Mama Said, Papa Said

Make Sure She Wears Her Boots

2011-01-18T10:13:00.000-08:00

When Daddy D and I married 44 years ago the day after Christmas, my father gave my groom this advice, "Make Sure She Wears her Boots." From time to time my husband has reminded me of this sage wisdom. Now of course, my father, a humorous fellow, was mostly joking. However, characteristically I did not always dress for the weather so advising my husband to encourage proper winter attire was wise.

As a matter of fact, I have not worn boots for years. But yesterday, we added a nice waterproof, lined pair of boots to my winter wardrobe. We live near a large park, and I needed something to wear for walks in the snowy woods.

In the woods giving the new boots a try.

My dad would have approved of my wise choice. My husband might have preferred a pair like these. Somehow I do not think that is what my father meant.

One More Blue Child...and Another One

2011-01-08T13:45:00.000-08:00

When my Daddy D was a baby, he wore a little blue corduroy suit. After the birth of our first son, his mother gave us the suit and asked for a picture of our son in the family suit. We took the picture and one of our second son as well. Many years later our daughter-in-law suggested that our first grandchild be photographed in the little blue suit. Our granddaughter modeled her grandpa suit with flair as did her cousin, our second granddaughter a few years later. Our grandson was the latest to wear Grandpa's suit. This is his picture.

You see pictures of the rest of the Blue Family in other entries on the is blog here and here. Before Nathan wore the Little Budgee Suit, his aunt repaired the suit enough to be worn for the pictures. Hopefully, the suit will last for one more grandchild, who is expected to arrive at the end of June.

Allerton, an Old, Old Story

2009-12-22T17:25:00.000-08:00

Yikes, as we approach the tenth year of the century, I notice this blog has been idle since April of 2009. I know that all of the team members have busy lives, but some of us have been seduced by another mistress called Facebook. Facebook does indeed have its attractions not offered by a blog. There is the immediacy of communication, the fun games, and the entertaining quizzes. However, blogging does offer some different dimensions than the social networking giant. Blogging allows a writer to explore a topic in greater depth than a few sentences and provides the reader a chance to interact with the the writer's thoughts with thoughtful comments.

Since this blog is dedicated to what people say and moreover to the gems passed on by our parents, I offer some thoughts from my mother, Laura Gray Thompson. She wrote this story for a college English class in the 1970's. My mother, a self-made woman and feminist, graduated from high school in 1934 and earned Bachelor's and Master's degrees in English almost 40 years latter. Her story did appear on my personal blog as a Mother's Day tribute in 2008, but I want to publish the story on our team blog that is dedicated to what Mama said and what Papa said. This story is actually an event from my mother's childhood.

Allerton

“Get up, get, Ida! It’s today! It’s today! Dancing around the bed of the older girl was a tiny tousled haired girl of four, clutching a small gray flannel elephant against her worn nightie. Soon Ida was scrubbing the little face, brushing the coal black and shiny hair, buttoning the little pearl buttons down the back of the starched blue and white checked gingham smack, with the matching blue and white checked bloomers. Away they went, the strange pair, the big, heavy, slow girl in her limp and faded blue dress plodding along and the little girl in her crisp smock darting ahead now scuffling through the dusty road, now running through the grass along the edge. Clackety-clack went her stick in her hand against Grandma Miller’s white picket fence that enclosed an English garden, redolent of sage and lavender, fragrant with roses. Clankety-clank went the stick against the iron fence around Rachel’s big house, with the iron deer in the big yard glowering out at the passersby.

It was because of Rachel that today was to be such a glorious one. Rachel was a big girl, bigger than Ida, though not fat big, just old big. Rachel had gone away to school and now worked for a funny old lady in a place called “Hull House.” When the morning train came in, Rachel would be on it, and greatest of all, so would children from the “Hull House”. And everyone was going to get one to take home for their very own for two whole weeks. Mothers and Fathers said that it was to fatten them up on good country cooking and to show them the grass and trees and flowers and everything that didn’t grow in the city. In the city, the roads were hard, not this lovely dust that squooshed up between your toes. But Tot knew that wasn’t the reason they were coming at all. They were coming so little people would have somebody to play with!

Down the dusty road they went, the two so different sisters, under the hot brassy sun that beat down through the dusty leaves of the plane trees. Past the white Presbyterian Church Tot ran, singing her tuneless song. “Mine will be a boy and I’ll teach him how to roll down the hill in the park and we’ll have tea parties with my tin dishes and I’ll read The Little Red Hen and Chicken Little to him and I’ll help him write a letter to his Mama on my very own letter paper with blue lines to help you write better and straighter, with a pretty pictures of Peter Rabbit at the top. Oh, it will be such fun to have a little person to play with.”Tot and Ida finally arrived at the magic place, the little green wooden depot with a shiny steel tracks in front making a ladder to the distant skyline. The blinding sun glanced off the tracks into the eyes of the waiting people. All the townfolk and some of the neighboring farmers had turned out to see Rachel’s kids.

It was a big event in a little town where nothing much ever happened. The whistle of the train at Broadland’s crossing brought a cheer from the milling crowd, and soon the train snaked into sight and slid up to the wooden platform. From the other side of the tracks where Tot and Ida waited, the view was better.

It was hot and it was dusty as Rachel and the children stepped down the wooden stepstool onto the platform. Tall Rachel and her yellow tablet was the center of attention. Names were checked off the yellow tablet; children were parceled out to the waiting families and all scattered to the various homes.
“Where is my boy? Where is my very own boy? My small person just like me.” Tot jumped up and down in sheer frustration, tears running down the now grimy face.

---Why didn’t they tell her? Don’t she know we’re poor? How can we have a kid around the house with Mom out the Allerton Ranch cooking for the thrashers. I know that she is lonely with only a fourteen year old brother and a sixteen year old sister to play with ---and both of them to busy to pay any attention to her. Good thing Sam taught her to read and write, even if she is only four. Gives her something to do.---“Don’t cry, Tot, don’t cry.”“ ‘n’ I was going to show him the chickens. Bet he never saw a chicken. I want my boy. Everyone else got one and I never got one.” Tot sobbed on.
--- I’m going to get out of this damn town and I’m going to see that Tot will sometime get something she wants.---“Don’t cry, Tot, don’t cry.”

Our Blue Family

2009-04-12T18:05:00.000-07:00

In his post of June 22, 2008, Daddy D wrote about his family heirloom little blue Budgee Boy suit. The suit was initially worn by Daddy D himself. Then, both of our sons were photographed in the suit as babies, and more recently our oldest granddaughter wore the suit for a picture-taking afternoon. A few weeks ago, Luke put her grandpa's suit on our youngest granddaughter.

