What is old is now new - Priscilla Curtains

July 27, 2020 – What is old is now new – Priscilla Curtains

         I was flipping through a catalog the other day and stopped suddenly.  Usually it is the same old, same old stuff.  But, today, I saw an advertisement for Priscilla Curtains. If you are my age, you remember them in the 1960s.

         We had Priscilla Curtains in our living room before the ring lace that Mom went to after I started work. In fact, I helped her pick the ring lace ones out; it was the first house-beautiful consulting experienced between us.  It was fun, as it was all new, completely different look for the living room, I remember at the time, more modern.

         Staring at the picture of the Priscilla Curtains of sheer nylon, the catalog had them in many pastel colors, but Mom’s were white.  That day I was watching old movies and spotted Priscilla Curtains in the background, something I hadn’t noticed before, but did so now that I was aware that I’d not seen Priscilla’s for decades.

         The fashion of decades ago, is now coming back in to style.  But, I hope we don’t see the return of avocado green or burnt orange in house appliances or shag rugs ever again!  Excuse me, I digress, bad habit.

         Mom took the Priscilla's down and washed them a few times a year, when they started to look dingy.  I remember those days, slippery sheers hung out on the clothesline for a short time [they dry so quickly] and then brought in and the process of re-hanging began. 

         Mom washed the windows and then fetched a stainless steel dinner knife from the kitchen utensil drawer.  She jammed it in the end of the metal rod so that the nylon fabric would slip with ease over the metal end of the rod without snagging the delicate sheers. 

         I was about eight years old at the time, the first time I witnessed this and even then I made a mental note - remember the bit about the dinner knife.  As I grew up the next several years, I remember it was eventually me slipping the fabric over the edge of the stainless steel dinner knife jammed in the end of the rod, and me on the other end of the rod when we re-hung it instead of Mom and Dad or one of her tall sons. 

         I also remember she made a big deal about the manufacturing labels; "It is how you tell the right from the wrong side." She was a great housekeeping teacher.

         Later when I began housekeeping and hanging sheers – not Priscilla’s, but merely sheers under long drapes, I fetched the stainless steel dinner knife and didn’t snag a one.

         I guess I will add washing and hanging curtains to my Life Skills List.

“She doesn’t even know you.”

July 17, 2020 – “She doesn’t even know you.”

         I have been busy finishing the paved driveway and now sidewalks to match. Yes it is a masterpiece even if I say that myself.  Yes, I did it all by myself, one brick at a time, with my husband as my cheerleader.

         Yes, I am proud of it and have every right to be proud of it, as it was an enormous undertaking.  I will blog about it in the near future with pictures.

         We have all been in this pandemic since March and for many it is tiresome, as their wings have been clipped.  As for me, I am discovering I am more of an introvert than I realized, once I got used to the reduced shopping, we have been able to manage nicely.

         Notice to friends and family – I don’t think this COVID19 is a hoax, I believe it is real and dangerous and I believe in masks, disinfectants, and social distancing.  I have my opinion and you can have yours.  That is what American freedom is all about and last I knew I lived in America, the home of free speech and freedom.

         I can entertain myself easily with books, gardening, sewing, crafts, or simply sitting outside in the shade listening to the birds chirping, catching a refreshing breeze, or watching the butterflies flutter from flower to flower.

         This week, I received an impatient telephone message, the second one from an acquaintance. Out of courtesy I decided answer it instead of ignore it. I replied with a text that we were okay and well.

         Short of having a wellness check police officer arrive at my door, I was the gracious one and extended myself, to calm this person.

         Let me put it as delicately at I can, the situation didn’t go well is an understatement and I voiced my disappointment and anger to a dear friend, my private counsellor for these instances.  She is the one I call to vent, or rant, or rave about personal affronts, slights, or injustices.

         All my life, since I left home to marry my husband, we have taken the attitude of “island onto ourselves”.  We don’t require anyone else.  We don’t need to socialize daily or weekly with another couples or people.

         Over the years, I have relaxed this island attitude as we both have no family in the area, and I have made several friends, and my husband has had many golfing friends.

         My lifeline used to be weekly letters from my Mom. She passed away a few years back and now I only have my brother, Ken.

         He, too, is more alone now, as he lost his wife of 45 years the year before last.  We talk often now and I’ve commented on more than one occasion, that “he is all I have now” burdening him with an overwhelming responsibility.  He has children and grandchildren, whereas, I do not.

         Our parents were self-sufficient and we were raised to be self-sufficient.  They taught us to not expect your friends or neighbors to pitch in and DO for us what we should be doing for ourselves was their teaching.  They also drummed into our heads that there is no such thing as a free lunch – there are always strings attached.

