Monday, May 31, 2010
Oh yes, my new computer is great!
Well, I must say that I am enjoying my new computer immensely. I availed myself of the tutorial program, hoping to educate myself into the workings of the thing, but as I am only starting, I haven't learned much. It does allow me to go on Facebook, which I couldn't do on my old computer, and it hasn't cut out or failed to avail me of any of the programs I have in the software, so I am quite satisfied with it. I hope to keep up with my blogs, as well. Altogether, a good start to my declining years. Bye and keep in touch.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
You never can tell what a redheaded woman will do
You Never Can Tell What a Redheaded Woman Will Do
I was the third of four children and three of us had red hair. My sister Lorraine was what was called a “dishwater blonde.” She wasn’t happy with being different, and often shed tears over her outcast station, as she saw it.
“Was I adopted?” she asked our Mother one day, large tears streaming down her cheeks. “”Why am I different?”
Mother tried to reassure her and boost her morale. “No, of course not,” she said soothingly. “You are my own child, just like the others. But don’t feel bad. At least you have a pretty face. Just look – redheads always have freckles.” And she glanced my way, as if noting my unhappy state of freckledom.
Thanks, Mommy dearest. I needed that. I needed it like a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Why didn’t you tell the whole story? You could have mentioned allergies to every known brand of soap and shampoo, exzema and skin rashes, hay fever and wheezing, sneezing and coughing all night. Why didn’t you talk about insomnia, sleep walking and obsessive-compulsion disorder? Not that these were all caused by my red hair, but it is well known that red-haired people have sensitive skin and are subject to allergies of every kind. But if you wanted to make me sorry I had curly red hair, you failed utterly. I have never regretted my redheaded state and wish my hair had stayed red longer.
I got a lot of mileage out of that red hair. Strangers would stop us on the street and comment on my curly mop. My Aunt Doris, then a teenager, (I was about six) would wash my hair with special shampoos and set it in what was known as “Marcelle waves,” My grandma, herself a redhead, would bake me special cookies and let me have her sewing scraps to make clothes for my doll. My Uncle Lewis took me to the circus and showed me off as his “Orphan Annie” girl. If memory serves me right, he also bought me a box of Cracker Jacks. No wonder my sister was jealous. No attention was directed at her lanky brown hair whatsoever. I suppose she got over it after while.
I looked up redheaded people on Google. Only two percent of the world population have red hair. A large proportion of them are in Scotland and Scandinavia. Redheads are purported to be adventurous, passionate, quick tempered, and sensitive to pain. Redheaded women are seen as remantic and given to sexual excesses. I might modestly state that none of those myths applies to me except the tendency to be adventurous. I not only admit to being adventurous but I brag about it. As the old blues song says “You never can tell what a redheaded woman will do.”
Well, what did I do? I climbed an apple tree when I was four and got hung hung up between two limbs and had to be rescued by my mother. I helped my father paint the woodshed with red paint and got so much paint in my hair that part of it had to be cut off. I wrote on the side of the house with crayons and the words I wrote were still visible years later . When I was fourteen I sneaked out of the house one moonlit night and went swimming with the two neighbor boys. All pretty innocent pranks, really. But Mother could recite them like a litany when the mood struck, and I grew up thlnking I was an incorrigible miscreant.
I had my moments of triumph. When I graduated from grade school, I won the gold medal for scholarship, beating out all the other eighth graders in the county and astounding my teacher, for whom it was a total surprise. As indeed it was for me. I was awarded a scholarship to college, and when I was seventeen I took myself off and never looked back. And of course I committed the ultimate act of adventure and joined the army during the war.
All in all, it has been a great life. I have never regretted having red hair. Mother dear, if you are looking down on me now, I hope you know that my freckles don’t bother me a bit. Don’t now and never did. As an old flame once said, “A face without freckles is like a sky without stars.” Rest in peace.