When composing this blue-suit post, I remembered an unusual expression that Luke would utter as a child. At about age three, Luke would say from time to time, "Remember when I was a blue child?" Now, I am not sure exactly what Luke meant. Since he was never actually blue, maybe Luke was referring to wearing his daddy's little blue suit. I will never know.

Mama Doesn't Have Back (Nor Does Her Baby)

2009-01-25T14:24:00.000-08:00

For the past six months, I have been following an eating plan suggested to my husband by a dear friend. The plan he suggested is The G.I. Diet by Rick Gallop. For a variety reasons, Daddy D decided to try Gallop's easy-to-follow-traffic-light plan. Even though I too could stand to lose a few pounds and chins, my weight-loss on this plan was almost accidental. I was following the plan for convenience so not to prepare two different meals.

Recently, our diet enthusiast friend kindly commented to me that I should get off the diet as I was losing too much weight on "the bottom." Now, my butt is not a part of my body that is especially large even at my heaviest weight. His comment reminded me of something my mother used to say.

My mother, who in many ways was twice the woman that I am, did not have a particularly large posterior although she battled weight problems much of her life. She would say that her diminutive rear was due to a special medicine called Noassitol (pronounced N0-Ass-At-All.) So my lack of back is either due to genetics, or I take the same medicine as my mom did. My mother, Laura Gray, was a bit of a character. You can read more about her sayings here, here, and here.

Fun Monday - Blue Forever

2008-06-22T17:08:00.000-07:00

The Hula Girl at Growing Older But Not Up is this week's Fun Monday hostess. For our Fun Monday assignment, Hula Girl is asking us to show those pieces of clothing we just can't part with, whether we wear them or not.

I have not worn this particular article of clothing for sixty some years. You might recognize the little blue suit worn by Little Budgee (that's me) from my wife. Molly's post last week. Considering the age of the corduroy suit, this piece of clothing is in relatively good condition. My mother saved this little blue suit and encouraged us to have our son's pictures taken in the suit.

When Dean had a lovely child of his own, our daughter-in-law suggested that our first granddaughter wear the blue suit for picture-taking. Doesn't she look lovely in her grandpa's suit? The tradition of the Little Budgee Boy suit will continue as the little blue suit is washed and ready for our youngest granddaughter to wear as well as her little brother or sister.

Little Budgee's first granddaughter

To see other folks valuable clothing, visit Hula Girl at Growing Older But Not Up

Fun Monday - Shoot 'em Up

2008-06-08T18:22:00.000-07:00

My bride, Molly of Return of the White Robin, is the host of this Fun Monday. The assignment this week is to describe a happy memory from your childhood. If possible, include pictures with your reminiscing.

One of the happy memories of my youth is the memory of building various kinds of models. My brother and I did a lot of models. He was actually the better builder. Sometimes a model car was assembled and glued together; and then those original kits might be taken apart and built again. Maybe that was due to being without much money available to buy new kits. However, it was probably as Mom thought, we were destructive. To do a rebuild would prove her wrong. She would think this was a creative act and not just destruction. However, my brother and I did shoot up nearly all the rest of our models with BB guns. Maybe, Mom was right after all.

Here is a picture provided by my wife of a model car from my past youth. In 1960, this model won “Best of Show” at a hobby store. Since so many different components came together, this was very positive experience for me. The model has a 1956 Continental roof, a ’32 Deuce Roadster body and engine, and an Indianapolis racer front end. There are many other parts, such as the carb intakes from Revell’s tug boat.

To read about other happy memories visit Molly at Return of the White Robin.

Going to the Prom

2008-05-02T16:14:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I am going to the virtual prom at Sunshine's and the pursuit of happiness, and I have a date, my wife, MJD. In my town and in my day, it was customary to have a prom for juniors and another prom for seniors. After my Junior Prom , I decided that a rented tuxedo is not necessary for status and a good time. Last year, I blogged about my ill-fitting attire for the Junior Prom. For my Senior Prom, I took a new girl, who transferred from a local private high school. Pam was intelligent and lovely. Additionally, I wore my very own suit instead of the inferior rented garb. However, following another tradition, I did buy a wrist corsage for my date. Hoping for a special prom kiss, I brought strawberry-scented lipstick for my date's luscious lips. Sadly, my hopes were dashed; there was no goodnight kiss.

Tonight for the virtual prom, I am wearing blue jeans and a purple polo...times sure have changed since 1962.

Double Nickel - Fun Monday

2008-04-13T20:09:00.000-07:00

This week's Fun Monday assignment hosted by the Nekked Lizards is this: FIVE PICTURES - FIVE WORDS PER PICTURE.Any 5 (FIVE) pictures, any subject, and any 5 (FIVE) words to describe and/or explain each picture.

Hearing about the Nekked Lizards' Fun Monday Quest, I planned to show some pictures relating to the concept of double nickel. You know...my '55 Chevy, the street that I live on Indiana 55 and so on. However, time escaped me, that and I was busy watching Trevor edge Tiger out of another Master's win. Instead, I have decided to present my parent's five children as a tribute to my mother's ninetieth birthday.

Meecy looking in the mirror.

Sissy is a curly girly.

Look at that sweet smile.

The sailor man means business.

I wish I had hair.

"What are you making for supper?"

2008-04-08T17:55:00.000-07:00

"What are you making for supper?", was a question that I used to ask my dad. In our home, my father cooked the day to day meals. My mother saved her culinary skills for company or special gourmet offerings. Dad, however, treated us with fried chicken and the world's best meat loaf. But one of my fondest memories is when he answered my query about the evening's fare with, "I am making purple ice cream." Purple Ice Cream or Grape Kool-Aid ice cream was a inexpensive treat. I made this delectable treat for my sons and looked forward to making the tasty treat for my grandchildren. Here our granddaughter is trying her first bite of Purple Ice Cream that may not have been invented by her great-grandfather, but in my mind and in my heart, he made the treat famous.

Purple Ice Cream

Ingredients:

1 can of evaporated milk

1 package unsweetened Grape Kool-Aid Mix

1 cup of cold water

1 cup of sugar

Directions:

1. Mix Kool-Aid, sugar, and water. Chill

2. Pour evaporated milk into 9" x 13" pan or dish. Place the milk in the freezer for about 20 minutes.

3. Whip the cooled evaporated milk in a large bowl until stiff.

4. Fold the chilled Kool-Aid into the whipped milk.

5. Freeze for about 4 hours

Yes, you can make other flavors of ice cream with Kool-Aid...but why would you want to?