         This is a Yankee attitude that you should be taking care of your own affairs and that you should keep your own counsel that my husband and I have subscribed to for decades.  Yes, we keep secrets, yes we don’t air our dirty linen as the phrase is coined.

         We learned that privacy and closed-mouth-ness from our parents.  We don’t ask for advice, I will clarify that, we seldom ask for advice and we abhor unsolicited advice and find it an affront to our sensibilities.  When we are asked to give advice it is usually predicated with, you don’t want our opinion.

         A perfect example of who we are can be summed up with the phrase, we’ve never asked anyone for a loan except from a bank, and it is on rare occasions that we ask for a favor.

         We’ve made our island, I like our island, and we continue to safeguard our island like fierce bobcats.

         When I was venting, my good friend was quick to assess the situation, knew exactly what had set me off, and said,

         “It is Summer, you are out in your gardens where you always are.  She doesn’t even know you.”

        

         That phrase was, as simplistic as a shiny penny in a parking lot that needed to be fetched up and admired for the luck of it, and thankful to add to my million-dollar life that I’ve made for myself.

         Correct: The impatient caller doesn’t know me. 

         Yes, my gardens are me and if you don’t know that about me, you don’t know anything about me. 

          No, I don’t answer the phone, ninety percent of the time they are solicitation robot calls. If you want me, leave a message, that is what the answering machine is for – leave a message and I will decide if I need to get back to you.  I am at no one’s beck and call, remember, I am an island.

         I like my attitude that we don’t need anyone or want anyone.  It may not be realistic, but that is how we feel.  It may have to change in the future, but that is the future, not right now.

         When we want to, we know how to send a carrier pigeon or step into a canoe and paddle off our island for contact with the outside world.

        

        

Gardening idea – no weeds

July 7, 2020        Gardening idea – no weeds

         I can’t take credit for this idea – except to point out that now that I have been ordering so much on line because I can’t go to stores to buy the most mundane things, for example:

         1.  Bobby pins – I went to all the dollar stores, and then I searched the inventory of Walmart and found none.  I needed the long ones so I ordered them on line, below is pictured the box they came in – DAH – something wrong with a padded envelope?  What a waste!

         2.  I also needed thread as I have used up all the thread I purchased for the yo yo project (bedspread).  I make yo yos when it gets to hot or I am tired from the garden. Same situation, ended up ordering a half a dozen on line to keep me busy.

         3.  And, then books or whatever else I order on line arrives in corrugated boxes.  So, I had a collection of these little boxes and collected all of them, broken them down and took them off to recycling center.

         Just a couple of days later, I was prowling the internet to find what kills certain weeds when I ran up on a wonderful video – called a HACK, instead of a garden tip.   No, I didn’t keep the website address – but honestly – there are hundreds of YouTube videos on this subject and on mulch versus cardboard versus landscape fabric.  Trust me, I am beyond landscape fabric, it makes a mess in the gardens.

         It was one of those “light bulb” moments – gee, I can do that – and I started to save the little boxes to use, one at a time to kill off weeds and improve the garden areas that are “rough” and not read to use.

         Instead of spraying weed kill – take your corrugated boxes and fold them flat – double thickness is best - and then dump mulch on top of it, being sure to lap the edges so that the light doesn’t penetrate.  The process creates instant neatness and better quality future planting areas when the cardboard  breaks down in a season or two.

         Take out all staples and don’t use printed cardboard.  A row of the below sized boxes, can neaten up a little area at a time – plop them flat, overlap and then dump a bag of landscape mulch on top – viola – things look better because it looks neat.

         Then – next spring – plant something you love or not.

         Sometimes less is better than more in the garden; think focal point with lots of bareness around it. Right? Right!

         Good gardening to you.

        

1776 – The Movie

July 6, 2020 – 1776 – The Movie

         Fourth of July weekend and TCM always delivers with patriotic movies.

         If you haven’t seen the movie 1776 – which is a musical and comedy, it is worth the watch.  Yes, Yes, they stretch and bend history to make it amusing, and some of the history is transferred or lost, but the gist of it is amusing, to a simple Patriot like me.

         Every year I try to watch it on TCM and it is a fun watch for no other reason than to see the clever lines made up out of scant historical references. Each year I seem to catch more of them.

         I am not a history major, so the insults to the history I let slip by in order to catch the subtle humor, especially of Congress doing nothing for a year.

         Some of the actual script:

         For one solid year they have been sitting here. A whole year! Doing nothing! – does that seem familiar to how our Congress is working these days?

