A messy job

Today my husband and I did something that no one likes to do - we cleaned out the coils of the refrigerator and pulled it out and cleaned under and behind it. It certainly benefited the refrigerator, but sure made a mess of my kitchen floor. My husband very generously offered to mop the floor for me, but after swiffering it a couple of times, it looked pretty good, so I persuaded him to let it be. It was time to have dinner anyway, and then we were so tired we just cleaned up the dishes and collapsed in front of the TV. It is a fact that many people never clean their refrigerators, leading to totally clogged motors. Ours was making a funny noise, but sounds better now.
We must be doing late fall cleaning, since I have bestirred myself and cleaned out my filing cabinet, burning and throwing out a fairly large box of papers. We threw caution to the wind and threw away all of the real estate documents for both the cabin and a house we once owned in Marin County. A little voice in the back of my head warns me that we might want to look something up sometime and the papers will be gone, but it was a choice we made and it is too late to turn back now.
It has been pretty cold here this week, and we are going through our wood faster than we expected, but boy, does that wood fire feel good. Well, that is all for tonight - keep in touch!

Christmas past

The peanut butter cookies are out of the oven, the pork chops are braising in the skillet, and I have a little time, so I'll blog a little. This is Christmas Day, bringing back memories of years and years of Christmases. When I was a child, we cut our own trees from the woods behind the house, and decorated them with tinsel and real candles. When the candles were lit, it made a beautiful soft light, somewhat dangerous in case of fire, but lovely, nonetheless. One year my sister accidentally set her hair on fire by getting too close to the tree, but it was quickly put out and she was only singed. The presents were put under the tree in little piles for each recipient, and we all opened our presents early on Christmas morning. I usually got a book, among other things, and spent Christmas Day reading my new book and eating candy. When I was small, the Bobbsey Twins and Honey Bunch were the usual titles, and then when I was older Little Women and Little Men made their appearance. The whole family got to read them, of course, We had a cupboard that held all of the books and comprised a window seat at the living room window. Since we had no radio, no TV, no victrola, we were by necessity constrained to read. I am a voracious reader to this day.
Now evening has come, with darkness outside and our little artificial tree twinkling with its little electric lights and glass ornaments. Across the way I can see my neighbors tree glowing in the darkened living room. I hope all children had wonderful Christmases, and I hope everyone had a bountiful Christmas dinner. Merry Christmas all, and keep in touch.

Everyone needs a grandma

This little essay was written a few years ago, but I have resurrected it because I still feel the same today as I did then.

Everyone Needs a Grandma

Dear Grandma,

How good you were to me! You spoiled me and praised me and loved me just as I was. You never compared me to anyone else, and always had kind praise for me, no matter what my transgressions were. When I cried because I was afraid of the dark, you took me into your bed and lit the lamp on the night stand and left it lit until I fell asleep.
But you left too soon! I was only ten when you died, and I needed you more than ever when I went into my teens. You would have viewed my escapades with humor and tolerance. When I sneaked out of the house and went for a moonlight swim with the neighbor boys, you would have seen it as the harmless prank that it was. It would not have been the end of the world or a source of gossip and condemnation that followed me down the years until eternity. When I accepted a ride on the ferris wheel with a boy I met at the carnival, you would have known that it was just a harmless act of kindness on his part and a spirit of adventure on mine. He grew up to be a very successful businessman and a pillar of respect in the community. It didn’t ruin my life or lead to a stroll down a disgraceful path, as my beleagured mother predicted.
How I missed you, Grandma. You had ten children and many, many grandchildren, but you made each of us feel special and loved. Never did I hear you say a critical word about anyone. You were the most understanding person I ever met.
You met death in a terrible accident when you were only sixty. Your own mother lived to be 97. If you had only lived to be eighty, I would have been thirty and grownup, and past the turbulent years of my youth. But I was lucky to have had you as long as I did. Everyone needs a grandma!


I am a grandma and even a great-grandma now and I hope I am half as good as my grandma was! Night all and keep in touch.

The Depressed Reindeer

It's time for a Christmas story, again, so here's one from awhile ago. Hope you all enjoy it.

The Depressed Reindeer

It was two days until Christmas and Santa's big workroom was bustling with activity. The elves were hurrying to finish all of the toys and get them wrapped and loaded on the sleigh. It was warm and cozy in there, and the elves were singing and chattering as they worked. There was a fire in the fireplace and a big-kettle of soup was simmering over the flames. It smelled delicious and with the lamps all aglow it was a happy sight. Mrs. Santa Claus was rocking in her rocking chair, knitting and keeping her eye on the elves.

Everyone was happy except Santa Claus and he was worried. He had a frown on his face and every now and then heaved a big sigh. He paced back and forth and even walked in a circle.

"Whatever is the matter?" demanded Mrs. Santa CIaus.

"You have been moaning and groaning all day. Try to be a little more cheerful. What are you worried about?"

Mrs. Santa Claus liked to concentrate when she was knittIng, but Santa Claus was getting on her nerves. She was waiting for an answer, but she didn't put down her work. Click, clack went her needles and she rocked back and forth slowly, waiting.

Finally Santa spoke. "It's Donder," he said. "He says he is depressed and he doesn't want to go out on Christmas Eve. He says he is too tired and he Just can't make It."

Mrs. Santa Claus was so shocked she dropped several stitches and had to rip out the whole row. "That big baby." she said. "Who does he think he is? We all get tired but there are some things a person just has to do."

Mrs. Santa Claus put down her knitting, put on her shawl and walked down the path to the barn. The snow was piled high on each side of the path and it sparkled in the sun. The air was crisp and cold. She went into the barn.

It as warm and oozy in there too. Mrs. Santa Claus looked around and counted the reindeer. All nine were in the barn and some of them were eating and some were sleeping, but Donder stood all alone in a corner. He had his head down and his eyes closed. Mrs. Santa got the bottle of reindeer tonic and tried to give him a tablespoon to perk him up but he wouldn't swallow it and let it dribble out of the side of his mouth. She tried giving him some of his favorite food, dried moss, but he just closed his mouth and wouldn't take even a single bite.

Mrs. Santa Claus was so irritated with him that she felt like giving him a good clout or yanking his tail. "I give up, " she said. "You just stand there and pout. See if anyone cares. You should be ashamed of yourself."

She told Santa she had tried but it was no use. He wasn't going to go.
"I know," said Santa. "I'll just have to think about it and see what I can do."

That night Santa and Mrs. Santa Claus went to bed in their big feather bed but they oouldn't sleep. Mrs. Santa Claus tossed and turned and her hair came out of her bun and got tangled all over the pillow. Santa Claus paced back and forth. Finally he went back to bed and at last they both fell asleep. And as so often happens, while Santa was sleeping he had an idea. He knew just what to do.

In the morning after they had eaten their breakfast he went out to talk to Donder again. "You won't have to go this year," he said. "Rudolph can take your place. If it is not foggy he can pull the sleigh for you. You can stay home and rest."

Now Donder was depressed but he had a temper too. And he had always been jealous of Rudolph because he had a red nose and would go-down in history. He stamped his feet and tossed his antlers. He snorted and switched his tail. "I have always had the spot right in front of the sleigh," he said. "How will It look if Rudolph is back there with his big red nose glowing all over the place? I don't care how tired I am, I am going to go and no one can stop me!"

Santa Claus smiled under his bushy beard. He turned his head away so Donder couldn't see how relieved he was." I knew I could count on you," he said. "Get some rest. It is going to be a busy day tomorrow and a long ride tomorrow night."

When Santa Claus and Mrs. Santa Claus went to bed that night they slept soundly. Everything-was going-to be all right.
Bye for now - keep in touch!

No news is good news.

Another week gone by already. i had intended to do better than this, but time goes so fast, and life is so tranquil that I really have no dramatic news to impart. We have been watching Turner Classic Movies in the evenings, which passes the time pleasantly and I have some forms to fill out, which will keep me busy for an hour or two. My firm resolve to try new menus has not deserted me, but for tonight we had macaroni and cheese and hot dogs, hardly an imaginative feast. My chili and stew that I made on Thursday and Friday were very successful, though. Luckily for me, my husband will eat just about anything.
We are expecting some heavy rain, supposed to start tonight, so we have brought in some wood for the wood stove and are prepared for an electric power outage if one comes. We have a nice supply of candles and will ride out the storm if it comes.
We expect a wet winter this year.
Will try to be more interesting next blog. Take care and keep in touch.

A busy week

This has been an eventful week, with Thanksgiving, a visit from a visiting veterinarian and the delivery of a doll bed for Angel for Christmas. The little vet was very thorough, examining my old cat from head to tail, palpating her abdomen and peering down her mouth and throat. Look as she did, she found not one thing amiss and congratulated me on having such a healthy, although ancient, cat. i had been prepared to have her put down if there was anything seriously wrong, but she will be with us longer, I am sure.
But now to the doll bed. Putting it together reminded me of a doll house we purchased for my daughter fifty years ago. The wretched thing was made of tin or aluminum and had little tabs that had to be bent over to hold the thing together. We worked on it until midnight on Christmas Eve, and it never really held together. By the time it was finished, none of us were speaking to each other. The doll bed was easier, but when it was all assembled, my husband found a ittle hole in the headboard that seemed to have some function, and being a perfectionist, he dismantled the thing and put it together all over again. This time the hole was in the foot board, and we decided it was simply because the two pieces were interchangeable and so we left it as it was. The doll that was supposed to sleep in it hasn't come yet.
We took a rather long walk today, coming back slowly but with little pain. I had my walker and stopped and rested from time to time.
Time marches on. Almost time to bake the Christmas cookies. Bye and take care.