"You made your bed

2008-02-01T07:50:00.000-08:00

...now lie in it." is something that mother used to say to my sister. Maybe she said this to me as well, but I was not listening. I think that this may be a classical thing that mothers say to daughters.

Daddy D and I inherited this brass bed from my parents. The lovely handmade quilt was stitched by my mother-in-law. In a way, I did not really make this bed, but the lovely brass bed reminds me of this song by the great Bob Dylan. I am rather sure that the words of the song do not reflect what Laura meant by "You made your bed now lie in it.", but I could be wrong.

Fun Monday - Fun Ornaments

2007-12-09T13:59:00.000-08:00

For this week's Fun Monday challenge, Kaytabug of Lady K is asking the cheerful bloggers. "In the spirit of the season I would like to see your favorite Christmas tree ornament." I have selected just two favorites.

Pictured here is one of my favorite ornaments with one of my model airplanes. Both are representations of 1932 GeeBee Racer, which was flown by aviation pioneer, Jimmy Doolittle. The model is 1:32 scale, and the miniature Hallmark ornament is about 1:86 scale.

This ornament is obviously brand new. The little paper bag is a gift from the Northwest Indiana Food Bank. This is a new meaningful favorite with a message of hope, and this is the season of hope.

Fun Monday - Not Yet

2007-11-25T17:11:00.001-08:00

For this week's Fun Monday challenge Blue Momma said, "I want you to show me your......projects. More to the point, I want to see your unfinished projects. I have so many that I really need some reassurance that I'm not the only one. Home improvement projects are what I have in mind, but it you don't have any of those show me any kind of project - needlework, cooking, scrapbooking, etc."

It is probably some kind of personality flaw on my part, but I do not seem to be able to complete projects. Throughout my lifetime, I have started many projects. However, only some of those projects have reached 100% completion. I may begin a project, but often there seems to be an obstacle that prevents me from completing some of my many projects. This obstacle may come early or late in the developmental process. The result is is the same, another not yet...

Since I was a young lad, I have enjoyed building models of all kinds, model cars, ships, planes, tanks, and so on. When I was young and poor, we could not afford many models so I would rebuild the same model over and over. Today, I am fortunate to be able to buy many models. One of the problems in completing models today is that I have too many to choose which one.

Here are a few of the models in my current collection.

I set a deadline to finish this fine vintage Indianapolis race car by Memorial Day 2007. You know the Indianapolis 500 race day is on Memorial Day weekend. While working on this project, I kept adding new dimensions to my model design such as authentic-looking frame rails. Hence, Memorial has come and gone, and the Number 9 is unfinished.

Early in the 1970's, I began building ships-in-bottles, and I actually did complete and sell about 25 of these pieces. The process is tedious and time consuming. I do have some partially completed tiny ships and some bottles with artificial water, but these ships have yet to set sail. My reason for slowing down the ship-in-a-bottle production may be due economics. Each piece takes time and effort to construct, and buyers are unwilling to pay a reasonable price for the labor.

Pictured here are bottles with artificial ocean and a stand to build a small ship.

You see there are many reasons that my projects go unfinished. All that being said, I occasionally do finish projects. I posted about my crafts for a Fun Monday post in June.

Fun Monday- Keeping Old Cars

2007-07-16T00:13:00.000-07:00

Tiggerlane, the Neophyte Blogger is this week's Fun Monday hostess. Here is what Tiggerlane is requesting, "I wanna see your CAR! It can be your current car, the first car you ever had, maybe your first new car with that new-car smell, a car you wrecked once, or even the dream car you would drive - given all the money in the world! Oh - and if you have a truck, SUV, lawnmower, whatever the local authorities allow you to drive, let's see it!"

My father wished he would have kept his 1937 Willys instead of trading in the car on a new-used 1949 Frazier Manhattan. From that thought, I have always tried to extend the life of my cars (maybe longer than is practical.) Thus, like my father, I like keeping my old cars.

My first car was a 1952 sea-green Oldsmobile convertible purchased in 1961. I was in my junior year at Central High School in Fort Wayne, Indiana. My brother lent me $250 to purchase the car. Danny likes to claim that debt was never paid, but I paid him back.... Really. This fuzzy picture of the Olds with me and my wife-to-be in the foreground was taken four years later.

My second car was this red 1965 2+2 Mustang fastback. This was a hot car with a 289 cubic inch engine producing 220 horsepower. The Mustang cost $2,000 plus my Olds in trade. I bought this car new-used in the summer of 1966. Since I was just starting my teaching career, my mother graciously lent me the $2,000 to buy the car. I eventually paid her back too...Honest. In the picture taken in 1971, I am holding our first son. He was eleven weeks old. This was a grand and glorious spring day.

In 1976, the Mustang suffered from a rusting undercarriage, a failing clutch, and being driven hard for 96,000 miles so I was in the market for another car. A few miles from our home, I found 1955 210 Chevrolet. The Chevy came with a strong and solid frame. The owner of the Chevy was willing to trade his Chevy for my rusty Mustang and a few dollars more, $900 to be exact. Unfortunately, the new young owner burned the clutch out on his trip home. Standing by the '55 is our youngest son , Luke.

To see other cars and read other car stories visit our Fun Monday hostess, Tiggerlane, the Neophyte Blogger.

I Always Wanted a Red-headed Grandbaby

2007-07-01T00:13:00.000-07:00

"I always wanted a red-headed grandbaby," are the words that my mother, Laura Gray Thompson, said to Daddy D, on our second date when she first met my husband-to-be. Daddy D was blessed with beautiful red hair. At that time, my mother was grandmother to three delightful grandchildren, who were all blue-eyed blonds. I think that most 19 year-old males would have ran out the door with such a suggestion of impending fatherhood. Not our red-headed hero, he stayed for Sukiyaki dinner that I prepared and has stayed with me for 43 more years.

As to the red-headed grandbaby, our oldest son had red hair at birth. However, by the time Dean was five months old, his pretty red hair turned blond. Although Laura did not live to meet her, our lovely daughter-in-law does have luxurious red hair so Laura did get her wish and does have a auburn-haired grandchild or granddaughter-in-law.

To read our about our first date, check out the July 1 entry at Return of the White Robin.

Down to the Blacktop.

2007-06-21T18:43:00.000-07:00

As our two sons were growing up, like all children, they were allowed to expand the range of exploring distance from our home. At first, they were allowed to visit only the nearest neighbors, those that lived not more than two houses away. Little by little they were allowed to go a little farther away from our home base. At one point in time, the line of demarcation that the boys were not to cross was about a block away from our house. Since there was fresh asphalt up to a certain point on our street about a block away, this offered a visual line for the boys. Occasionally, the neighborhood children would ride their bikes to this newly paved asphalt, or the family would take a walk to the end of our block. We all referred to this point as the "blacktop." Although all of the road was blacktop, the newer portion of the road was darker. Furthermore, the children said "we are going down to the blacktop" Also, the family walks were frequently, "down to the blacktop." Eventually, the entire service road was repaved, and there was no difference in the color of the pavement. However, the saying remained if we planned a walk, we were going "down to the blacktop."