I say this with humility in Philadelphia

We’re your responsibility in Philadelphia

If you don’t want to see us hanging from some far off British hill

If you don’t want the voice of independence forever stilled

Then God, Sir, get thee to it

For Congress never will, you see, we piddle, twiddle, and resolve

Not one damn thing do we solve

Piddle, twiddle and resolve

Nothing’s ever solved . . .

         Has anything changed since 1776?  Or, since this movie was produced in 1972?  Not much.

         That is one reason I watch it, it makes me laugh. So much has changed, yet things are the same.

         The second reason is for the costumes.  I love the men’s vests, breeches, and the lace cuffs on the shirts on the Southern gentlemen. The women’s dresses with the square neckline with lace at the elbows, and tight at the waist bellowing out in full skirts. 

         Back in 1976, I handmade a proper 1776 dress for my grandmother who  would be riding on the Grange float in several parades and she enlisted my help. 

         We picked out a rich blue calico [to compliment her eyes] for the dress and embroidered white cotton for the contrasting bodice. I used the  1776 pattern, which is pictured below:

         I had to adjust the dress – smaller shoulders, and smaller waist, yet a larger bosom and uneven hips.  Several fittings later, it fit her like a glove, and the hem – Oh, Gosh, Grandma Nixon was short, so the pattern was way too long for her and the hem was somewhere between 6 and 8 inches too long and uneven due to her hips.

         I can still picture her on the gold leatherette ottoman I helped her onto and me scooting around on my knees below her with pins between my lips folding up the yards of skirt to make an even hem and pinning it. She was just a fidgeting, seemed to take forever.

         I wonder if I even have a picture of her in that dress. I really don’t need one, that dress is permanently etched in my memory, as I worked on it, a labor of love for several weeks. Grandma was adorable in it, and the envy of the Grange ladies.

         So, if you are schmuck, like I am for Patriotic movies – it is worth the watch, especially in the current climate about “Slavery” – which is debated in the movie.  Just check out the song “Molasses to Rum to Slaves” – it is spot on – even now.

         I will say goodbye now to you movie fans until next year, when I will discuss the movie: The Scarlet Coat – another Fourth of July weekend movie I love.  If you can’t wait, I am sure you can snag it from TCM.

Notes on The Movie - 1776

1776 – Molasses to Rum – great voice!

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=molasses+and+rum+and+slaves+in+1776&docid=608054956731662554&mid=F899DC48FC5C97417198F899DC48FC5C97417198&view=detail&FORM=VIRE

Wikipedia discusses its historical faults and flaws at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1776_(film)

Script by Peter Stone can be reviewed at:

https://www.scripts.com/script-pdf/1574

Part two – April in Paris

July 5, 2020 – Part two – April in Paris

This connects back to the April 21, 2020 writing exercise blog.

The prompt for May was:        When he looked at his reflection . . .

April in Paris – Part II

         When he looked at his reflection, ashen grey with a hint of pale blue about his eyes, he grimaced. The long trek had exhausted him. Maybe his doctor was right; he needed to cut back on work and take it easy. Had he been foolishly gallant to trudge up the stairs of the Eiffel tower with the American woman? 

         Splashing cold water on his face and toweling it dry didn’t improve his color, but he pressed on his most disarming smile and straightened his shirt collar and smoothed back his thinning hair.  Was he too old for her, unsure of her age?  She was the first interesting woman he’d met since – well, since his beloved Penelope died.

         Not just interesting, she was intriguing, that sultry Southern accent and those hazel eyes which seemed to pierce his soul at times.

         Tossing aside the towel he addressed his imagine in the mirror, “Take it easy, enjoy life,” he laughed.

         He left the men’s room and waited for her at a place she’d designated for their rendezvous.

         Bursting out of the ladies’ room her eyes found him and she smiled wide as she approached.  Grabbing his arm with both hands she bubbled, “I must admit my knees are still wobbling from the stairs.  It would be lovely to sit for a while, but I bet that restaurant is reservations only.”

         “When it rains, sometimes there are cancellations,” he said hoping the angels would be merciful to them. He steered her to the mait-re-de and made subtle inquires.

         Moments later, they were ushered to a table, not a window table, but seated at an interior table that had a reasonably good view of the skyline of Paris.

         She leaned forward, whispering across the white linen draped table, “That was short of a miracle.”

         After taking in the opulence of the restaurant and the sweeping aerial view of Paris, her smiling hazel eyes captured his for the longest moment, only to be interrupted by the waiter handing them menus.

         He felt a blush coming into his cheeks, admit it you old fool, you are smitten.