A coincidence

I had a most interesting experience yesterday, quite a coincidence, actually. I had called customer service for ToysR Us to place an order for a gift for my little great-granddaughter for Christmas, and out of all of the hundreds of calls that must have gone to that particular number, I was answered by a young man who had grown up in my home town and was going to college at my old Alma Mater. We chatted awhile, and both of us were amused by how small the world is, after all. He, being only eighteen, and I, being 87, naturally did not know one another. I left my home when I was seventeen, long before he was born. He had a mid-western accent and was most pleasant and polite.
Our conversation led to a whole train of thought, as I remembered the college, just a one building, two year institution, and now a big university. I never liked high school but enjoyed my college experience tremendously. I continued taking college classes now and then, and finally graduated when I was 65. Better late than never!
My husband brought home a spice pumpkin to make Thankdgiving pie, and I am going to have a new experience baking a pumpkin pie from scratch. I have always used canned pumpkin in the past, but I will try anything once.
As usual, it is late evening and I must close. bye and keep in touch.

Keeping it neat

I emptied out a drawer containing a jumble of documents and noted once again that Filing is not one of my strong points. I was often prodded by supervisors of one kind or another to be more orderly with my papers, but the inclination just wasn't there. I suppose it is too late to worry about it now.
My husband, on the other hand, is the model of neatness. His socks are not only rolled into balls and tucked away in neat rows, but they are sorted as to color and usage. His underwear drawers are perfection itself. His twelve sweaters are neatly folded and placed in their drawers and his closet is a wonder to behold. He often opens the drawers and gazes into the contents just to be sure nothing has been disturbed.
I suppose in his way he is in the grip of OCD, just as i am when I check the stove and sink and doors to make sure that all is in order. It is a source of satisfaction to him to be neat, and he feels a sort of pain when he opens the drawers of my bureau and observes the clutter contained therein. I keep the house in order, on the surface, but what is out of sight is out of mind.
What childhood training led us to where we are today? My husband was raised by a dear little woman who was the most untidy person I ever knew. The moment she entered her house she began tossing things onto the table, the chairs, the floor - nothing was ever put away. I, on the other hand, was trained carefully to keep my drawers in order, but being the rebel that I am, I never did it. My sister, obedient to the core, left hers in impeccable order.
Sometimes, however, it becomes necessary to make order out of chaos, and that is what I did today. I now know exactly what is in that drawer, and when income tax time comes around, I will be ready.
Midnight approaches. Keep in touch. Bye

trying new recipes

True to my resolve, I prepared a new recipe for dinner tonight, an exotic marinated flank steak. It had to be rolled up and marinated overnight, and broiled for a couple of minutes on both sides. I actually liked it. It was spicy and tender and cooked just right. The meal I prepared for Thursday can best be forgotten. Suffice it to say that I will never prepare it again. Tomorrow night i will make an old favorite - salmon puffs. Easy to make and i have all of the ingredients in my cupboard.
My husband loves telephones. We have one in each room in the house, two modern walk-around ones, two old touch-tone ones and one really old one with the circular dial. When they ring, whichever one of us is feeling most energetic will lunge to the nearest one to answer. Sometimes I remember back to the days when we had one telephone mounted on the wall, on a party line, and the phone would ring in a kind of code so the correct person would answer. Then the other people on the line could listen in and chime in with comments and advice if they wished to do so. When my Grandma's signal came on, I think everyone listened. Grandma was a source of advice, comfort, medical knowledge and encouragement. I never knew her to criticize or hurt anyone purposely. She was the soul of kindness.
I wonder what people will remember about me when I am no longer around? I propose to write my own obituary but I want to wait awhile longer to see if anything noteworthy happens. Who knows? I might win the lottery!
Well, time marches on.Time to push the button on the dishwasher and listen to the soothing sound of the dishes being washed and dried. Thank God for modern conveniences. Bye, keep in touch

Moving furniture

Every now and then, I am seized with an almost irresistible urge to move the furniture around in my house. I, of course, would like to drag out all of the old furniture and replace it with new, but that is not in the plans at the moment. So today I yielded to the impulse and moved the little TV set out of the bedroom and installed it in the living room. To make room for the TV set I had to move an end table and a desk. I did this myself, as my husband reacts to change as do most husbands - with negativity and grumbling. I did it all while he was working in the garage, but when it came time to hook the TV to the cable, I was unsure of myself, and had to call him in. Since the furniture was already in place, he graciously hooked the cable up, and I now have a comfortable spot to sit in front of the fire and watch my favorite programs. We switched phones around, as well, but that is no big deal.
We are getting a little restless to travel around a little, but have no plans as of now. I think it is the approach of Christmas that is getting to us. Is it possible that another year has come and gone? Thank goodness we have pledged to not exchange gifts this year! We will make cookies, however.
Well bye and keep in touch.

A lovely day

To my delight I had a comment on my last blog. I tried to answer, but my computer tripped me up, so i will thank my correspondent here. I love to hear from all of you, it motivates me to keep writing.
I had a most delightful day today, having lunch with old friends with whom I had formed a lasting bond over many years. There were twelve or so of us and the food was delicious and the conversation warm and stimulating. We used to meet once a week to share our writings and musings and when the group could no langer meet together, we all felt the loss. We shared our most cherished memories and laughed and cried together.
The memorial for the fallen soldiers was toucing and memorable, but it brought to mind a funeral procession i watched at the Presideo in San Francisco many years ago. I was waiting for a bus, when coming down the street I heard the muffled beat of drums and the slow cadence of marching feet. It was a cadre of soldiers, bearing a single casket on a sort of gurney. There were no mourners. No music playeed and no flag draped the coffin. But there was something ineffably sad about this soldier, going alone and unmourned to his resting place. Would someone say a prayer over his grave? I have thought about that lonely spot many times and call to mind the famous gravestone in the cemetery where a little drummer boy rests:
Sleep on, brave Tommy and take Thy rest,
God took thee home when he thought best.
My Great-Great-Great Grandpa Levi was a drummer in the Revolutionary war, but that is another story. Keep in touch and take care. Bye

Another Day

I had intended to be more productive with my blogging, but laziness has set in, along with the events of the past couple of days, which kept me glued to the television. I am referring to the horrible massacre at Fort Hood, and the one in Florida at the office building. The fact that the camera takes us right to the scene makes it even more horrifying. It seems that all we see anymore are mass murders, suicide bombings and massacres. What has become of the world? A commentator noted that these events don't occur in Norway, Sweden or the Netherlands. Our cities are places of horror, with innocent people being gunned down on the streets every day. Even in our isolated little community, violence takes place, though not nearly as often. Maybe it's time for me to become a recluse, and rely on books and book tapes for amusement.
How am I doing with my new recipes? I made a very good chicken and wine dish a couple of days ago, and last night served up a very good Swiss steak. Tonight we are having left-overs, not my favorite meal but it must be done. Luckily for me, my husband will eat just about anything!
We are having a very light rain here today, with the thermometer on the tree outside the window reading 45. It doesn't seem that chilly when i step out onto the deck, but our old cat went outside for only a moment and came scooting back in a hurry. She is over 25 and beginning to slow down. But like the battery in the advertisement, she keeps going and going.
Well, keep in touch. Bye.

A long time ago

True to my resolve, I tried out a new recipe, and to my great gratification, it turned out well. It was listed as salmon puff, and was easy to prepare and tasted good. I have a pile of recipe books, so I should be able to keep this up for a long time.
Today passed very pleasantly, warm and sunny outside, with the hummingbirds darting back and forth just outside the window in the family room.
I chanced upon a video display of Janis Joplin singing some of her songs, and it reminded me that she died 39 years ago, so many of my readers probably had not been born when she was with us. She lived just down the street from my house when we were living in Larkspur, California and my husband delivered her mail. She worked hard at being outrageous but at heart she was just an insecure, although talented, young woman. Unfortunately, she threw away her life on drugs and died alone and lonely.
Oh, the times I have seen. I remember when Charles Lindbergh used to ride his motorcycle past our house, on his way to the University of Wisconsin, and the excitement when he flew his plane across the ocean to France. We all listened to the radio when his baby was kidnapped and killed, and when the "trial of the century" took place. I have lived through wars and droughts and depressions and earthquakes and floods. Changes are taking place even today that are life-changing. i hope I have still more time to watch the passage of events and am able to understand and appreciate them. I have been lucky!

A new recipe and a short walk

Cold weather is coming. When we pulled up the blinds this morning, the windows were all fogged over. It's time to get out the dehumidifier and get it going. It does a good job of drying out the air which does hold a lot of moisture from cooking and showers, and so on. During warm weather it doesn't make any difference, of course.
I have resolved to try out a new recipe at least every other day. Today i made Apple Crisp, a super easy recipe that turned out very well. It satisfied my sweet tooth and contained fresh apples, of which we have a plentiful supply. These are from our own apple tree, much better than the ones we get from the store.
My husband and I meandered down my neighbor's lane to where several tractors are leveling off a portion of the hillside to make a parking space, I suppose. We hadn't been down that way for awhile, and I must confess the walk was a little hard on me. By the time we got back home, i was dizzy and had to rest and drink orange juice to revive myself. This doesn't happen too often, but I always recover. Ha,ha! One never knows.
The house we passed on our walk is empty, with the owner coming up only about once in six months. It sits there, windows covered over and leaves and debris littering the deck and walkway. It was for sale for awhile, but no one even made an offer. Actually. it is quite attractive inside, and is on a huge piece of land. Houses in our neighborhood simply aren't selling, like everywhere else. We thank our lucky stars that we are secure here in our little house.
More soon. Bye and keep in touch.