Early the other morning, the floor of the computer room shook. After figuring out that we were not experiencing an earthquake, I looked in front of the house and saw this.
and this

and so far these machines have created this

In a few days, more workers will surely return and pave over our street one more time. There will be no line of demarcation at the end of the block. There will be no difference in color of the asphalt, but if we walk to the end of the block with our grandchildren, we will more than likely say, we are walking "down to the blacktop." Some sayings are like that. The reason for the expression disappears, but the saying remains.

Father's Day Update

2007-06-18T10:07:00.000-07:00

Here is a 2007 Father's Day picture with Luke and Daddy D making pirate faces at a new coffee store in town called Pirates of the Care-a-Bean. The store has a fun theme and decor with a pirate nautical flair. (Pirates are the mascot of the nearby high school where Luke graduated and where Daddy D teaches chemistry and physics.) The drink sizes are called "Guppy", "Shark", and "Whaler" Hopefully, they will fare well in the storm of competition and first year business doldrums.

Luke may not consider the above an official "Father's Day Photo." Here is another picture taken yesterday on the front porch steps. This one includes the lovely Frema as well as Luke and Daddy D.

Happy Father's Day - Bubby

2007-06-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

On this day that is set aside to honor fathers. I would like to honor the father of my children. He is a kind, loyal, compassionate, bright, and handsome man. As a child, Daddy D was affectionately called Budgee by his family. Then as happens with young men, he wished to be called by his given name, which is Miles. Today most people call him, "Miles", except for his students, who frequently call him, "Mr. D."

The proud Papa is pictured here with his first born son on his very first Father's Day. Notice that baby Dean has a green left foot. I used green food coloring to make a baby foot print on the Father's Day card. In the lower right hand corner is the gift, a wild and crazy homemade tie, that Dean and I made for our Daddy D. Little Dean helped by taking a few naps that week so that I could stitch the tie. Believe me, that was a big help because for most of his first year, our little son did not sleep...at all. Note that father and son both have beautiful dark red hair. Here is Daddy D on his 5th Father's Day in 1975 with son, Luke, on one knee, and the older son, Dean, on the other knee. Dean's red hair is now blond. However, if you look closely, you can see both sons have inherited Daddy D's dimple in the chin. Aren't they handsome?

This Father's Day picture was taken in 2001. Father and adult son, Luke, are enjoying a tasty beverage at our favorite coffee store.

This is the most recent Father's Day picture of our three guys in 2003. They all have changed since the picture in 1975. Luke is now the tallest of the three and by the end of the year will be father himself. Daddy D has added a beard to his moustache and has some silver strands in his beautiful red hair. Dean, who has traded his plaid pants for a plaid shirt, is a father to our wonderful granddaughter.

Sometimes his family members still call our Daddy D, "Budgee", especially his sweet great-niece and brilliant great-nephew. Well actually, they call him "Uncle Budgee." I like the name Budgee, but I like to call our Daddy D, "Bubby."

Happy Father's Day, Bubby.

It Looks Like Rain

2007-06-07T17:28:00.000-07:00

My daughter called Saturday afternoon and in the midst of the conversation she said, "The leaves are turned up. It's going to rain." I looked out the window and immediately knew what she was talking about. We learned this from my mother. She would forecast the rain and be right the majority of the time. She always said that when the leaves turned up so you could see their underside it was going to rain.

She would have been right this time, because it looked like rain...

...and by Sunday morning it did!

Fun Monday - Crafts

2007-06-03T19:10:00.000-07:00

This is my very first Fun Monday post. For this week’s challenge Karmyn has asked us to show our crafty side....by posting something that was handmade....junior high shop table, scrapbook pages, burnt meatloaf, knitting projects, muffins, whatever....

This airplane is a representation of the World War I fighter, SPAD 13. This is the kind of plane flown by ace, Eddie Rickenbacker. After the war, Rickenbacker was an active figure at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

This, however, is not an Indianapolis race car. The model shown here is a an F1 or Formula One racer or a European car. Formula One cars are thought to be the most sophisticated of the race car family.

This ship-in-the-bottle is a miniature replica of 1851 racing schooner, America. The bottle itself once held the fine Scotch whiskey, Haig and Haig. The bottle is closed with sealing wax, and a Turk's head knot of twine surrounds the neck of the bottle. I built this first of several ships-in-the-bottle in 1973.

You may have seen a puzzle like this. If not, can, you tell what it says? We have used these puzzles a few times as a craft project for children at our church. I created the pieces to construct the puzzle out of coffee stirrers and an 8 inch piece of screen framing board. I stained the board and created a pattern for children to glue the sticks to the board.

Labels: Fun Monday

What Is So Rare As A Day in June

2007-05-31T18:19:00.000-07:00

A rare and perfect day in Indiana

My mother, Laura Gray Thompson, was a literary and learned person. She was bright, funny, and creative. Although she did not graduate from college until she was in her fifties when she completed both her bachelor's and a master's degree in English at Purdue University, she was well read and self taught before she even attended the university. One of my fond memories of mom is that on June 1st she recited the first few lines of this poem by James Russell Lowe. All these years, I thought that the poem was by Welshman, Dylan Thomas. In memory of my mom, here is the entire poem. May all of your days in June be both rare and perfect.

AND what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,-
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For our couriers we should not lack;
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-
And hark! How clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is happy now,
Everything is upward striving;
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,-
'Tis for the natural way of living:
Who knows whither the clouds have fled?
In the unscarred heaven they leave not wake,
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The soul partakes the season's youth,
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.

Daddy D Says, "No Rented Tuxedos"

2007-05-02T17:25:00.000-07:00

Daddy D decided at a young age never to rent formal wear or tuxedo. He wisely determined that the rented articles fit poorly and are often in disrepair. Mostly, he has fulfilled this promise only wearing a rented tuxedo when asked to do so as part of a wedding party. In this picture, our hero is all dressed up in a rented white sport coat with the ever popular red plaid cummerbund ready to go to the prom with our gum-chewing Becki B. According to Daddy D, the pants were too big; the cummerbund slid up and down, and the jacket was ill-fitting. Nonetheless, I think he looked quite handsome at 16 in this formal wear.

