LEFT-HANDERS' DAY

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For all my fellow southpaws, cack-handers, gauche and sinister people,

It is International Left-Handers’ Day. 

Huzzah!

Left-handed

Right thinking

It is a day for finding lots of articles explaining who we are.  In one article, I found:

On the one hand:
     We’re more likely to drink (alcohol)           (check)
     We’re more likely to be shy and easily embarrassed         (check) 
     We’re more prone to negative feelings      (check)
     We aren’t likely to get over those negative feelings anytime soon    (definite check)
     We scare easily     (check)
     We’re more likely to be dyslexic  (check)  and ADHD types  (check)
     We’re more likely to be schizophrenic  (we’re not sure)
     We’re more likely to have mood disorders    (check)

On the same hand:
     We are supposedly more artistic.
     We are better at divergent thinking. 
     We are less at risk for ulcers.
     We are more likely to outlast rightie-tighties.   

So say it loud and say it proud – 

Lefties rule,

Righties drool.

 

2 November - All Souls' Day; Epitaphs

“Waking, sleeping, eating, drinking, chatt’ring, lying, life went by;

While of dying little thinking, down I dropp’d, and here I lie”

One of the Widow’s favorite pastimes is to wander through cemeteries and read the inscriptions on tombstones (although not at night.  Strange things can be found in cemeteries at night, like idiot kids who think desecrating tombstones is the height of cool).  Nowadays, of course, people don’t have the kind of stones on which one can write much (or knock over); most of the headstones have to be a certain (small) size and laid flat and a little below ground-level to make grounds-keeping easier.  Sigh.

(If this seems to be an odd pastime…. I suppose it is.  Genealogists do this sort of thing, you know.  In fact, should I ever deface my car with bumper-stickers, “I brake for cemeteries” will be first.)

Anyway, funeral art is a fascinating study in itself.  It is interesting to see how the ‘spirit images’ (or angels, or whatever current scholarship calls them now) developed over the years, even turning into portraits of the deceased, then moving away from death’s heads to urns and other classical motifs, then again to religious subjects like sculptures of weeping angels.  If you are interested in such things, check out The Association for Gravestone Studies.

I also enjoy epitaphs.  They are little windows into humanity, some of them quite funny, and I’ve considered what I would like the passerby to read on my own stone.

“Here lies the body of Mrs. Rudd

As bombshells go, she was a dud.”

I suppose, though, that if I am allowed a stone (and not just tossed into Potter’s Field), I should have something more useful like, “Of your charity, please pray for the soul of Mrs. Rudd”. 

Mrs. Rudd’s soul can use the prayers.

On those occasions when Mr. Rudd annoyingly channeled his inner three-year-old, I threatened to put this on his tombstone:

“Here lies my man, and for the best,

Because it gives us both a rest.”

Or

“Here lies the body of Mr. Rudd

Deeply regretted by those who never knew him.”

Or

“Here lies my husband.

Tears cannot bring him back,

Therefore I weep.”

He always countered with:

“Here lies my wife,

Cold as in life.”

(Of your charity, please pray for the soul of Mr. Rudd.)

Besides finding gems in the local cemeteries, I have a little collection of epitaph books. Here are some of my favorites.  Quite often the same epitaph with the same doggerel is found in several books, with only the names and/or locations different, so I’ve left the names and locations out.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Very common are the ‘memento mori’ messages, those reminding the reader that they too will face death:

“Remember, friend, as you pass by

As you are now, so once was I

As I am now, so you must be

So be prepared to follow me.”

To which one replies:

“To follow you is my intent

But first must know which way you went…”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“If Heaven be pleased when sinners cease to sin

If Hell be pleased when sinners enter in,

If Earth be pleased when ridded of a knave,

Then all are pleased for __________ ‘s in his grave.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Here lies _____________

Who died fighting for a lady’s honor

(She wanted to keep it.)”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I painted this on one of the ‘tombstones’ used for decorating our yard at Hallowe’en:

“He called Mr. Rudd a liar!”

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For a talkative person:

“Stranger, tread lightly over this wonder

If he opens his mouth, we’ll all go under.”

And an argumentative person:

“Tread lightly over her mouldering form

Or else you’ll raise another storm.”

And a drinker:

“Here lies _________________

Died sober.

Lord, Thy wonders never cease.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Here lies _________________

Who shot it out with four horse-thieves

And killed three of them.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Here lies the body of ____________, who departed this life suddenly by a cow kicking him.  Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Epitaph for a beloved Army mule, when the Army still had four-legged mules:

“In memory of Maggie, who in her time kicked two colonels, four majors, ten captains, twenty-four lieutenants, forty-two sergeants, 432 other ranks, and one Mills Bomb.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Here endeth the first batch of favorite epitaphs.