Recipes

Last night's blog set me to thinking of my great-aunt Johanna, who never married and spent most of her life taking care of various family members. She had a beautiful sister, my great-aunt Kate, who was married to a very wealthy Chicago businessman and disgraced the family by running off with the family chauffeur. Although her husband searched high and low for her and even advertised in the papers, she never returned and Aunt Johanna was left as the only caretaker for my mother and her sisters and brother. Pictures of Aunt Johanna show her to be a plain, even homely woman of middle age but I think she was very kind to the motherless children. My mother grew up to be a wonderful cook, a skill she must have learned from Aunt Johanna.
As I type this, I have in the oven a dish referred to as a chicken hot-dish. It is the first time I have tried this particular recipe and I do hope we can eat it. I did not inherit my mother's cooking skills and have to struggle along as best I can. I have several cookbooks, some quite expensive, but I still have as many failures as successes.
We are somewhat isolated here, but as I sit here I can see across the way to the house where the twelve foster children live and it cheers my heart to think of all of them gathered around the table eating dinner, or playing board games. They are remarkably well-behaved children, and range in ages from about three to nineteen or twenty. The house is built in two stories and there are lights in all the windows. up and down.
Well, time is flying by. Please keep in touch.

Gather ye roses

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

This poem was written long ago, and came down to us as a nursery rhymn. It reminds us that the age of thirty used to be the cut-off point beyond which a maiden was considered to be a hopeless old maid. Girls were often motivated to marry, not for love but to save themselves from a disgraceful state of spinsterhood. We may all be thankful that those days are over.
But back to the present. Today was shopping day, so we stocked up on Hallowe'n candy and verious other supplies to keep us in groderies for the week. We had leftovers for dinner again, and watched "dancing with the stars" for awhile. How they keep from dislocating their lege and arms I will never know.
It is now midnight. Night all. Keep iin touch.

A tamale pie

I must be doing better - I tried out a new recipe for dinner - tamale pie, and hope it turns out well. It is at this moment in the oven and looks rather promising. I am little by little teaching my husband how to cook, and he is embracing the concept enthusiastically. It is all part of my new lifestyle which I am planning for the future, in which I no longer shoulder responsibilities and let others make decisions. I am looking forward to the day when i can consider myself a placid old lady and let my husband do the worrying. That would be quite a switch, but not impossible.
We have the option of going to Yountville to the veterans home where everything is furnished, food, lodging, medical care, entertainment - all for a minimal sum each month. We visited it once and felt that we would vegetate there and last maybe a couple of weeks before we fled screaming out into the world of the living again. The rooms are small, with just room for a bed and wardrobe and maybe a computer. There is a community room where there is a TV and a table or two for board games or jigsaw puzzles. Meals are taken in a large dining room, and are reputed to be nothing to brag about. We came home grateful for our little house where we are free to do as we please and eat what we want. Some people do adjust and live there for years and years but I don't think it is the answer for us.
Keep in touch - I like to hear from you.

Gather ye roses

Things are moving along! The new well is in and producing water, we have our winter's supply of wood in the garage, and I am feeling much better. The weather has been very pleasant and the maple trees are in glorious color. I am reminded of an old poem that begins "Gather ye roses while ye may " which rather expresses my sentiments for this period of time. "Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think." Consider that I usually gaze out at the world through dark glasses, this is a new mood for me. Could it be that my mind-altering exercises are bearing fruit? Wouldn't that be pleasant"
We ate left-over chicken soup for dinner, and will have cookies for dessert later. Unless my husband makes pudding or something equally tasty. Now that Dr. Oz has proclaimed chocolate to be good for us, I no longer have to feel guilty when I eat it. He also urges us to eat sardines!
Well, I shall go and watch Mash on TV and catch Dr.. Oz at eight. Take care and keep in touch.

Dr. Oz

We have been watching a TV program called "Dr. Oz" which is very interesting. He extols the virtues of health-promoting foods, like sardines and dandelion greens, demonstrates exercises and encourages obese people to lose weight. Last night he featured a woman who lost 150 pounds and looked fabulous. Here in our time zone it comes on at 8 on channel 6.
I have been practising (or trying to practice) mind control. Since I am a worrier and obsessive compulsive, it makes sense that I could direct my thoughts into constructive channels. Since I have only now started this endeavor, I have no idea if it will help or not. I have my OCD under control pretty well, and no longer have to get up in the middle of the night to check on the water, heaters and doors. I check them before going to bed and that is it. That in itself is quite an accomplishment.
Flu has come to our little neighborhood, and I am glad I went and got the shot. One whole family is down with it.. Further up the street, the children have been found to have lice, which is an inconvenience but not as serious.
Well, maybe my blogs will become a kind of day-to-day journal that my descendants will read. I hope so. Bye for now.

I get the flu shot.

Off I went today to get my flu shot, not a big deal really as they were being given at the Safeway store in a nearby town. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt at all, and was paid for by Medicare. I had expected a line of people, but there were only two of us there, myself and a little old lady of 89. She was so lively and perky that I thought she was much younger. Then a stop at the mercantile store, crammed with every kind of article a person could wish for. Then back home, and a nice nap while my husband washed the windows.
Can it really be that Halloween is coming next week? We only get about twenty children each year, but it's fun to see their smiling faces. We still give out candy, though that practice is rather frowned upon these days.
Am I back to blogging again? I hope so. Take care and keep in touch.

thirteen steps

Thirteen Steps

My house sits atop a little hill, with a long stretch of forest leading down to a little stream. To get down to the bottom, one must wander down a little twisting path through redwoods and bracken. For the first time in three years, I walked down that little path yesterday and revisited scenes of the past.
Today I decide to repeat the experience.
To walk where I walk, one must carefully descend thirteen shallow steps of wood and gravel, holding carefully to a hand rail for balance. To the left, still blooming here and there, is a thicket of rambling roses, carefully tended by my husband. I stop to pull out a long strand of periwinkle which has entwined
itself into the bushes, and remember when we planted them so many years ago. We had no idea that they would grow so densely and so tall. To my right is another rose garden, and several rose trees still blooming.
But I have now reached the end of the steps, and I stand on a little flat area carpeted with dichondra and bordered by tall hydrangeas. Once upon a time we used it for a circular meditation walk, and I now circle it a couple of times, murmuring “Hari Om, Hari Om” softly to myself. But I still have a way to go.
The path turns to the right here, and becomes steeper and harder to traverse. Blackberry bushes have grown across the path and I have to be careful not to trip over them. Strands of spider webs brush across my face, and mosquitoes have discovered my presence. Over my head a squirrel chatters and blue jays squawk and hop from limb to limb of the redwood trees. I reach the wooden bench at the side of the path and decide to rest there and go the rest of the way another day.
As I sit there in the sun, I feel calm and rested. The air is warm and a little breeze stirs the branches of the trees. Myriads of insects are buzzing around and if I listen I can hear the barking of a dog in the distance and the answering bark of another off in the hills across the stream.
We had a dog once. She was a little Samoyed and we dearly loved her. She is buried in the pet graveyard just behind the bench where I am sitting, along with a couple of cats, a little canary and two pheasants. The pheasants were not pets. But they have a little plot in the graveyard nevertheless. I suppose there are more pets there, but I have forgotten now.
Just below the bench is the filled-in entrance to a mine shaft, rumored to be an old cinnabar mine. We were told that it was filled in to prevent children from crawling in and being injured or trapped by falling boulders. The story may or may not be true. It makes for a good tale, and I suppose we will never know the true story.
I sit so quietly that I begin to daydream. I am almost in a meditation mode, and my mind goes back to the old days when I used to attend the meditation seminars and study under Swami Chinmayananda at summer camps. Perhaps I fall asleep there in the sun, because I feel his presence beside me on the bench. “Swamiji,” someone asked him once. “Will you come back after you have passed on?” He laughed for a moment, slapping his thigh with his hand and jiggling his bare foot. “How should I know? Ask me that after I am dead.”
Was this his answer? Had he come back to me now after all of these years? I am struggling for an answer when a call from above rouses me from my reverie. “Lunch is on the table.” I struggle back up the path, leaving behind the ghostly presence of my long-ago guru.

Glad to be back

Aha! At last! I am back at my blog spot. It has been a long time. We finally pulled my computer out into the living room where it is more comfortable to work, and i can keep an eye on my cooking and so on. I can keep an eye out on all of the activities going on out in the street, and the humming birds at the feeder, and in general feel more a part of things. I celebrated my 87th birthday on the 25th of September, with a nice family party and fun with my wonderful little great-grandchild who is almost two, and going through new phases of develoopment on a daily basis. I wish I had known all the basics of child-raising when my children were babies. Actually, I wish I knew them now! It's a day-to-day process for us all.
I am continuing to improve in my walking ability, and can march around the house without even a cane, though I use one outside. Please welcome me back and keep in touch. I always love to hear from all of you.

A rare event

Hooray! i got onto my blogsite again! No doubt about, I could use a new computer. But could I learn to use it? That is the question!
We had some exciting weather a night or so ago, with a fierce lightning and thunder storm. It crackled across the sky, waking everyone up and starting small fires. This a rare occurence here in our part of the country, and brought back memories of storms in the midwest where I grew up. Although we have earthquakes here, we don't have the tornados, blizzards and flooding to contend with. Actually, I rather enjoyed the storm.
Otherwise, things have been very quiet. I am walking pretty well, with the help of a walker, and will probably walk a block or two this afternoon. In a couple of weeks, I will be eighty-seven years old. Time has flown by, and I am fortunate that my memory has remained clear. And doubly fortunate that we live in this beautiful spot. At one time, I wrote the story of my life. Maybe I will put some of it on my blog. But bye for now. Keep in touch.

In action again

Hi! Thanks, Anonymous, for your kind thoughts. i have indeed been a little distracted, maybe even a little depressed. And when I tried to respond with a comment of my own, my computer demanded that I register again. So i will just enter a new blog.
I am almost tempted to get myself a laptop computer, as this old one of mine is acting up and is just about ready for replacement.
We are enjoying my favorite time of year - warm weather and fronds falling from the redwoods, and the humming birds zooming in to drink from the feeder. yesterday one of them flew into something, and fell senseless to the decking, but after awhile, it regained consciousness and flew away.
On September First, I fell backward down into my family room, and was somewhat lame for awhile, but I am getting around very well now, so all is going well. I am going to get back on the track - I promise. Good-night and keep in touch.