Daddy D did have an opportunity to wear rented formal wear one other time. Mutual friends of ours were getting married, and the groom chose morning suits for the men in the bridal party. When the groom and groomsmen picked up the rental suits, the groom discovered that the zipper in his pants was popped. Daddy D's rented pants were a tad short. However, it was decided that short pants for the groom looked better than a popped zipper. Since Daddy D and the groom were of similar size, they traded pants for the ceremony. Here is a picture of the two of us after the reception. My wrinkled too big bridesmaid dress goes right along with the damaged suit pants. Can you tell from the picture that this couple had imbibed a few too many glasses of champagne? I always think that we look like Mickey and Minnie Mouse.

Sunshine at and the pursuit of happiness is sponsoring a Blog prom. Daddy D and I are going to the prom together. If you want to go to the Prom too, visit Sunshine and tell her that you want to go to the Prom. Send Sunshine a picture of you in your prettiest formal or finest tuxedo. Like any memorable event, Sunshine has organized the following schedule. Hopefully, you will show up to make the tissue paper flowers and blow up the balloons. We will all have a grand time at the prom.

Friday, April 27 - we'll be reminiscing about prom theme songs
Tuesday, May 1 - we'll be sharing the lovely or horrible or tragic or hilarious prom memories
Monday, May 7 - submitted prom photos will be posted with links to participating bloggers
Tuesday, May 8 - PROM

Daddy D's prom picture is from May 8, 1961, 46 years before our Blog Prom.

Dead Although Not Fat Hair

2007-04-04T14:33:00.000-07:00

You can tell from the previous post about The Boodlerag that my dad was fortunate not only to have a full head of hair, but he was blessed with having naturally wavy hair as well. Dad was a blue-eyed blond. When blonds turn gray, the gray hair does not stand out and scream. "Look at me I am old." Instead the gray hairs graciously blend in the the blond hair; hence light-haired people may seem to turn gray overnight so to speak. Our Dad's hair seemed to do just that. One day Dad's hair was blond; the next day Dad's hair was silver. My dad like many men was not bothered by the gray hair. But when asked about the rapid hair color change, he would respond that his hair was dead. When hearing advertisements about thinning hair, he would comment, "Who wants to have fat hair?" The picture from 1983 shows both of my parents. As you can see, both of my parents ended up with dead hair.

Although I was a brunette as a young girl with very dark brown hair, I must take after my father as my wavy hair has been "dead" for years. Furthermore, although thinning hair has not been a problem, I definitely do not have fat hair.

The Boodlerag

2007-03-25T12:21:00.000-07:00

My dad, Byron W. Thompson, was a mild-mannered and kind man. I favorably remember that it was Dad, who read us bedtime stories and cooked most of our suppers. Byron was a man of gentle and subtle humor. He would tell a joke quietly and then wait for it to sink in the brains of the four females in the household. After detecting the humor, he would have us all rolling with laughter. I was the youngest of three daughters so maybe I was the last to understand.

One thing, that seems a little out of character for my Dad, was his invention of The Boodlerag. We three girls never saw The Boodlerag, but we were fortunate or unfortunate enough to hear The Boodlerag from time to time. As I remember, The Boodlerag lived in the basement, and The Boodlerag made a looonnng moanful cry like the banshees in Darby O'Gill and The Little People. (Of course, you know how scary the Darby O'Gill story is with banshees forewarning death and Death, himself, coming to get you in a carriage, but I digress.) When we would ask Dad, "what was the wretched sound?" He would answer with a sly smile that "It must have been The Boodlerag." Now generally, I was the world's least courageous child, but somehow the sly smile made me feel that everything was okay and that we were safe and sound.

I am not sure how The Boodlerag came into being, but my grown-up science teacher self tells me that The Boodlerag moan was Dad blowing through some long tube like a vacuum cleaner hose. When I was fourteen, we moved from our home with a basement on Kensington to a home in suburbia with a crawl space and no basement. Strangely, we never heard The Boodlerag in the subdivision home so I guess that The Boodlerag is still moaning back in the house on Kensington. Hopefully, the little children know that The Boodlerag means no harm.

Did your father like to tease you with a creation of his own?

Why I Love Where I Live or "People Who Live in..."

2007-02-12T05:07:00.000-08:00

Laura Gray Thompson, my mother, liked to twist famous sayings. She would add this finish to the proverbial quote, "People who live in glass houses." with merely the one word, "shouldn't." I will leave what she meant exactly to your imagination. The quote however allows me to fulfill the theme of our team blog and to play the game proposed by Marnie of I Didn’t Say It Was Your Fault… for Fun Monday, Why I Love Where I Live.

I love where I live notwithstanding a few drawbacks such as this scenic view of my neighbor's back porch and this nifty sign posted in the same neighbor's stoop window. Yes, that is my reflection in the picture. I think that it is humorous that my image is right above the word, b*tch. I find it somewhat less humorous to see that sign day after day.

There are many reasons to love where I live, but my primary reason "for lovin' it" involves the people that live here. Sadly, loving our community, a sleepy bedroom town next the city of Gary, took some personal growth for me and for my community. I moved to Lake County, Indiana from Fort Wayne forty years ago. When I arrived this was a town without many of the amenities of Fort Wayne, there were no streetlights, no sidewalks, no bookstores, and only a few restaurants. Furthermore, this town, just south of Gary, Indiana was becoming a bastion of white flight. Thus, some citizens of our community were either timid homeowners fearing possible falling property values or outright haters.

However, as time past, many positive economic and social changes took place right here in Merrillville, Indiana. There was vast economic expansion that included a hospital, shopping centers, restaurants, theaters, and yes, even bookstores. Additionally, slowly the diversity of our population changed. For a number of years, our community has been a gathering place for people from Eastern Europe including Macedonians, Greeks, Croatians. Polish people, Serbians, Romanians and others. In recent years, the diversity of our population has expanded even more. In fact, our town may have the most diverse population in Indiana or perhaps anywhere. Our community population now includes a variety of ethnic backgrounds. This is a town where African-Americans, Hispanics, Indian-Americans and those with Eastern European heritage join people of other backgrounds to play, to work, to attend school, to shop, and to eat the town's many restaurants. Wonderfully, the religious institutions reflect this vast diversity. In addition to a number of Catholic and Protestant churches, we have a number of orthodox churches and cathedrals, an Islamic center, a Hindu place of worship, and a Sikh place of worship. Proudly, our community has evolved into a community that fosters tolerance and acceptance.

Besides the great folks in our community, there are some other reasons why I love living here. First, this is my home, and I have many fond memories. Second, we live a few miles from this beautiful lake shore. Third, my church is a growing family of faith, and we are working on reaching out to others.