This connects back to the April 21, 2020 blog, April in Paris

Southern funeral traditions

July 4, 2020 – Southern funeral traditions

         My next-door neighbor died recently and his funeral was Thursday of this past week.

         Having to verify his wife’s first name for a sympathy card, I jumped on the GIS and checked the tax records. 

         I remember the day his Dad had died in 2000, and I walked across the lawn to his house and Charlie and his brother were there in the kitchen.  Grown men, with tears all around and they were drinking shots.  They even offered me a shot and I politely declined, but I understood their pain, and their trying to dull it with booze. 

         I gave them my condolences, but I never have the right words and expect I never will to ease anyone of the pain of the death of a loved one, and I left.

         My first thought after looking at the tax records and realizing how long ago his Dad had died, only three years after he had built the house and now 17 years later, a second death of the son, the owner.

         All our lives, everything is about life or death and how we handle it as we move up in age.  I know his wife will manage it, she has managed day care centers for years, she is made from strong stuff and she has a huge family to buoy her up.

         But, what struck me more was – WOW, I’ve lived in a neighborhood where the house next door is now on its second deceased owner.  Time marches on, the days and years slip by, as they say, like sand in an hourglass, but that hourglass is really more like a decade-glass.

         Hardly noticeable year in and year out until a death brings you to an abrupt halt to make you sit back and reflect.

         Charlie’s Dad admired the 100 red tulips I had planted on the north side of my house the first year I moved here. He could see them from his windows.  He called out on many occasions to tell me how pretty my flowers were. 

         A few years later, in the middle of the night when the deer came wandering through our subdivision, his car alarm would go off and he using a walker was unable to run out and turn it off.  I’d pull on my robe and slippers and run over at 3:00 a.m. or 4:00 a.m. and get his keys – he’d make it out onto the porch.  I’d turn off his alarm and return his keys.  He was a charming old man.

         As the new owner, Charlie put in a swimming pool and the noise in the summer from his boisterous clan, and pounding loud music often made us retreat from our patio into the house.  While Charlie lived there, lots of traffic zoomed to and from that house over the years.

         Wednesday evening, a car came down the street and hesitated at our driveway, as if to pull in, then slowly moved on.  My husband asked, “Do you know who that is?”

         I immediately said, “Probably someone bringing food to Charlie’s house.”

         “Huh?”

         “You know the gathering with all the family and friends and food, the night before, and then the day of the funeral, like they do here in the south.”

         Earlier that afternoon I had left our subdivision to go grocery shopping and couldn’t help but notice the funeral home sandwich board sign indicating “Thompson’s Funeral Home -Thankyou” at the end of the street.  Ah, yes, Charlie’s funeral is tomorrow I said to myself.

         When I got home I drove down past Charlie’s house to confirm the funeral home had put the “tacky” white fake flower wreath on the front porch to notify those that were not certain which house was the “deceased home”.

         I immediately took down my front door wreath so that I wouldn’t have people coming to my door by mistake, thinking it was the least I could do.

         Later I spoke with my brother Ken and told him about the funeral sign, and taking down my wreath, not sure why it came up in our conversation, but our conversations shift from topic to topic without warning.  My husband calls it “talking in circles”, my Dad used to say that the letters from Mom to me and mine back were “talking in riddles.”

         We got on the topic of the funeral sandwich boards that are placed before the deceased home and then after it to mark for friends and family where they live so that they could visit, along with the tacky white flower spray or wreath on the door or porch.

         “What is that all about?”

         “They do the food thing here, big time. The funeral home thinks they are being helpful pointing out the house to those family and friends that might have forgotten which house it is.”

         Later on during the discussion, I said, “Yeah, makes no sense to me, give the robbers a sign as to which house to break into while the funeral is taking place.”

         We discussed that in great detail. 

        

         “I was told by a southern friend, you have some designated person stay at the house while the funeral is held to safeguard it,” I explained.

         My brother and I shifted topics, and I forgot to tell him that in this area,  basically in the South as a whole, when the funeral procession is taking place with everyone having their car lights on, the oncoming traffic pulls over to the shoulder of the road in respect for the deceased while the entire caravan passes.  That was new to me too, but having been here since 1985, it is now an automatic.

         So, any day, any ordinary day, when there is a funeral in town, and you just happen to be in the oncoming traffic lane and you pull over in respect of someone you don’t even know.  This Southern tradition gives you a moment to reflect on that family’s sadness and on eternity with God, among other things.

        

         In those few moments of respect, you ponder about how you will handle the next death in your family. 

        

         It is a humbling experience, it is a Southern tradition, it is a good thing.

God rest your soul, Charles H. Douglas.