I spilled coffee on the rug

Guess who dribbled coffee onto the clean rug? You guessed it - I did! But I moved fast and got it up with a damp rag. Of course, we have to walk on it and I know that sooner or later it will get walked on with muddy shoes, it simply can't be helped. We are enjoying its pristine appearance while it lasts.
Lovely warm weather up here this week. The cat flakes out on the deck in the sun, and the hummingbirds bombard each other, competing for the sugar water in the feeder. We can't believe how fast time is flying by. In no time at all, it will be time for the family reunion again, and in a way, I wish I could go. I will hear all about it from other members of the family who attend, and am looking forward to getting some pictures of the event. They all seem to have a good time there.
I got a notice in the mail telling about a town meeting in Larkspur concerning the Alexander Street bridge which is just a block from the house on Magnolia Avenue. I hope that they are able to repair it, rather than replace it. Generations of kids have played under it and walked over it, it would be a shame to demolish it.
Well, no momentous news today. I am walking better again and hope to soon get around with just my canes. All is well, good night all. Keep in touch.

A busy day

Well, we did another chore today - quite an arduous one, actually. We steam cleaned the carpet in the family room. We just bought a hoover steam cleaneer, and thought we could probably finish the job in a couple of hours, but it was far dirtier than we thought. But it looks just like new now. The owners manual says to go over it again with plain water to get all of the soap off, so tomorrow we will do that. It will be a lot easier than today's work, though. I couldn't do much of the hard work but I helped my husband fill the tank and empty out the dirty water, Glad that job is done.
It is 1:30 in the morning. I watched a Turner Classic movie, and am now ready to retire. Good night all. Keep in touch.

I sleep late.

Hi All! This morning I did something I have wanted to do all of my life - I stayed in bed until noon. I didn't sleep until noon, as i am not a good sleeper, but I didn't rise until noon. I drifted in and out of sleep and had some very vivid dreams about everything, most pleasant little interludes. Only when I smelled the fresh coffee my husband had made did I rise and find my way out to the kitchen. Maybe i will do this again - this could be a whole new way of life.
We are waiting for our electrician to come and attach a toggle switch to our hot water heater so we can shut it off during the peak hours of use, to save money on our electric bill, which has been ruinously high. Every so often we go on a savings spree, and try mightily to pare our expenses down to the minimum. We concentrate our efforts for about three days and then we relapse into our old ways. It does us good, we have always had a reckless attitude about money, anyway. But like I am fond of saying "You can't take it with you." (To which my husband responds, "Then I'm not going.") Like everything else, we never see eye to eye on any subject.
Anyway, life is going smoothly. We had a wonderful visit from my brother and my neice and hope we can get together sometime for a longer visit. October is a wonderful time here, with the wineries open for visiting and the leaves at their prettiest. We'll see, maybe we can lure them out here again. Bye! Keep in touch.

The luncheon

We had a fun day today, going to the salad luncheon put on by the ladies guild of St. Coleman's church. Since each of the dishes was a specialty of the contributor, we got to sample some very delicious food. Then there was the usual bingo games and the drawing of tickets for prizes. I won four fragrant candles and my husband won a hot pad for when he barbecues. We saw many faces we haven't seen for a long time, and all in all, had a fine time.
We are trying to follow the instructions of our doctor, but I am very much afraid my husband has broken the admonition to cease snacking. As soon as we got home from the luncheon he was at the cupboard to get cookies and milk. He couldn't possibly have been hungry - it is just habit.
Well, anyway, that is what we did today. Good night and keep in touch.

Dr. Gong

Hi. I tried to get on twitter, but without success. I will have to research a little more, i guess. I must have punched in the wrong information somehow.
We went into town for our meeting with our new doctor, Dr. Gong, and found him to be affable and thorough. His advice to me was to "walk, walk, walk" and to eat more, and my husband was advised to give up his late night snacks, and stop worrying about his cholesterol, which is perfect. We both had blood tests made and will have a follow up in another month. We got a ride with one of the volunteer drivers, a jolly and chatty fellow from England. He happily waited for us to be finished, a matter of three hours, and then brought us home. Altogether a profitable day.
I said we were finished with household chores, but I forgot that we should clean the rug in the family room. It is getting on my nerves and since Judy has a steam cleaner, there is really no excuse for letting it go. That will be next.
Midnight draws near - good night and keep in touch.

Another family project.

How time flies by. I had resolved to keep up with my blogging, but here it is, a week later, and i still haven't written a word. Of course, my life is so quiet and uneventful that I don't have much to write.
We did bestir ourselves yesterday, and emptied out our hot water heater and put in a new heating element, which turned out to be quite a task. For some reason, any time we attempt any kind of plumbing job, we turn into maniacs, arguing about what steps to take, calling each other names, and threatening all kinds of physical damage to each other. I have known plumbers who could cheerfully tackle the most odious of tasks. even singing a little ditty while cleaning out a clogged toilet or jammed garbage disposal. One plumber i know traded flirtatious repartee with female guests at a Thanksgiving dinner while clearing the kitchen sink and unclogging the drain. Not so with my husband and myself. We transform into snarling beasts.
The day started out in a tranquil fashion. My husband rose at 7:30 and attached the garden hose to the drainage faucet, as per instructions from the owners manual. He turned off the power, shut off the cold water line into the heater, and opened the faucet. A few drops trickled from the end of the hose. Then nothing at all. When I arose at 9:00 he was muttering to himself, shaking the hose, and shutting off and reopening the faucet. It had completely clogged up with lime deposit and there was no way to reopen it. After a few pithy remarks to each other, I sneaked off and called the help line for some advice. The technician was most helpful, advising me that there was no way to dislodge the lime buildup except by taking off the hose, jamming a thin piece of wire up into the faucet and wiggling it around until we have the line unclogged. I reported this information to my husband, and he reluctantly tried the system, with no result. Finally, to make a long story short, we took the faucet off and a stream of water shot out of the hole, reaching out to the edge of the patio, and allowing us to empty the tank. This could not have been done if the heater had been installed inside the house, but luckily it worked for us. After the tank was empty, we installed a new heating element, and the job was done, seven hours after it had been started. Of course, we immediately forgot all of the rude things we had said to each other, and were inordinately proud of ourselves for completing another task.
Why don't we simply call in a professional to do these things? I wish I knew. Anyway, that is the latest from our household. We have no more projects planned. It's going to be a slow, lazy summer. Take care, keep in touch.

Not much happening

Aha! Here I am again. Nothing too exciting happened today. My husband and I are listening to a book disc titled "Blood From a Stone" but I am afraid I am a little too restless to listen for hours as he can, so I sneaked off to my computer and will join him again later. His power of concentration is better than mine.
He just stuck his head in the door of my room and said "It's getting exciting." Maybe I better join him and get in on the action. Let's see what happens tomorrow.

A trip into the past

Thank goodness, I can type again. With difficulty, it is true, but i can do it, neverthless. I have just about recovered from my last fall, and the last of the bruise marks are slowly fading. Believe me, i walk carefully now!
Yesterday we took a lovely little day trip to the beautiful city of Petaluma, where we took a walking tour of many Victorian houses, some restored and some just as they were when they were built in the 1860's. The yards were gorgeous, with roses, hydrangeas, dahlias and many other varieties of flowers in full bloom. I rode in style in my wheelchair, pushed by my husband. A visit to the museum completed a very enjoyable day.
My husband and I declared a moratorium on TV but being of weak will, it is back on again. We simply could not stand any more coverage of Michael Jackson's death and the programs we have been watching are mostly reruns. He has an old American Classic movie on, but I retired to my computer. I promise, i will try to keep up my blogging more frequently, it is supposed to be a sort of journal of my life. So take care, I like to think of all of you reading my efforts, good or bad, and thinking of me.

Any excuse is better than none

I have prepared no essay or memoir today. The reason will be apparent after you hear my story of our activities this morning. To that end I will present a little drama.

Scene one:

Husband, sitting in front of wall heater in family room, speaks .
“Look at this! I’m going to have to take this thing apart. It’s full of hair and dirt!”
Wife looks but does not reply.
Husband: “I told you this heater was a piece of s---t. Look how the screws are set into the inner frame. There’s not one set in straight.”
Wife looks but does not reply.
Husband dismantles the heater, which is indeed full of cat hairs and dust. In taking out the screws husband drops one which falls down behind the wall paneling and cannot be retrieved.
Husband: “Go out to the tool room and find one that matches the others. Be sure it will fit.”
Wife goes but does not reply.
Wife returns,
Husband, looking at the screw: “ You brought a wood screw. These are metal screws. See if you can find a metal one. Make sure it fits.”
Wife goes back out and returns with screw that will fit.

Scene two:
Husband : “Well, I got it cleaned out. Let’s put the @#%#@ thing together again.”
Husband tries to fit the heating element into the wall bracket, has trouble and drops it onto the floor.
Husband: “How much did we pay for this heater anyway?”
Wife: “Four hundred dollars.”
Husband: “ We got gypped. It’s not worth it. Who did we buy it from anyway?”
Wife: “I’ll have to look it up. Do you need to know now?”
Husband: “Of course I don’t need to know now. “
Wife: “Then why did you ask?”

And so it went for another hour or so. We finally got the thing back together, and that is why I have nothing written for today's blog.

The time my father went to prison

Well, it wasn't prison, exactly. It was a little jail down in the basement of the courthouse. It consisted of two small cells and a little bathroom. If a prisoner wanted to go to the bathroom, he had to summon the guard, who let him out and locked him back in when he was done. The sheriff's wife brought in three meals a day, and the beds weren't bad. Things could have been worse.

My father was incarcerated for killing a deer. Times were hard, deer were plentiful and many a man supplemented his food supply with an illegally killed buck. It was illegal because there was a law which prohibited killing a deer except during deer season, between November 10 and November 30. But the deer were a nuisance, eating the corn crop and trampling around in the potato patch and who could blame a man for protecting his crops?