I was the third of four children and three of us had red hair. My sister Lorraine was what was called a “dishwater blonde.” She wasn’t happy with being different, and often shed tears over her outcast station, as she saw it.
“Was I adopted?” she asked our Mother one day, large tears streaming down her cheeks. “”Why am I different?”
Mother tried to reassure her and boost her morale. “No, of course not,” she said soothingly. “You are my own child, just like the others. But don’t feel bad. At least you have a pretty face. Just look – redheads always have freckles.” And she glanced my way, as if noting my unhappy state of freckledom.
Thanks, Mommy dearest. I needed that. I needed it like a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Why didn’t you tell the whole story? You could have mentioned allergies to every known brand of soap and shampoo, exzema and skin rashes, hay fever and wheezing, sneezing and coughing all night. Why didn’t you talk about insomnia, sleep walking and obsessive-compulsion disorder? Not that these were all caused by my red hair, but it is well known that red-haired people have sensitive skin and are subject to allergies of every kind. But if you wanted to make me sorry I had curly red hair, you failed utterly. I have never regretted my redheaded state and wish my hair had stayed red longer.
I got a lot of mileage out of that red hair. Strangers would stop us on the street and comment on my curly mop. My Aunt Doris, then a teenager, (I was about six) would wash my hair with special shampoos and set it in what was known as “Marcelle waves,” My grandma, herself a redhead, would bake me special cookies and let me have her sewing scraps to make clothes for my doll. My Uncle Lewis took me to the circus and showed me off as his “Orphan Annie” girl. If memory serves me right, he also bought me a box of Cracker Jacks. No wonder my sister was jealous. No attention was directed at her lanky brown hair whatsoever. I suppose she got over it after while.
I looked up redheaded people on Google. Only two percent of the world population have red hair. A large proportion of them are in Scotland and Scandinavia. Redheads are purported to be adventurous, passionate, quick tempered, and sensitive to pain. Redheaded women are seen as remantic and given to sexual excesses. I might modestly state that none of those myths applies to me except the tendency to be adventurous. I not only admit to being adventurous but I brag about it. As the old blues song says “You never can tell what a redheaded woman will do.”
Well, what did I do? I climbed an apple tree when I was four and got hung hung up between two limbs and had to be rescued by my mother. I helped my father paint the woodshed with red paint and got so much paint in my hair that part of it had to be cut off. I wrote on the side of the house with crayons and the words I wrote were still visible years later . When I was fourteen I sneaked out of the house one moonlit night and went swimming with the two neighbor boys. All pretty innocent pranks, really. But Mother could recite them like a litany when the mood struck, and I grew up thlnking I was an incorrigible miscreant.
I had my moments of triumph. When I graduated from grade school, I won the gold medal for scholarship, beating out all the other eighth graders in the county and astounding my teacher, for whom it was a total surprise. As indeed it was for me. I was awarded a scholarship to college, and when I was seventeen I took myself off and never looked back. And of course I committed the ultimate act of adventure and joined the army during the war.
All in all, it has been a great life. I have never regretted having red hair. Mother dear, if you are looking down on me now, I hope you know that my freckles don’t bother me a bit. Don’t now and never did. As an old flame once said, “A face without freckles is like a sky without stars.” Rest in peace.
A story from long ago
An Evening Adventure
It was bedtime but Baby Mouse wasn't sleepy. He wanted to stay up late and have an adventure. Mamma Mouse thought hard. What could they do?
"I know," she said. "Let's go down by the path and watch the stars. There will be falling stars tonight. We can hide in the bushes and watch."
Baby Mouse thought that was a great idea. "Let's go now," he said. And he put on his jacket and little shoes and took Mamma Mouse by the hand, and so off they went.
Down by the path they found a clump of tall dry grass and snuggled in side by side, and peeked out into the night. It was very dark but up in the sky the stars twinkled and once in a while a falling star sent a great trail of sparks across the sky. The tree frogs were singing in the treefrog tree and it was warm and still.