Missouri Primrose – Oenothera Macrocarpa

July 3, 2020 – Missouri Primrose – Oenothera Macrocarpa

         What is a weed?  What is a flower?  Missouri Primrose falls under both categories in my garden. 

         Missouri Primrose is one of those plants that you don’t say, “You never have enough!”  It is an invasive re-seeding monster that you must take in hand and pull out – mercifully – even huge specimens in order to keep some order, but you can’t excavate all of them – or you won’t have any at all in years to come. Then again, it is one of those plants you do say in the early spring, “Oh, good, I’ve some that made it, how many should I keep?”

         They love full sun and they can stand mean soil and I yanked out all but a few this spring in my new front northeast front garden.

         I am glad I wasn’t overzealous about yanking them all, as the ones in the back garden failed to thrive.  This is one of those cases where you can’t put all your eggs in one basket . . . volunteers, be sure you keep a few in different areas of the garden, just in case.

         I noticed them yesterday out of the corner of my eye as I opened the front door in the early a.m. – OH – a flash of bright yellow.  In my pajamas I tipped the door further and leaned out.  Oh, yes, I had saved a few Primrose and they are simply gorgeous.  Yes, I am glad I was not too ruthless. That pop of clean bright yellow.  I will be the envy in the neighborhood!

         Memo to self, don’t rush to clean up the garden, I need the very fine seed of that primrose to sprinkle in a few more sunny places.

         Be sure to save seeds from those perennials or annuals that come easily from seed in order to share with others or to shift your gardens as the natural process of trees begin to shade, or in my current situation, when you cut down trees and now have blazing sun where dappled shade once was.  Those seeds will be a godsend of re-establishing your new gardens in those areas.

         Here in North Carolina, Missouri Primrose – Oenothera Macrocarpa are volunteers, lovely when you want them, and easily eradicated when you don’t want them.  My gardening advice – take advantage of them.

         Also take advantage of going back in time with me to a blog noted below where I discussed the value of other volunteers:

         https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7025278612896752774&useLegacyBlogger=true#editor/target=post;postID=4557101477046367195;onPublishedMenu=posts;onClosedMenu=posts;postNum=218;src=postname

Haute cuisine

July 2, 2020 - Haute cuisine

         Years ago on our first corporate move, we landed in Kansas City, Kansas imported from New England.

         The land was flat as far as the eye could see, the man-sized steaks hung over the edges of dinner plates and the new, fashionable artichokes were a-plenty in all the restaurants, having finally made their way from the West Coast.

         The Steak and Ale restaurant, a well-known chain at the time, was the hot spot in town and my husband’s boss took us out to dinner and made certain we partook of the new rage, steamed artichokes, recently added to the menu.

         Steaming globes of thistle arrived at the table with a bowl of butter for dipping.  Anything you have to dip in butter to eat is on my good-food list along with lobster, and crabs.  I was instructed to peel the leaf off, dip it in the incredible butter, then drag the fleshy leaf end over my lower front teeth.

         The boss and his wife were experts showing us how to properly eat them.  The first dozen leaves were tough and we progressed circling around the dull green globes, where the fleshy part on the leaves became tastier.  When we got toward the center, again we were instructed that we had to carve out the thistle part, the fuzzy spikey part, cautioned it was inedible. 

         Finally, slicing the delicate flesh of the artichoke heart in to wedges, we dipped them in butter and savored the nirvana.

         It didn’t take long for this corporate wife to find fresh artichokes in the market and after several attempts at cooking them, I found the secret. – SHSSSH - Don’t tell anyone. – When you get them boiling, drop a heavy plate on top of them to weigh them down under the lemon infused water and put the lid on for perfection.

         Several corporate moves later, this time, we were in New Jersey renting a little log cabin at Packanack Lake, which was close enough to invite family to visit.  My brother Ken and his wife came down with the kids, Stef and Jeff.

         In the one-person kitchen, I prepared a feast, mirroring many of the corporate dinner parties I’d given over the last several years.  I kept it simple, steaks on the grill, baked potatoes with sour cream and chives, a tossed salad and steaming artichokes with drawn butter.

         We ate on the patio, having a perfect view of the lake across the street.

         Steamed artichokes were new to Ken and Peg so we showed them how to eat them.  They tried, exchanged funny looks between themselves and eventually we all got down to the artichoke hearts, the fleshy part.

         They weren’t impressed, and Ken finally blurted out, “You actually eat these because you like them, or, because they look, FANCY?”

        

The above was the June writing prompt for our writer's group.  It was my suggestion that we write something funny due to this COVID19 situation.  I hope I made you at least smile, but laugh preferably.