As a little background history, the law had been in effect only about five years. The game warden knew how it was, and looked the other way if he was forced by circumstances to acknowledge that a deer had been killed. It was rumored that he himself was partial to venison, and didn't look askance on the gift of a chunk of deer meat once in awhile.

Then a new game warden roared into town, and all was changed. First he got old Gus Martin, caught carrying a deer out of the woods. The deer was all dressed out and ready to cut into portions. Into the bed of the warden's truck it went, and Gus was given a choice. Pay the hundred dollar fine, or go to the pokey. Gus paid. Then old Mr. Collins was nabbed, and not having any money for the fine, off he went to jail. He pled guilty, and was given a sentence of ten days, but the poor old man was so sick that they took him back home.

My father was of sterner stuff. When the game warden came upon him skinning out a deer, he was polite but held his ground. The warden sneaked up on him and accosted him with a demand to hand over his gun.

"Can't do that," said my father. "My gun's back at the house. I shot the deer from the back door. This is my property and the deer was in the corn field. I had to kill it. It was ruining the crop."

"Are you saying you are refusing to pay the fine? You pay a hundred dollars and turn over the deer. It's the only sensible thing to do. Then we forget all about it. It will never go on your record."

Such chiccanery went against the grain in more ways than one. My father dug in his heels and opted for the hard road.

"Let me tell my wife, and get some clean clothes." he said. "The hired hand will take care of the stock. You can put me in jail if you want to. I demand a triaL"

The game warden was in a hard place. He wanted the hundred dollars and he definitely did not want a trial. Most of the jury would be deer hunters themselves, and would let my father off. Besides, it was expensive to hold a trial, and it would further run up the bill if they had to keep someone in jail, eating free meals and laying around reading books and magazines. But he had no choice. Off they went to tell my mother and take the thirty mile trip up to the county seat. The deer was left in the woods and I suppose some neighbor came and got it.

It caused quite a stir. My aunt, who lived not far from the jail, heard about it by way of a phone call from my Uncle Juel, and rushed over with a tin of homemade soup and the wherewithal to bail him out. She cried, pledged her help, and they had a nice visit together. My father announced his satisfaction with the accommodations and said he and his cellmate were getting along fine.

"This is just like home," he announced. "the food is great and i have a couple of good magazines, and I've learned a couple of card games. I'll stay here. You could call old Bob LaFollette for me, though. I'm going to trial and he'll represent me."

Bob LaFollette was a former member of the Legislature and a great friend of my grandpa. He accepted the case pro bono and wasted no time. He had a plan and thought the prospects of an acquittal were good.

Trial was set in a speedy fashion, as it cost money to keep a man in jail. It cost money to have a trial, too, and the parties involved in the mattef were all aware of that. So the trial would commence in just a couple of days.

Friends and relatives flocked to see the big event. My sister and I went up with a neighbor, wearing our new flowered dresses with the cape sleeves. My mother didn't go, but my Aunt Emma, she of the soft heart, came. My sister and my Aunt Emma both cried. I thought it was a great adventure.

This took place in the darkest days of the depression, around 1936 or so, and the courtroom was a shabby, dusty room with benches for the spectators. My father was sitting in a chair next to the judge's bench, wearing a clean pair of overalls and a white shirt. I remember that there was a young district attorney, wearing a cheap suit. The judge looked around and then tapped his pencil on his desk and looked at the wall clock and sighed. My father's attorney was nowhere in sight. "Well, Mr. Pettis, are you representing yourself or what? Where is your counsellor?"

At that moment, there was a bustle at the door, and old Bob LaFollette hustled in. He was rumpled and perspiring, and his bushy hair stood up all over his head. "Sorry, your honor," he wheezed. "We are ready to proceed."
No time was wasted. "How does your client plead?" The judge asked the attorney.
"Not guilty, on account of extenuating circumstances, your honor." "What extenuating circumstances?"
"The deer was threatening my client's corn crop. Not to mention the garden and the potato field. He did the only thing he could do, your honor. He shot it and freely admits to the fact."

"What happened to the deer?" this was a valid question and I had been wondering about it myself. "We have no idea, your honor," answered old Bob, and he smiled at the jury.

Clearly, my father had broken the law. It was in May or June, a far cry from November. But Bob LaFollette and my father relied on the jury to be sympathetic. They found him guilty.

The rest of the story is anticlimactic. The judge offered my father the chance to pay the fine and he refused. He declared himself ready to enjoy ten days of good food and rest. This put the judge in a quandary. He really had spent enough money already and didn't fancy feeding and lodging a man who represented no threat to anyone. Old Bob LaFollette was equal to the occasion. Stepping up to the banch, he made a suggestion. The judge's eyes lit up and he grinned a broad grin.

"Mr. Pettis, approach the bench so that I may pronounce sentence," he intoned. "You have been found guilty. For the record, I sentence you to ten days in our jail. However, in view of the circumstances, I am suspending sentence. You are free to go." He went out of the room, slamming the door behind him. My father, now a free man, had no choice but to go on home.

This wasn't the only time my father was arrested. But that is another story.

Lost in the clothes hamper

I used to write stories for my grandson and send them to him in the form of a letter. I dug this one up when going through some old papers, and thought it would make a good blog.

Dear Grandson,
I sat down to write a story, and as I stared helplessly at my typewriter, and it stared back at me, I realized that I hadn't seen those little pretend people all day. I hadn't seen them yesterday, either. Where were they? I looked under the bed and under the sofa and chairs, but no one was there. I got worried. I even went out into the cold night and looked under the bushes and went up and down the rows of rose bushes, calling out to them in a loud voice. "Where are you, little people?" No answer. A man was walking his dog and looked at me very strangely, but I didn't care. All I could think of was how cold it was, and how those poor little people were lost out there.
But maybe they were inside and hiding from me. I went back in. I looked everywhere. I began to get angry. "You come out this very minute. Stop fooling around!" I yelled. I made Grandpa look too. Then I sat down on the edge of the bed and thought very hard. I thought so hard that my hair stood on end. My ears twitched. My nose wiggled. And I remembered something! "Oh, oh" I said to myself. "You changed the sheets and pillowcases on this bed yesterday. Then you threw everything into the clothes hamper. Look in there."
I went into the bathroom and carefully lifted the lid on the hamper. A dirty face cloth flew out and landed on my head. A handkerchief flew out and landed on the floor. Out came a towel and a pair of socks. Those little people were in there and they were so angry they were throwing everything out. "Stop, stop," I said. "How did you get in there?" At first they were so angry they talked in little people talk. "'grpplmn! Admtffr! Gillpogner!" I couldn't understand a word they said But then they let me help them out and onto my bed. "We were in the bed when you yanked off the sheets and blankets," they said. "You threw all of us into the hamper. We are so hungry we could eat a dirty sock!" They looked at me for a minute, and then I knew what to do. I went to the kitchen and brought some cookies and an apple. They gobbled the cookies and apple down, and then, because they were so tired, they curled up on my bed and fell asleep. Next time I change the sheets I will look very carefully before I put them in the hamper. I looked again at the little people sleeping on my bed. Each one had a big smile on its face.

The good and the bad

The last couple of days have been full of little events, some good and some bad. Yesterday was notable for the fact that I left my husband to prepare dinner, and he burned it to a crisp. I had gone to work on my computer and i was alerted to a problem by the beeping of the smoke alarm. This is hardly a new event in my house, but when the din was enlarged by a series of dismayed shrieks from my husband, I knew we were in trouble. A hurried scurry into the kitchen revealed that the endire skillet of chicken and vegetables had been reduced to charred ruins. i had prepared rice earlier so we had rice for dinner. My husband is a chronic multitasker and he had gone off to do laundry while the food was cooking. When will I ever learn?
this morning was notable by the sky diving event performed by George G. W. Bush. He looked pretty good coming down but when he limped away, I could see that age has taken its toll. Barbara, however, looked great.
We spent most of the rest of the day listening to a book tape: "My Cousin Rachel." I had read it a long time ago, but it was fun to just relax and enjoy it once again.
One final event to round out the day - my $19.95 hearing aid, advertised over and over again on TV, came with the afternoon mail. Actually, it cost $50.00 when all was done, as i got the battery charger as well. It was a good thing that I did, as the battery ran down after only thirty minutes. It is not particularly bell-toned, and i found that it irritated my ear, but my husband had been urging me to order it.
Well, I am feeling a little better each day, and hope to be back to my normal self soon. Bye, all. Keep in touch.

This and that

@!!###@@!!! I am back on my walker again. That's what I get for bragging about using my cane. No, I didn't stumble or fall - I just can't walk well. One leg keeps buckling under me. The walker helps, though.
We got busy today and sawed out two boards to use in the bathroom for baseboards, and gave them couple coats of paint and tomorrow we will glue them in place, then all we have to do is put a line of grout down in front of the tub, in case water gets spilled. Things are moving along.
We had a little red fox in our driveway yesterday. He had been at the neighbors house, eating out of the cat dish on the deck, and then came over to us. He didn't come in, though, but went on down to the house next to us. He looked like a baby to us, maybe his mother has decided to wean him.
We had soup and toasted cheese sandwiches for dinner, my favorite food. Now we are going to listen to a book tape in front of the wood stove. Kaya keeps going in there and flopping down in front of it, so we'll give her a treat.
Our next-door neighbors are grandparents now - their first grandchild. We got the news from Doris. A little girl.
Well, goodnight all. Keep in touch.

The Big Race

What a pleasant day! We watched the Belmont races most of the day, of course hoping that Mine the Bird would win, and disappointed when he only came in third. It was fun, though, and restful, as I reclined on the sofa most of the time when I watched. I try to watch all of the big races, and don't usually forget. My neighbor watches, too, and makes sure I remember.
We chanced upon a program featuring the big bands of the thirties and forties, and had fun watching for a couple of hours. It is after ten now, and my bed is calling me. I have it all fixed up with warm blankets and a radio at hand so I can listen to Coast to Coast until I fall asleep.
I am going to try to write every night, as in a journal, to keep a kind of history of my life from now on. Let's see how well I keep my resolve! Bye.