While they watched they heard something coming down the path. It was a slow plop, plop, plop. What could it be? Pretty soon they saw Mr. Turtle coming along, slowly and steadily, and when he saw them he stopped.
"How do you do, Mrs. Mouse?" he asked. "How are you tonight?" Mr. Turtle is slow, but he is always very polite.
"I am fine, Mr. Turtle," said Mamma Mouse. "We are watching the stars."
"Have a nice evening," said Mr. Turtle, and he went on his way down the path.
And then they heard something else, and it was coming very fast. Thumpety, thumpety, thump. It was Mr. Rabbit and he didn't stop. "Mrs. Fox is coming," he cried as he dashed past. He whisked around the bend and then he was gone.
Momma Mouse put her arms around Baby Mouse and hugged him close. "Be very quiet" she whispered. "Don't make a sound."
Mamma Mouse was so frightened that she trembled all over, and her tail stuck out straight behind her. She heard the pitter-patter of feet, and saw Mrs. Fox coming fast down the path, but Mrs. Fox didn't stop. She wanted Mr. Rabbit and she kept right on going.
Then it was quiet for a long time. Mr. Garden Snake came swishing along, but he doesn't eat mice, so Mamma Mouse wasn't afraid. She even said hello to him, but he didn't stop. He was on his way to the treefrog tree and wanted his dinner. And then they heard another sound, and Mamma Mouse was frightened all over again. She knew what the sound meant. It was Mr. Hoot Owl and she knew he ate mice.He was slowly flapping along, making soft swooshing sounds in the quiet night. Mamma Mouse and Baby Mouse were so quiet they could hear the little brook that ran along beside the path and the beetle tapping away inside an old log. Then it was quiet again and they knew that Mr. Owl was gone.
"Thank goodness," said Mamma Mouse. "Let's go home before we get eaten. Mrs. Fox will be back and she will still be hungry. Take my hand and run as fast as you can."
They scurried back to their little home under the old oak tree. Mamma Mouse took off Baby Mouse's shoes and jacket and tucked him into bed. They were safe. Mamma Mouse cuddled up in her own bed and in a few minutes she was asleep too. Outside it was still dark and the stars still twinkled in the sky. And the night creatures still searched for something to eat. But they wouldn't find Baby Mouse or Mamma Mouse. They were safe for the night.
It was bedtime but Baby Mouse wasn't sleepy. He wanted to stay up late and have an adventure. Mamma Mouse thought hard. What could they do?
"I know," she said. "Let's go down by the path and watch the stars. There will be falling stars tonight. We can hide in the bushes and watch."
Baby Mouse thought that was a great idea. "Let's go now," he said. And he put on his jacket and little shoes and took Mamma Mouse by the hand, and so off they went.
Down by the path they found a clump of tall dry grass and snuggled in side by side, and peeked out into the night. It was very dark but up in the sky the stars twinkled and once in a while a falling star sent a great trail of sparks across the sky. The tree frogs were singing in the treefrog tree and it was warm and still.
While they watched they heard something coming down the path. It was a slow plop, plop, plop. What could it be? Pretty soon they saw Mr. Turtle coming along, slowly and steadily, and when he saw them he stopped.
"How do you do, Mrs. Mouse?" he asked. "How are you tonight?" Mr. Turtle is slow, but he is always very polite.
"I am fine, Mr. Turtle," said Mamma Mouse. "We are watching the stars."
"Have a nice evening," said Mr. Turtle, and he went on his way down the path.
And then they heard something else, and it was coming very fast. Thumpety, thumpety, thump. It was Mr. Rabbit and he didn't stop. "Mrs. Fox is coming," he cried as he dashed past. He whisked around the bend and then he was gone.
Momma Mouse put her arms around Baby Mouse and hugged him close. "Be very quiet" she whispered. "Don't make a sound."
Mamma Mouse was so frightened that she trembled all over, and her tail stuck out straight behind her. She heard the pitter-patter of feet, and saw Mrs. Fox coming fast down the path, but Mrs. Fox didn't stop. She wanted Mr. Rabbit and she kept right on going.
