died and gone to heaven or had been transported to the Sahara Desert. After a few minutes, reality sunk in - I was still in Warsaw - but my fever had broken for a little while - the fever I am speaking of is "CABIN FEVER". The dictionary defines "cabin" as "to confine, enclose or cramped conditions" and the definition of fever as "intense nervous excitement". Well, put the two together and that's what winter in Missouri can do for you.
Another thing that puzzles me, is how the originators of the calendar (specifically in the USA) decided what holidays we would celebrate in the month of February. I can understand their wanting to honor such a great man as Lincoln, but to put a man of such stature in the same month as (1) a GROUND HOG, who really could care less if he sees his shadow or not, (2) a naked little kid who runs around shooting arrows in everyone in the name of LOVE, and (3) our 1st President, who (from all I can remember of school) chopped down cherry trees, wore wooden teeth and stood up in boats (all we lake people know that is a no-no, whether you are crossing the Potomac, Delaware or whatever). The only conclusion I can come to is that the calendar people were suffering from "CABIN FEVER" too. But hold on, I think I see a Robin out my window - knew it was too good to be true - it's just a sparrow with a designer vest on to keep warm . . .
I had an opportunity to visit my parents in the south lands for a couple of weeks and found a very interesting dessert recipe I'd like to share with you. Try it - you might like it - I did!
GRAPEFRUIT PIE
1 Large Grapefruit
2 cups Water
1 package Cherry Jello
3 T cornstarch
2 Cups whipping cream
9" baked pie shell
Peel and section grapefruit, removing and membrane (try to keep pieces as whole as possible). Lay sections in baked pie shell. Combine water, jello and cornstarch in pan, bring to boil, continue for 1 minute. Cool to lukewarm, pour over grapefruit. Refrigerate 1 hour until firm. Garnish with whipped cream.
I know grapefruit has never been one of my favorite foods, but this pie is quite tasty and a big hit in the restaurants of the south (also sells for $1.50 a slice).
Till next week - let's all hope the plague of "CABIN FEVER" goes away soon.
-Granny
Hi again everybody - you know, waking up this morning to the bright sunshine really gave me a fright - for a moment I thought I had died and gone to heaven or had been transported to the Sahara Desert. After a few minutes, reality sunk in - I was still in Warsaw - but my fever had broken for a little while - the fever I am speaking of is "CABIN FEVER". The dictionary defines "cabin" as "to confine, enclose or cramped conditions" and the definition of fever as "intense nervous excitement". Well, put the two together and that's what winter in Missouri can do for you.
Another thing that puzzles me, is how the originators of the calendar (specifically in the USA) decided what holidays we would celebrate in the month of February. I can understand their wanting to honor such a great man as Lincoln, but to put a man of such stature in the same month as (1) a GROUND HOG, who really could care less if he sees his shadow or not, (2) a naked little kid who runs around shooting arrows in everyone in the name of LOVE, and (3) our 1st President, who (from all I can remember of school) chopped down cherry trees, wore wooden teeth and stood up in boats (all we lake people know that is a no-no, whether you are crossing the Potomac, Delaware or whatever). The only conclusion I can come to is that the calendar people were suffering from "CABIN FEVER" too. But hold on, I think I see a Robin out my window - knew it was too good to be true - it's just a sparrow with a designer vest on to keep warm . . .
I had an opportunity to visit my parents in the south lands for a couple of weeks and found a very interesting dessert recipe I'd like to share with you. Try it - you might like it - I did!
GRAPEFRUIT PIE
1 Large Grapefruit
2 cups Water
1 package Cherry Jello
3 T cornstarch
2 Cups whipping cream
9" baked pie shell
Peel and section grapefruit, removing and membrane (try to keep pieces as whole as possible). Lay sections in baked pie shell. Combine water, jello and cornstarch in pan, bring to boil, continue for 1 minute. Cool to lukewarm, pour over grapefruit. Refrigerate 1 hour until firm. Garnish with whipped cream.
I know grapefruit has never been one of my favorite foods, but this pie is quite tasty and a big hit in the restaurants of the south (also sells for $1.50 a slice).
Till next week - let's all hope the plague of "CABIN FEVER" goes away soon.
-Granny
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