As a final thought about my mother's version of the old saying, "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones", may suggest insight to appreciate where we live. Marnie has given us this chance to voice this appreciation in this Fun Monday exercise. Sometimes by not judging others, I can learn to appreciate my own circumstances or "house." Although honestly, I think that mom meant something else.

A Kruby by Any Other Name Still Smells

2007-02-04T13:03:00.000-08:00

Members of my family have been growing a mysterious plant for at least fifty years. There many mysterious aspects to the history of this plant. First, what is the plant’s name? Family members called this botanical oddity, a Kruby. My grandfather gave my mother some of the bulbs or corms to grow her own Krubys. However, perhaps grandfather being a farmer had legendary success in cultivating a Kruby crop. Maybe it was his access to a secret ingredient or maybe not so secret as long as your farm has cows

Years, later my mother donated one of these plants to
Foellinger -Freimann Botanical Conservatory . The horticulturist told my mom that the plant’s scientific name is Amorphophallus konjac, which is native to Asia. Searching the Internet, you can find various names for this plant besides Konjac, such as Voodoo Lily, Devil’s Tongue, and Snake Plant. The name Kruby is nowhere to be found.

If you decide to grow this unique plant, you need to be aware of the dreadful foul-smelling stench emitted by the enormous bloom. Growing the plants is relatively easy. You place the bulb or corm in the ground and wait. Some say that the flower does not bloom often, and the flower blossoms in a strange way. Here in the Midwest, the plants grow quickly in the summer; the green leaf dies off and maybe, just may be followed by the gigantic maroon evil-smelling blossom.

Thanks to my lovely sisters, Shirley and Marie for providing the family pictures of the Krubys. My sweet sister, Ruthie has sent word that the family Konjac at the conservatory is blooming right now. You can bet it stinks.

Clever Lads

2007-01-20T18:20:00.000-08:00

Our sons, pictured here with their cousin David at Thanksgiving, had an expression that allowed them to claim that they were finished eating their nourishing if not tasty meal. The expression was “I ate a lot.” They also developed a clever subterfuge to convince their parents that the statement was indeed true. The child using the ploy would spread the food into a thin layer on the plate. With the shininess of the plate showing through the food, sometimes a parent might be convinced that the food had been tasted. Okay, okay, we adults were not so much fooled by the food trick, but charmed by those sweet faces saying, “I ate a lot.”

The fact that we did not force the boys to clean their plates must not have been especially harmful. Today, one son is 6’, and the other is 6’5”.

What happened to you as a child if you did not eat your Brussel sprouts, your liver, your asparagus, your oyster stew, or other foods that you personally found distasteful? I remember sitting in front of a plate of liver until 10:00 PM. Ewww liver...YUCK. Team member Gawilli of Back in the Day reminisces about one of her childhood experiences with eating in her post on January 20, 2007.

Pay It Forward

2007-01-11T18:18:00.000-08:00

My mom, Laura Gray Thompson, the lady with the slightly risqué sense of humor, also had a heart of gold. She was forever doing a good deed for someone with trouble or someone in trouble. Although our family could not afford an automobile, I remember when I was very young that we sent clothes to an impoverished family in The Netherlands. In the late 1950’s, she had a baby shower for an unwed mother, who had financial difficulties. Sadly in those days, an unwed mother was not readily accepted by the greater society. I remember another time that Laura volunteered to feed a traveling group of prisoners that included armed robbers and murderers. (These villains were part of a motivational program to encourage youth to live honest lives.) Furthermore, my mother befriended a young woman that was hospitalized for a number of years as a criminally insane patient.

When the unwed mother told my mom that she could never repay my mother’s kindness, my mother responded that the young woman might be able to do a good deed for someone else in the future and that was good enough for my mom. My mother did not really expect repayment.

The grand idea of paying it forward was popularized by the book titled, Pay It Forward by Catherine Ryan Hyde and then in a movie with the same title. However, I think that the quote is an old one dating back to science fiction author, Robert Heinlein in his book, Between Planets. But maybe, this is an ancient idea supported by many cultures and many world religions as stated in The Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Matthew 7:12. Maybe Laura did not actually say the words “pay it forward”, but she lived the concept and that is what counts.

What's that, mom?

2007-01-02T14:06:00.000-08:00

Mom: It's a layover to catch meddlers, and you're the first one caught.

Me: No, really. What is it?

Mom: I told you. It's a layover to catch meddlers, and you're the first one caught.
Me: Ok. But what is a layover, and what do you do with it?

Mom: You use it to catch meddlers.
Me: I know. But then what are meddlers?

Mom: Well, you're the first one caught. Does that help?
Me: Aw, come on mom...

It never really mattered what it was to me, or my mom. Once it got started we both carried it on with gusto. I thought until recently that this was a game that only we knew how to play. Thanks to Google, I have found that children have been befuddled by this expression for as long ago as 1890 in the Eastern and Southern states. I also found out that a layover is a trap for bears; the pit I saw in the old movies that was covered with branches. I, of course, was the meddler; fiddling around in my mother's business.

When I was taking pictures for this post, Willi picked up the long wooden tool in the first picture and asked, "What is this?"

Of course you know what I said!

Mama said, “It’s my birthday!”

2006-12-10T09:53:00.001-08:00

Everyone go tell my best friend, my mom, Happy Birthday today!

I love you, mom. Thank you for making me who I am.

Visiting Mrs. Murphy

2006-12-04T05:46:00.000-08:00

This grand lady is Orpha Jane Brown Gray; she was born 135 years ago today. Although no longer living, Orpha did live almost 100 years. She died shortly after her 97th birthday. Orpha is my maternal grandmother, and I was born on her seventy-fifth birthday, which makes me 60 years old today. I was named after her as we share the same middle name, Jane. The two of us were always grateful that we did not share the name Orpha.

Since Grandma Gray was born and grew to adulthood in the nineteenth century, her world view was much different than mine. She said some things that I was not able to comprehend. One of the expressions that I remember is my grandmother saying, “I am going to see Mrs. Murphy.” When did grandma say this? She said this when heading to my Aunt Ida’s outhouse. At the tender age of three, this was a curiosity to me. Was my grandma meeting Mrs. Murphy in the outhouse? Who was this Mrs. Murphy? Of course, Grandma was using this saying about the visit to Mrs. Murphy as a euphemism for taking care of the bodily function of excretion. I understand about not wanting to mention the specifics of the trip to the bathroom, and many people, including Daddy D, mention going to the library. However, those people frequently use the bathroom as a reading spot in addition to the usual business so the library comment makes some sense.