Then it was quiet for a long time. Mr. Garden Snake came swishing along, but he doesn't eat mice, so Mamma Mouse wasn't afraid. She even said hello to him, but he didn't stop. He was on his way to the treefrog tree and wanted his dinner. And then they heard another sound, and Mamma Mouse was frightened all over again. She knew what the sound meant. It was Mr. Hoot Owl and she knew he ate mice.He was slowly flapping along, making soft swooshing sounds in the quiet night. Mamma Mouse and Baby Mouse were so quiet they could hear the little brook that ran along beside the path and the beetle tapping away inside an old log. Then it was quiet again and they knew that Mr. Owl was gone.
"Thank goodness," said Mamma Mouse. "Let's go home before we get eaten. Mrs. Fox will be back and she will still be hungry. Take my hand and run as fast as you can."
They scurried back to their little home under the old oak tree. Mamma Mouse took off Baby Mouse's shoes and jacket and tucked him into bed. They were safe. Mamma Mouse cuddled up in her own bed and in a few minutes she was asleep too. Outside it was still dark and the stars still twinkled in the sky. And the night creatures still searched for something to eat. But they wouldn't find Baby Mouse or Mamma Mouse. They were safe for the night.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
New Computer
We actually went ahead and bought a new computer! We thought the time had come, sure enough, and I have a wonderful new I-Mac sitting at this moment before me. What a delight. I can now get Face-Book and movies and radio broadcasts and other delights I haven't touched on yet. My grandson came and set it up and I am enjoying a whole new adventure.
This short little blog will have to suffice as it is way past dinner-time, but there will be more in future. Keep in touch.
This short little blog will have to suffice as it is way past dinner-time, but there will be more in future. Keep in touch.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Hooray for Super Saver
Time has flown by so fast that I have neglected my blogs for a whole month! I have no excuse - I have been in fine health and good spirits and enjoying the warm and pleasant weather we are having. We did have some heavy rain during April and a rousing thunder and lightning storm, something we don't usually have here in California. We sat in our family room and watched the display from our big picture window.
We did have a fun day yesterday, glued to the TV screen watching the Churchill Downs race. We started watching at about noon and watched the whole thing, right through to the final run for the roses. We were down in Louisville for a Barbershop convention some years ago and enjoyed the beauty and history of the place, and sipped mint juleps and wandered over the blue grass and planned on going back some day. Alas! That was never to be, but we have fond memories and make sure that we watch every race.
It is reunion time for my high school class of 1940 and I was astounded to learn that there are 12 of 19 graduates still living. It is our 70th reunion, I wish I could go but since I don't travel any more, it cannot happen. I must content myself with the news letter and whatever correspondence I maintain with my former classmates.
For me, this is the best time of day, with dinner over, the dishes in the dishwasher, and whatever sweets are available still waiting for me. My husband has hidden the candy but if I beg hard enough he will dole out a piece or two.
Take care and remember to keep in touch.
We did have a fun day yesterday, glued to the TV screen watching the Churchill Downs race. We started watching at about noon and watched the whole thing, right through to the final run for the roses. We were down in Louisville for a Barbershop convention some years ago and enjoyed the beauty and history of the place, and sipped mint juleps and wandered over the blue grass and planned on going back some day. Alas! That was never to be, but we have fond memories and make sure that we watch every race.
It is reunion time for my high school class of 1940 and I was astounded to learn that there are 12 of 19 graduates still living. It is our 70th reunion, I wish I could go but since I don't travel any more, it cannot happen. I must content myself with the news letter and whatever correspondence I maintain with my former classmates.
For me, this is the best time of day, with dinner over, the dishes in the dishwasher, and whatever sweets are available still waiting for me. My husband has hidden the candy but if I beg hard enough he will dole out a piece or two.
Take care and remember to keep in touch.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