Getting better

Hooray! I must be getting better! I swiffered the floors, did laundry and cooked dinner today. That's progress. I hate to be laid up and have to talk my husband into doing these tasks, because he makes such a fuss, wanting me to appreciate how put upon he is. The fact that i do them every day without even thinking about it doesn't count. He wants praise and recognition.
It will be interesting to follow my progress down through the years. I wonder if my readers will recognize approaching dementia when it comes, or if I will be able to carry on right to the end? Physical disability I can handle, but mental disability is something else.
I will admit that I made a mistake in my checking account, putting down a deposit as being $250. rather that $450. It was a pleasant surprise to find that I had more money than I thought. I can live with that. Well, this will be a short blog - take care. Goodnight to all.

Good news and bad

First, the good news. We finally got the bathroom floor finished. My husband put down a sheet of plywood, glued a piece of llinoleum down on top, and eased the toilet bowl down onto a new wax ring. it looks very elegant and am I ever glad that job is finished.
Now, the bad news. The very next day, after we did the floor, I fell down the step from the living room into the family room, and spent the next three or four days in bed while I recovered. I graduated to a wheel chair, then a walker, and now I am shuffling around with a cane. Thank goodness i can get around now, as my husband was getting tired of having to go back and forth fetching things for me. Since he is a dedicated multi-tasker, sometimes it took him quite a while to get back to me. I really have resolved to be more careful in future.
Also, we signed the papers to modify our mortgage terms, lowering the interest rate. I figured, why not? It only took our signatures and the deed was done.
Now, we hope that all will go serenely for awhile. The roses are in full bloom and the hydrangeas are showing color, and though we don't garden like we used to, it looks pretty nevertheless. So bye for now, and take care. I hope to hear from you.

What's Wrong With this Picture?

I came upon this little essay from the past but thought it might be amusing still.

I surfed the channels of my television set, and chanced upon “sesame Street”, that long-time favorite of children everywhere. I watched for a few minutes, but something intruded upon my meditations. Something was wrong. These characters badly needed psychiatric profiling.
What, you exclaim. How dare you assail these wholesome little characters? How un-American can you be?
But think for a moment. How about the Count? He counts everything. He can’t stop. He is an obsessive-compulsive counter. It dominates his every moment. Paxl might help him, but there is no one on the program to prescribe it.
Let us take a closer look at each of the puppets. Cookie Monster eats every cookie he can get his hands on. He never gets enough. Clearly he is addicted to cookies. Grouch hides from the world and is so irritable and mean-spirited that no one will have anything to do with him. He is an agoraphobic with violent tendencies, perhaps schizophrenic as well. Maybe prozac would help, but maybe not. Poor little big bird is amply endowed physically but he is quite retarded and there is really nothing that can be done with him.
I come now to a character that defies description, namely snuffaluffagus! What is he? He is harmless enough, being sweet-tempered and friendly. He seems to be a leftover byproduct of some gene-altering experiment.
I hesitate to bring up Bert and Ernie, lest I be judged to be homophobic. But the evidence is quite clear. They live together, sharing the same bed, and Bert dominates Ernie and makes him do the housework. I will leave it to the reader to draw his or her own conclusion. Jerry Falwell might have a few words to say on the subject. He certainly had an opinion on the poor little purple teletubby with the purse.
Are we going to let this disgraceful display continue? Are we going to let these retards, psychos, freaks and homos continue to pollute the minds and hearts of our innocent little children, not to mention the adults who watch with them? Let us join with Jerry Falwell and save the children all over the world by putting this show off the channel and closing it down forever.

Now it can be told, continued

Back at the base, things went on pretty much as before, except that now and then we were given leave to go to Washington, D.C. and go we did. I remember the many monuments, museums, parks and especially the cherry trees in blossom. I wandered down the aisles of trees, enjoying the aroma of the blossoms, and felt that I was in another world. The air was warm and balmy, and except for the swarms of pigeons flying around and threatening to bombard us all was peaceful and serene. Of course we could only get a few hours of leave and had to be back promptly but we appreciated every moment of freedom.
Until the actual moment when the atom bomb was dropped, no one at Arlington Hall knew of its existence. Nicknamed “Little Boy”, even Harry Truman was kept in the dark until he assumed the office of president. On August 6, l945, the bomb was dropped, the world changed forever, and the war was over. By the end of August I was in Dallas, Texas and another adventure loomed before me. But that is another story.
Prologue
Thousands of women helped to win World War II through their cryptologic efforts. Few will know the significance of their contribution or of the lives they helped save. Although women have long been a part of cryptologic history, even before the Second World War, the presence of servicewomen in cryptology allowed others to follow. Their dedication and abilities proved, to more than one doubting male commander, that women could more than adequately do this exacting, detailed, and important work. They left behind a strong legacy, allowing thousands of women to follow in their footsteps. These women played vital roles throughout the Cold War era and will continue to bring their talents, skills, and abilities to cryptology, one of the nation's most secret sciences.

From Jennifer Wilcox, in
Sharing the Burden, 1998

Google: Sharing the Burden: Women in cryptology during World War 11.

Now it can be told continued

I got down to Arlington Hall in July of 1944 and had served there for almost ten months, never having gotten off the base. Then, on April 12, l945, our president, Franklin D. Roosevelt, suffered a brain hemorrhage and died a short time later. His body was shipped by train to Washington, D.C. and our unit was allowed to go to the Capitol to see the funeral parade.
I will never forget that day. It was a fairly warm day, but a slow and steady drizzle fell, and the funeral procession moved slowly past the spectators, most of whom were in tears. Eleanor Roosevelt rode in an open vehicle with no veil, her face composed and sad. She looked to neither left nor right, and sat alone in quiet dignity.
I remember the crushing sadness of the spectators. There is nothing so solemn as a funeral procession, with its muffled drums and slow cadence. There was no music, and the muted footsteps of the marchers was the only sound heard as the slow procession passed by. For once I recognized the unfolding of an historic event. An era had passed by, and such a one as our dead president would never come again.
We returned to the base, chastened and sobered by the events of the day. We knew of course that the vice-president, a modest and little –known fellow named Harry Truman, had been sworn in. What we didn’t know was that he would prove to be a fearless and far-seeing leader, destined by fate to make one of the most difficult decisions ever to fall to the lot of a president. He decided to drop the atom bomb and forever changed the world.

Now it can be told (continued)

From the point of view of the men, this was an ideal assignment. From the vantage point of our guarded and secure position, they could follow the progress of the war, safe from combat on the beaches of Iwo Jima and the hedges of Normandy and Germany. Everything was provided for us, from food, shelter and clothing, to recreation and stimulation. There was a theater, mess hall, recreation room, base exchange – we never felt the need to go off base. Periodically we were called to assembly and told how important we were to the war effort. As I said, this was an ideal assignment.
The barracks were partitioned off into cubicles, each cubicle containing two beds and facilities for hanging our uniforms and personal items. At the foot of the bed was a foot locker, with certain specified items packed just so according to regulations. These were opened during inspection, and if we were found to be derelict in our presentation, we were given a demerit and made to do some extra duty around the base. One time my bed wasn’t made tight enough and I was given the task of washing the windows of the library. It was the only demerit I remember getting and I can’t remember actually doing it.
The assignment of cubicle mates was of vital importance. We had no choice in the matter, and I was lucky enough to have one with whom I was fairly compatible. She was a brash, sophisticated woman from Brooklyn, and at about 32 or 33 seemed quite old to me. Sensing my naïve approach to life, she attempted to indoctrinate me into the basics of living in which she felt I was deficient. She had a tattoo on her thigh, and dyed her hair jet black. She made no claim to high moral standards, but since there was little opportunity for hanky-panky, her influence was fairly benign. We had no privacy whatever, and if someone wanted to set up a liaison with someone of the opposite sex, they would have been immediately discovered and routed out. The men were vastly outnumbered by the women, anyway. There wouldn’t have been enough of them to go around.

Now it can be told, continued

Arlington Hall was a secret base. No one was allowed out and only certified people could come in. After we were assigned our quarters, in one of the three or four barracks lined up on the road, we quickly settled into the routine of the base. I was disappointed that our little quartet was separated and sent to different barracks, but we saw each other in training and there were plenty of opportunities to socialize in the theatre, library or recreational hall. We started our training almost immediately, and I remember developing a certain fondness for the big IBM machines, each with a placard attached which admonished us to THINK. With the exception of the sorter, the guiding force of each machine was a wiring board. A large, heavy frame with various wires plugged into holes in a grid, the wiring board could be altered to conform to whatever direction the operator wished it to follow.
To my surprise, I actually learned to wire the board. I had expected to be somewhat retarded since I had done so poorly in the mechanics aptitude test, but I think I only trained for a couple of weeks before I got my own unit and went to work.
It was none too soon. The training was done in the daytime, and I had been assigned to a barracks where everyone worked from midnight to eight in the morning. The “graveyard” shift. It didn’t lend itself to any kind of restful sleep. But as soon as I started to work, I fit right in.
In some convoluted twist of judgment from the powers that be, we worked rotating shifts. We never got used to any one sleeping pattern, and wandered through the days half asleep and out of sync. The machines were kept going twenty-four hours and were only shut down when the punch cards jammed up and the reproducer or collator had to be dismantled and the damaged cards removed.