Do you have a favorite euphemism for taking care of the business of excretion? I like to say that “I am going to the bathroom,” which in itself does not give any specifics about what is happening in the bathroom. Or better yet, I prefer to discretely take care of matters without any discussion about where I am going or what I plan do when I get there. After all, do we really want to know if the visit to Mrs. Murphy involves number one or number two?

Grandma Gray would probably not approve this whole discussion, but Happy Birthday to the both of us.

Math Teacher

2006-11-29T16:56:00.000-08:00

My father in the center of the picture used to say, "If I had it do over again, I'd be a math teacher." Father, a factory worker at General Electric, reasoned that the pursuit of mathematics is an intellectual endeavor and did not require much equipment. Strangely enough his eldest son, the lad on the left, did become a math teacher. After a few years of teaching geometry, this son became a full-time science teacher. Teaching science does require a few pieces of equipment, which could regarded as sophisticated toys.

In Polite Conversation

2006-11-13T19:18:00.000-08:00

In our house there were two things you did not do if, and when, you were spoken to by an adult. The first was to shrug your shoulders, and the second was to roll your eyes; particularly if you were within arms reach and silly enough to persist after sufficient warning. Every effort should be made to speak when spoken to with a thoughtful and pertinent answer. It wasn't hard once I got the hang of it and the world's worst was to be banished from conversation.

My Aunt Shirley, pictured here with my Uncle and Grandfather, just did not get it. She lived with my parents as she was growing up until she married, before I came along. Their relationship was one of parent and child. One afternoon I remember sitting at the table with my mom and Aunt, at that time with young children of her own. During the conversation she responded to a question from my mother with a shrug.

Oh geez!

My mom, giving her a second opportunity, rephrased the question at which time she rolled her eyes.

I ducked.

My mother, showing great restraint, responded quite nicely with "Speak ass; mouth can't!" My mouth must have hit the table. I don't remember my parents using "foul language" as it was called. Not only that, I wasn't really sure what it meant. My Aunt Shirley knew. It turned out to be a phrase coined by my Grandfather under similar circumstances. She made a nice rebound and my mom continued the conversation without skipping a beat, as if it has never happened.

I always wondered if my Aunt knew she was riding the ragged edge of disaster in those few seconds before my mom took that deep breath and said...

Changing Her Tune

2006-11-03T17:16:00.000-08:00

This is my mom, Laura Gray. I am not sure of her age in the photograph, but I believe that she may have been 17. Laura was an intelligent, giving woman with a slightly wicked sense of humor. Although I cannot remember that she used many swear words, she did indeed have a colorful way of expressing herself. (See the September 16, 2006 entry.) One of example of this colorful expression was her response to bad drivers. Laura must have felt that she had a duty to let wayward drivers know that they should change their ways. Many times she would roll down her window and yell at the driver. “I bet that your mother comes out from under the porch and barks at you.” If the driver was especially inept, Mom would add, “You damn bastard.” I guess this last part was added to let the incompetent traveler know that she was really questioning his parentage in case he missed the first implication. This practice of trying to reform the driving population stopped when my mom overheard her two year old granddaughter singing this little ditty on our patio. The words to the song were simple, “Damp Bastar, Damp Bastar.”

Quaaaaaaaaaaaaaid.

2006-10-30T20:27:00.000-08:00

Tonight, a very special edition of Grandma Said…

My maternal grandmother, whom all the grandchildren called “Nan” or “Nannie,” never had a negative word to say about anyone or anything. She would say something positive in the most sarcastic voice possible, but she would never stoop to using any kind of pejoratives or insults.

Once we took her to see Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Total Recall. She wasn’t the least bit interested in seeing the movie, but everyone else was going, and she didn’t want to be left out. Well, I think the last movie she had seen on the big screen was Gone with the Wind, so she was in for something of a shock, considering all the nasal probe guns, stomach-dwelling mutants, and three-breasted prostitutes Arnold’s movie had to offer. However, when we asked her whether she liked the film, all she would say was

Oh, yes. I loved it.

The only person she ever seemed to have any animosity for was herself, for whom she reserved the most vicious insults. “Dumb Dora don’t know nothing,” she’d say. Or when she spilled something while cooking— “I’m the biggest gobble-gut in the country.”

Nan was a mild-mannered Southern woman, but she was much stronger than we realized. I’m not talking about that Oprah-moment, you-go-girl kind of strength, either. I mean she was physically much stronger than we gave her credit for, which my brother learned at his peril. Once, when she came out of her room after watching You Can Be a Star on TNN, he strode up to her and said, “You wanna wrastle?”

Nan’s response was swift and immediate. “I believe I do,” she told him, and proceeded to body slam him into the couch.

Granddaddy wants to see more of you!

2006-10-23T20:36:00.000-07:00

When my grandfather, or granddaddy as we called him, would visit he always had a special way of bidding us goodbye. JW as he was known to adults always said, "We'll see more of you when you go swimming."

Considering that the bikini was the hip thing in the sixties and seventies JW's goodbye started to take on new meaning. I mean, you really did see more of people when they went swimming, a whole lot more!

Of course this did not worry me much because my dad always told me that I could go swimming, but I couldn't get wet. Not being able figure this out I kept most of my clothes on and sat on the beach, NOT!

One More

2006-10-21T13:49:00.000-07:00

This is our oldest son, who will be 36 in March. After those initial months of not sleeping more than 20 minutes at a time, raising this baby was relatively easy. He was a congenial and happy toddler. Like many toddlers, he had his parents wrapped around his stubby little fingers. He cleverly developed his own expression for weasling another cookie from his parents. What were these magic words? "One more...last one" As I remember, our little one would say this after being told that this was the last cookie for the day. He also liked to have a cookie for each hand. How did this bargaining for cookies work? Like a charm, who could say no to that sweet face?

About Two Weeks

2006-10-14T10:46:00.000-07:00

Like the lovely Sarah as a child, my son, Luke , cut his own hair, but Luke did this several times. Luke is pictured here in Junior Church. He is the rascal with the jagged bangs and the fearsome demeanor. In Luke's case, I guess that this penchant for cutting hair may be genetic or at least environmental. For a variety of reasons, I usually cut my own hair. Sometimes the result of this personalized barbering is fine; other haircuts have been disastrous. Daddy D has a saying that fits the more embarrassing explorations of this haircutting endeavor. He quips, “Do you know the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut?” The answer, “About Two Weeks…”

I am about two weeks after one such haircutting adventure. Daddy D may be right; the cut looks better than it did two weeks ago.

Who's in charge?

2006-10-09T18:28:00.000-07:00

Here's my daughter. The one that wanted to do things "her own self". Of course this picture is over twenty years old. See the cute little bangs? They are there because she wanted to cut her own hair. And did. Along those same lines, she never cared much about being told what to do by her brother. Often times I would hear her shouting "You're not the boss of me!" Funny, that hasn't changed much either!