The work was hard, but if one had the unit running smoothly and the cards didn’t jam up, it was possible to keep one eye on the machines and still manage to read or study. I took a couple of classes in my off-duty hours and sometimes studied while I worked. The reproducer was the problem machine, and if the cards jammed there was nothing to be done but to dismantle the thing, drag up the wiring board, and delve into the greasy depths for the mangled cards. My unit was set up with a sorter, reproducer, collator and printer. They ran independently of each other, but if one stopped and no more cards could be processed, the whole unit was held up. It was troublesome but we were all in the same boat together. Since the weather was muggy and warm, the cards often stuck together, warped or refused to move smoothly through the machine. We joked that we were fighting the battle of the IBM cards.

Now it can be told continued

I don’t think I slept at all. Morning finally came, and we at last found out where we were. The sign in the station said “Washington D.C.” and to our delight, we realized that we were to debark. Stumbling down the little steps to the platform, we were a bedraggled and grimy sight. Being herded onto a covered troop truck, along with our duffel bags and once again a sergeant, didn’t help a bit. Even Prima Donna had slipped from her usual standards and had managed to put on fresh lipstick, but her immaculate hair-do was lacking its usual array. But she didn’t seem to care, probably too tired to rally. Sad Sack had of course come completely apart and I wasn’t much better. We slumped down on the wooden benches arrayed at the sides of the truck, and rattled off, once again.
We didn’t go very far. In probably a quarter of an hour, the truck turned off the main thoroughfare and headed down a narrower street, past an imposing brick building with a sign in front that said “Arlington Hall.” I felt a jolt of hope, thinking that perhaps we were going to be stationed here, in some sort of college or training institution. Of all the possibilities open to us, this would have been my choice. I hadn’t enjoyed teaching school for the two years I had been in practice but this wouldn’t be bad! I could get used to this.
No, we didn’t stop there either. Down we went, the street getting narrower and dustier, down into a forest of pines at the bottom of a shallow hill. And there, in front of a high security fence, guarded by a soldier in full regalia, the truck stopped and our rumpled and exhausted group scrambled out. My thoughts were not of the most logical – all I could think of was prison. We were going to be incarcerated. What in God’s name had we done?
The sergeant presented our papers, and we were waved into the inner sanctum of an army base, spread out before our amazed eyes, neat and tidy.

From our vantage point, it looked like a model of an army base, with barracks arrayed on each side of the street, and with a church and library down at the end. The buildings were of wood, unpainted, but looking quite new. There were little lawns of green grass out in the front, and numbers of soldiers going to and fro from the various buildings, all in summer fatigues and all seemingly in a hurry.
The sergeant ushered us into a small building off to one side of the street and we were once more lined up in a row. A stern looking Captain sat behind a desk and wasted no time on us. “You are in the 2nd Signal Service Battalion,” he began. “It is a unit of the Signals Intelligence Service, and you are in the United States Army codebreaking devision. It is so secret that outside the office of the Chief Signal Officer, it does not exist.”
We listened open-mouthed while he instructed us to raise our right hands and swear ourselves to eternal secrecy. The penalty for discussing the work outside of approved channels could be death, as it was considered an act of treason during a time of war. The watchword was “don’t talk.” We were informed that no one was to know of our work. Anyone caught discussing it would be treated as a spy and shot.
I kept my oath. Down through the years I often remembered my service in that self-contained base, and felt proud that out of all of the privates who went through basic training only four of us were deemed worthy of this assignment. I wished I could have bragged a little to my family and especially reassured my mother that I had kept the faith and remained a virtuous woman. But as time went on, I almost forgot my experience. I consigned it to the remote and distant past. Until now. Now I will tell all.

Now it can be told, continued

My gloomy reverie was broken by the sound of a jeep rattling to a stop in front of us. A tanned sergeant in fatigues was at the wheel. She barked just one command, “Get in!” and we scrambled over the side bars and settled into the seats. Another sergeant appeared from somewhere and handed her a large envelope, containing our orders, which we still had not seen. To tell the truth, we never did see them. They remained a mystery until I found my secret war story on Google, and decided now was the time to tell all.
But not quite yet. All in good time.
The jeep rattled along, stirring up dust and making a good bit of noise. Sad Sack, in the front seat, was buffeted about by the wind we were riding into, and began to come undone. First her hat fell off, luckily caught by the private just behind her. Her bright red hair, always hard to contain, simply fell out of its bun and dangled down to her collar. Her tie came out of her shirt and dangled down her chest. Only a few minutes out of the compound and she was already out of uniform!
Prima Donna, on the other hand, was the picture of perfection. Not a hair was out of place. Her makeup was perfectly applied and she rode with a scented handkerchief to her face, to screen out any unpleasant odors or dust. How she did it I will never know.
As for me, I began to enjoy the ride. We were getting dusty, to be sure, and my allergies were going full blast, but we were clearly going toward some town somewhere, and I hoped we would have the pleasure of an overnight trip on a train. I hadn’t yet learned that riding a train during wartime was an ordeal, rather than an adventure. I began to cheer up. I ventured a smile toward my seat partner, and realized with a start, that we were all redheads! Was that it? Had we been picked because we all shared the same hair color? I had been suspicious of Prlma Donna, thinking that her hair color was too good to be true, but perhaps I had been unkind. But what did it mean? There weren’t that many redheaded women in basic training. Could it be just a coincidence that we were all squeezed together into this jeep bouncing along to some unknown place? Or were we really victims of a cruel fate?
Oh well, time would tell. Maybe more than we wanted to know. But as they say in novels, the die was cast! No turning back now, we were on our way.
It wasn’t long before we reached the train station, and were hustled onto a clanking old passenger train, what was known in those days as a “milk train.” It stopped at all whistle-stop stations and waited there, belching black smoke and cinders, and then with a whistle, chugged forward once again. We did not get sleepers. We were squeezed into hard, crowded seats where we sat all through the long night, now and then dozing where we sat. Most of the other passengers were civilians, who cast suspicious glances our way, obviously thinking the worst. We were escorted by another sergeant, as before, and got bologna sandwiches for dinner. Stale and dry, they were hardly gourmet fare. But if you are hungry, just about anything tastes good. Or so they say.

Time passed and as I said, we found ourselves being given a battery of tests to see which category best fitted our talents. I am sure I got the lowest possible score in the mechanical and carpentry series. Some of my fellow recruits actually found a niche in the motor pool and some went into clerical and cooking positions. But I still had not been placed and went on and on doing my best while not knowing what I was doing. Actually, I rather enjoyed the interlude. Since there were very few of us left in the barracks, we no longer stood inspection, nor did we do barrack duty. I like to take tests and moved right along, enjoying myself. Every day a list was posted on the bulletin board and we all rushed to see if our names and destinations were displayed. Finally my name appeared, along with Sad Sack, the Prima Donna and one other soldier from another barracks. Our category – signal corps. Our destination – not listed. There were four of us and we still didn’t know where we were going or what we were going to do when we got there.
We were the last out of the barracks. With great trepidation we stuffed our things into our bags, put on our dress uniforms, tied our ties and waited outside the barracks for our transportation. Sad Sack Cupcake was her usual calm, cheerful self, rosy face all smiles. Prima Donna was aloof as always. Our fellow traveler from the other barracks was a friendly little extravert, and introduced herself readily. I no longer remember her name, but she seemed ready for anything.
I tried to hide my apprehension under a calm exterior. Laughing on the outside, cringing on the inside. That was me. I don’t know what I expected, but my Mother’s warning still rang in my ears. We were going to be humiliated and used for the amusement and gratification of the soldiers at some unnamed base. Signal Corps, indeed! I knew nothing about radios, Morse code, secret messages, how could they possibly use us in the Signal Corps. I knew from my brother’s experience how hard Morse Code was to master - God forbid that I was going to be trained in that!
I scanned the faces of my fellow travelers, but they gave no clue as to their innermost thoughts. But I cheered myself up by thinking that we hardly fit the stereotype of a prostitute or mistress. Poor lumpy Sad Sack was already rumpled and disheveled. Prima Donna would never stand for such a fate. I, at a scrawny 105 pounds could hardly be considered alluring. No, perish the thought, that was not to be our fate. But where in the world were we going, then?

Now it can be told, continued

We pulled K.P. duty as part of our training, and the one time I got called, I luckily was assigned to set up the tables and put out the dishes for the noon meal. The food was hearty and good, although I got tired of grits and bacon. We were down South, remember, and we got a good many meals of ham and baked beans, as well as hominy and corn bread. I can’t say I ever went hungry because we were fed very well. The cooks were women and did a commendable job of feeding large numbers of recruits.

Remembering basic training, I am reminded of the refrain from a prayer: “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.” It never changes, from one generation to another. Suffice it to say, if you have experienced it, you know what it was like. If you haven’t, you don’t need to know. It was what one made of it, like all experiences in life. I rather enjoyed it, myself.
I need to dwell a while on memories of two of my barracks mates, however, because they are important to my story. One was unique in that she could never get anything right. Invariably upbeat and happy-go-lucky, her shoes were never tied correctly, she couldn’t get her tie straight, and accepted her many demerits with cheerful good grace. A chubby, even lumpy figure, she was always disheveled and her bed and area never met inspection. We of course nicknamed her “sad-sack” and tried our best to help her out however we could. She got more demerits than anyone else and we were worried that she might be washed out of basic training.
Another recruit in my barracks was perfection itself. She invariably passed inspection with flying colors. She didn’t get a nickname, and was hardly visible at all, being always aloof. I thought of her as a prima donna, and naturally envied her because she was so attractive, and because she was always held up as an example to poor Sad-Sack.
I myself was neither very good nor very bad. I fitted in and made friends with some of the privates around me, and managed to pass most of the physical tests. Time flew by and before we knew it we were being given a battery of tests to determine which niche we best fitted in. I had almost forgotten my mother’s dire prediction about sex slaves, and looked forward to learning of my fate. I still had no inkling of the turn my life would take and of the story I am still withholding from my readers. In due time you will hear of my participation in one of the greatest secrets of all history!