Round Tuit

2006-10-02T18:24:00.000-07:00

My brother-in-law, who is a man of many talents, uses an expression that comes complete with a prop. The expression is one that everyone uses, but to me the saying belongs to Jerry. What do you say when someone asks you to do something, or why you have not done something? Do you answer? "I will clean the garage, make an appointment to see the doctor, start attending church...when I get around to it." Several years ago, Jerry created a wooden nickel that proclaimed, "Tuit." I asked him to send me a photo of the wooden nickel, but he probably did not (you know) get around to it so I found this Round Tuit picture online. If you are like me and do not have enough hours in a day, maybe you need a one of these Round Tuits. You can order them online.

Addendum: This morning after posting this useful tip, I have discovered that my good brother-in-law did send me another version of the item and in a timely fashion. However, I was in a hurry to get these wise words out to you busy Internet folks. Jerry reports that the "original Round Tuit is currently unavailable in archives, translate lost." This is his 2-dimensional for you craftspeople to create your own Round Tuit. But if you are like me, you probably will not get around to it.

My way or not at all...

2006-09-30T18:42:00.000-07:00

My daughter, being the independent child that she was (and still is) use to say...
"I want to do it my own self. "

Sevine.

2006-09-26T20:35:00.000-07:00

Dad is not the type to be bothered with paying attention to our celebrity-drenched American pop culture. He may enjoy a good CSI, Monk, our House episode, and nobody’s more up for a trip to the movies than he, but really he’d rather spend his time playing the latest iteration of Sid Meier’s world-conquest game Civilization. He really doesn’t pay a whole lot of attention to all the datings, marryings, divorcings, and babyings of the stars themselves.

This heedlessness extends even unto the very names of the aforesaid stars. Often he can’t remember the name of the celebrity he wants to tell us about. This would confound a lesser man, but my dad just makes up his own name for the person. He gets close, kind of, but his names are more like metaphysical anagrams. He rearranges the letters and concepts behind the names, and he ends up with something that’s usually more descriptive than the original ‘real’ name.

Famed director Quentin Tarantino is known in our house as Farentino. Not Quentin Farentino. Just Farentino.

When trying to tell us about an Adam Sandler movie he watched, dad referred to the star of the film as Happy Chandler.

Cuba Gooding Jr. is known as Gooba Gooba Goody. Not the best of the bunch, to be sure, but then, neither was Boat Trip.

My all-time favorite (and we’re really reaching back into the darkest VH1 vacuum of pop icons gone by with this one, folks) has got to be his name for MC Hammer… DC Holmes.

Please Holmy, don’t hurt ‘em!

That Dirty Dog

2006-09-23T05:08:00.000-07:00

My mom had this way of saying that what you do, comes right back to you...

"What goes over the dog's back comes under his belly." -Viola Bell

Open Minds

2006-09-20T13:59:00.000-07:00

Daddy D teaches chemistry and physics, and is a believer in something called "Unit Analysis." Early in his teaching career, he created a bulletin board to promote the concept of unit analysis that said simply, "Open your mind to units." He thought that this was a great bulletin board so he left the letters in place for years. After a few years, the "U" was lost so that the bulletin board read, "Open your mind to nits." Now opening your mind to units is one thing; opening your mind to nits is completely something else.

Metal Mothers.

2006-09-18T17:59:00.000-07:00

When I was just starting to drive on my learner's permit, it was important to have the right music playing while we motored to and from nearby places like church, the grocery store, McDonalds, etc.

The right music, of course, was thrash, punk, speed metal, hard core, grind core, death metal, grunge, or some combination of the above. There was plenty of stuff which even our local "alternative" radio station wouldn't play, so my brothers and I made our own tapes, judiciously ordering the songs so as to fit onto a 45-minute side without cutting out and flipping over in the middle of a song. A truly epic mixtape was a long time in the making, considering there was no high-speed dubbing available.

All that work was basically for naught, however. About fifteen seconds into the lead-off song, "Chipped Beef," Mom said:

"Turn that off! I can't tell if that's the song or the car making noise!"

No apologies necessary...

2006-09-17T19:57:00.000-07:00

When my mom thought my room was a bit untidy, she would say,
"This room looks like a whore's nightmare!" - Viola Bell

I never could figure out what a horror's nightmare was, let alone why my room looked like one.

With Apologies to Heidi Fleiss

2006-09-16T09:34:00.000-07:00

My Mama used to say an old adage with this twist "You can lead a whore to culture, but you can't make her think." - Laura Gray Thompson

Motor Ahead

2006-09-14T20:27:00.000-07:00

As a help the following is just great: "If the motor will fit, the fenders will bend."
My dad said this in situations with pressure to get a job done, one must move ahead regardless of incoming forces. Fight through it.

While we are on that subject...

2006-09-14T19:37:00.000-07:00

When the rain would be pouring down on the garden in the back, my dad would gaze out the window and say to my mom, " Think the rain'll hurt the rhubarb?"

This continued for years after the garden was gone and caused quite a few giggles. Now I find myself looking out the same window and thinking it to myself...

Even more rain

2006-09-13T19:05:00.000-07:00

Today we had a caller at school who asked if school in northwest Indiana were closed because of the rain. The secretary said no, to which I replied to them what my Mr. Tenney always said:

"They (the kids) ain't sugar, they won't melt."

More Rain

2006-09-12T20:30:00.000-07:00

To continue the theme about rain, my dad's favorite saying was "Into everyone's life a little rain must fall." He usually said this in a tongue-in-cheek way when my sisters or I were complaining about trivial matters. - B.W. Thompson

When a Hard Rain's a Falling

2006-09-11T21:12:00.000-07:00

Today it rained all day. At one point it was raining so hard I heard from the outer office, "It's raining cats and dogs". Made me think of what my dad, Joe, would say when it looked like a hard rain was a coming.

"It's gonna rain like a cow pissing on a flat rock."

Being a kid, I asked what that meant. He replied, "ever see a cow piss on a flat rock?"

Thanks, mom.

2006-09-09T22:40:00.000-07:00

"Your mom always said to hang everything at eye-level." -My husband, after I asked him to stop sticking stray hairs to the shower wall.

Upon waking up in the morning

2006-09-09T06:54:00.000-07:00

"I’d stretch a mile if I didn’t have to walk back." - My Dad

Upon retiring to bed

2006-09-07T20:05:00.000-07:00

"If it starts thundering and lightening, wake me up because I can't sleep." -Grandpa J.W. Willi