Now it can be told continued

We were instructed on how to reach the latrine, or bathroom. Go out the door at the end of the room, walk down the covered catwalk, and enter the next building, which contained commodes and showers. Contained therein were facilities for doing laundry and some electric irons which were quite wisely held safe from pilfering by being clipped onto chains. For me the opportunity to visit the latrine came none too soon. I had been in a state of panic for almost the whole time we had been there, and I availed myself of the opportunity with all haste. Most of the other women in the group hurried down the catwalk with me, as well, all shyness and modesty forgotten in our need.
We had no time to look around, because at that moment the sound of a shrill whistle split the air, and we heard the now-familiar yell of “Form up in twos!” and we ran back up the catwalk and did as directed. Once again, we were checked off on the sergeant’s ever-present clipboard, and once again we cried out “Here,” to signify our presence. There were about thirty lined up in a ragged row. I was beginning to be hungry, and wondered if we were going to be marched off to the mess hall. Army food is reputed to be universally unappetizing and I hoped I would be able to eat it. I glanced down the room to where a large round clock hung on the wall. To my surprise it was only 10:55 and we were obviously not going to eat anytime soon. Where were we going then?
Of course, in due time, we found out. Down we went to the supply warehouse and were measured and fitted out with our summer uniforms. If memory serves me correctly, we were given every item we needed to clothe our bodies, from top to bottom. Khaki girdles, khaki underwear, everything was army issue and we bade goodbye to our feminine civilian wear. Where it went I will never know, but we saw it no more. We went back to the barracks and put on our outfits, and practiced tying our ties. We were in the army and might as well get used to it.
Fort Oglethorpe was a sprawling old army post, destined to close down when the war ended. It was the training ground for only women recruits, and not a man was to be seen anywhere, except for the prisoners of war who were brought in by trucks, and did maintenance work here and there. I remember particularly that they collected the garbage cans and cleaned the grease trap in the mess hall. Under guard at all times, they were well behaved and looked well fed and clothed. Many of them chose to stay in the United States after the war ended, and they proved to be good citizens and some became quite well-to-do in various professions.

Now it can be told, continued

Boot Camp
We reached our destination – Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. Once again we were herded along, straggling as best we could in columns of two. It was a bustling place, with a couple of companies marching in formation over the parade ground. The recruits were all in summer khaki uniforms, and I was heartened to see how fit and well fitted out they seemed. We didn’t get much chance to gawk around, though. We were hustled into a large, old building that clearly was to be our home for the next four weeks, our barracks. The entire room was filled with two-tiered beds, most of which were already occupied. We were given the last beds down at the end of the room and once again, told to wait. Now we knew what that meant. We sat down on any available bed and waited. And waited. And waited.
Fort Oglethorpe was founded in 1902 and had been active ever since. It was to be a training base for the next two years, and in 1946 was closed down for good. It was not the lush, green land I had expected, having read “Gone With the Wind”, but instead a dusty, weed-swept area where my allergies blossomed in full force. Dry, dusty, wind-swept, and enclosing rows of unpainted, run-down wooden buildings, it resembled a frontier fort, which indeed it was. I looked around while we waited, scanning the interior of the long, bare room with its rows of beds, and wondered what I had gotten myself into.
The room, though containing only beds, seemed crowded. I suppose there was room for about forty recruits, though now I don’t remember exactly how many there were. The beds were double tiered, what today would be called bunk beds. The floors were unfinished wood, but clean and well scrubbed. Later I found out why everything looked so tidy.
While we waited, another group of enlistees entered the barracks, and we were all lined up again, our names were read from a list, and we answered “Here”. The sergeant, a different one this time, seemed a bit more inclined to view us as human beings, and actually seemed amused at our appearance. “You will take the bed to which you are assigned,” she announced. “You will not be able to exchange it for another. No arguing. That’s the way it is. You won’t fall out of the top bunk. You won’t be here long enough to develop likes or dislikes so get used to it.” I, to my disappointment, was assigned to a bottom bunk. No view here, only the bottom of the bunk above me, just a couple of feet above my face.

Now it can be told continued

We seemed to be pretty close to the railroad station, because we could hear trains pulling in and out, and the air was heavy with fumes and soot.
“Form up by twos,” a voice barked, and we all jumped to our feet and looked at the speaker, a tall sergeant with a no-nonsense look about her. “On the double,” she snapped and we formed two lines, still not knowing what was to come but anxious to keep out of trouble at all cost. “Follow me,” she ordered, and led us out the door and down about half a block, to the railroad station. There we halted while she consulted a clipboard she was holding, and then she herded us onto the train, and pointed out our berths. It was a sleeper car, and for the first time I realized that this was to be an overnight trip. To my delight I drew an upper berth with a window view. This was going to be fun!
We still had no orders and had not yet been told of our destination. Since the sergeant seemed unable to speak in other than three or four word sentences, I doubted that she would be very communicative on any subject.
Once again, there we sat and waited. For what, we had no idea.
I have only a hazy memory of the trip down to boot camp. I knew we were heading South, and I remember wishing fervently that I had thought to bring a book to read. We ate in the dining car, and I don’t think I was overly enthusiastic about the food. Nor did the trip improve my opinion of my fellow travelers. As I said, we were a motley crew.

I thought that time would fly by and I would be on my way. My sister cried and I announced my decision at work, much to the surprise of my co-workers. I waited eagerly for the big day to come.
Of course, things didn’t work out exactly that way. As usual, life took another turn, and I found myself waiting far longer for my orders to come than I had been led to expect. Several things happened in the meantime, including a move to another apartment that I shared with my sister, and a farewell party at the defense plant where I worked. But at last the telegram I had been waiting for came and I eagerly tore it open and read it. It was short and to the point.
“Be at 121 Milwaukee street at Eight O’clock A.M. on July 15th,” it read. “Bring only what you wear and your personal toilet articles. You will receive further orders there.” It was July l4th. The time had come.
The next morning my sister watched openmouthed with astonishment as I packed my things into a cosmetic case, stuffing in a few articles of intimate apparel as per instructions. I think she had been as skeptical as my cousins, but when I called a cab she knew I meant business, and tearfully bid me farewell. With a casual wave and a big smile, I was off.
I felt like a nun who was escaping the nunnery. I was on my way at last. While my cousins and sister had been kind, they were always watching over me, and no matter how hard I tried to be independent, I was still the youngest and so had no anonymity. It never occurred to me that I was going to be guarded, regimented and scrutinized as never before. I rode in grandeur in the cab all the way down to South Milwaukee and stepped out of one life into another.
There were about eleven or twelve other women there already, and I must say they were a motley lot. To tell the truth, I was somewhat taken aback by how lacking in distinction they seemed. Of course, as a 21-year-old, I viewed anyone over 25 as being over the hill. “Ye Gods!” I thought to myself. “They are all older than I am. I’m still the youngest! “ Two of them seemed to be about thirty-eight or forty, and I remember thinking with scorn that they would never be able to survive boot camp. I assumed of course that I could handle basic training with the best of them.
The room was empty except for some chairs arranged around in a semi-circle, so I took a seat and looked around at my companions. There was a murmur of voices in the background and one woman was blubbering because she had changed her mind, but they wouldn’t let her rescind her enlistment. One enlistee hadn’t arrived yet, and we waited around to see if she would come. I took another look around and was not at all impressed with what I saw.
We were supposed to have with us only a small case with our personal possessions, but several of the women had large suitcases in tow, and a couple were dressed as if for a formal affair, with hats, gloves, and shoes with high heels. All of them had on makeup and hairdos, and, except for myself, apparently thought they were going to a social function. There is a saying in the army that seemed apropo: In the army, you hurry up and wait And that is what we did.
It was hot and muggy and I was glad I was wearing a light suit made of a material known as seersucker. One doesn’t see this much anymore, but it was popular during the war, and even men’s suits were made of it. It didn’t wrinkle and was fairly cool. And as we waited and waited, I noticed that a couple of the women had taken off their shoes and gloves and hats, and were about as uncomfortable as one can be wearing a girdle and silk stockings. I was thankful that I had on ankle socks and clogs, and was holding up pretty well. The weeping woman had pulled herself together and was trying to repair her mascara and put on fresh powder and lipstick. We were about as uncomfortable as we could be.

Now it can be told (continued)

But this did not deter me in the least. Having been a middle child, I was used to forging my own path, and had never been one to shrink from a challenge. I hesitated not for a moment and the recruiting officer moved with the speed of light in signing me up.
Did I not consider the gravity of my decision? Did I realize that with this one step I was changing the whole course of my life? I gave it not a thought. I stood out there on the sidewalk for a minute, reveling in the excitement of the moment, and thinking that the recruiting office was small and cluttered. There was only one soldier in view, and I walked in with no trepidation whatever. When he asked me if I wanted to enlist, I replied, “Yes, sure. Why not?” I wasn’t frightened in the least, and thought the whole idea was a lark. I was young and adventurous and eager for a change in my life.
He asked a few questions, I remember, and then a door in the back of the room opened and another soldier came in, this time clearly a doctor. “Oh, no!” I thought. “I’m not ready for an examination.” I almost turned and walked out, not relishing the idea of donning a white cover. Weighing only 101 pounds I just barely passed.
“What?” You might well ask. “You weighed 101 pounds? Look at you now. Do you expect us to believe you were underweight when you were 21? “ Yes,” I reply. “I was a depression kid. I grew two inches and gained ten pounds in the army. Everyone gained weight in the army. We were eating at last.”
It was hard to keep my enlistment secret, but I carefully set the stage for my big announcement. I had two weeks before I was scheduled to ship out to boot camp, so I waited until my cousins and our friends were all together at the bowling alley, and then I hit them with the big news. “I’ve enlisted in the army,” I announced casually. My news was received with skepticism and indifference. “You’ll never do it,” proclaimed my cousin Ruth. “You don’t have the nerve.” My cousin Joyce looked at me with disbelief, but made no comment. The other two members of the team were busy adding up the scores and paid no attention whatsoever. So much for my big surprise.