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Artwork

Master of Mary of Burgundy, 15^th century.  Illuminated page from the “Office of the Dead”, in the Hours of Engelbert of Nassau.

28 June - Eve of St. Peter

Those who told me (after I hit my head on the stairwell) that people who have had concussions, however slight, not only tend to feel very, very tired, but also seem to lose interest in life... were not kidding!  So many things to do, and no interest in them at all...

Meanwhile, this is the Eve of the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul, for all the love-lorn maidens out there.

21 February - Feralia; Pan de Muerto

Now ghostly spirits and the entombed dead wander,

Now the shadow feeds on the nourishment that’s offered

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This day they call the Feralia because they bear

Offerings to the dead: the last day to propitiate the shades.

                                                                                                            Ovid, Fasti, Book II

Today is the ancient Roman festival of Feralia, when the spirits of the dead were believed to hover above their graves.  To propitiate them, food and drink and little gifts were left nearby. 

And if you don’t believe in spooks, I have full proof.  I once left a hip flask of whiskey on a grave and – yes!  It was empty the next day!  The pie-eyed sexton swore he knew nothing about it, so that just shows you, doesn’t it?

And the grave must be honored. Appease your fathers’

Spirits, and bring little gifts to the tombs you built.

Their shades ask little, piety they prefer to costly

Offerings: no greedy deities haunt the Stygian depths.

A tile wreathed round with garlands offered is enough,

A scattering of meal, and a few grains of salt,

And bread soaked in wine, and loose violets:

Set them on a brick left in the middle of the path.

Not that I veto larger gifts, but these please the shades:

Add prayers and proper words to the fixed fires.

A friend of my mother’s used to take a bottle of (Irish) whiskey and pour it on her (Irish) husband’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death.  This story smote my poor husband to the heart and he lamented, “Couldn’t we run it through our kidneys first and then baptize the grave?”

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Since this is something akin to All Souls Day and Dios de los Muertos (and another cold day in winter), make a PAN DE MUERTO or “Bread of the Dead”.  You don’t have to leave it on a loved one’s grave; indeed, after smelling this sweet, cinnamony bread baking, you’ll be hard put to share it with the living!  But remember your own dear departed today, and send up prayers for the Holy Souls, that their stay in Purgatory may be lessened.  To pray for the dead is a spiritual work of mercy and one that should be done often.  Other ways to honor the deceased are to decorate their photos with flowers, or light a candle for each one on your family altar or at the church.

This is a yeast bread.

Cut up ¼ cup of butter into small pieces.

Separate 1 egg.

Bring ¼ cup of milk to scalding; remove from heat and stir in the pieces of butter, ¼ cup of sugar, and ½ teaspoon of salt.  Allow the mixture to cool.

In a large bowl, mix 1 envelope of dry yeast with ¼ cup of warm water.  Let it stand for about 5 minutes, then add the milk mixture, 1 egg, the separated egg yolk, and 2-1/3 cups of flour.  Blend well.

Turn out the dough on a well-floured surface and knead for about 5 minutes or until it is smooth and velvety.  Return the dough to a bowl, cover (a dish towel will do), put it in a warm place, and allow it to rise for about 1½ hours or until doubled.

When doubled, turn it out again onto a floured surface, and knead for a couple of minutes (this expels the air bubbles).

Grease a baking sheet.

Cut off a piece of dough about the size of 1/3 cup and reserve.  Divide the remaining dough into 3 equal parts; roll each part into a rope about 12 inches long.  Braid the ropes, pressing the ends together securely to make a wreath.  Place this on the greased baking sheet.

Divide the reserved dough in half and shape each piece into a ‘bone’, by rolling the middle and leaving the ends as knobs (I put an indentation into the ends of the knobs to make them look like a femur).  Cross the bones on top of the wreath.  Cover the whole again lightly and allow to rise in a warm place for about 30 minutes, until puffy looking.

Preheat the oven to 350° F.

Lightly beat the reserved egg white and brush it gently over the dough.  Mix together 2 teaspoons of sugar and ¼ teaspoon of cinnamon, and sprinkle this over the dough, avoiding the bones. (When baked, the bones will be shiny atop the dull sugary surface of the wreath.)

Bake for about 35 minutes or until brown.  Serve warm.

24 December - Christmas Eve

Weather: As the weather is on St. Adam and Eve, so will it be until the end of the month, and also will be mostly throughout the next year.  [In the traditional calendar, today was dedicated to our first parents, Adam and Eve.]

If Christmas Eve is bright and clear, then follows a very fruitful year.

When on Christmas night and evening it is very fair and clear weather, and is without wind and rain, then it is a token that this year will have plenty of wine and fruit.  [Come on, fair and clear!]

If it is foul weather and windy, so shall the year be very scant of wine and fruit. [Boo!]

If the wind should arise at the rising of the sun, then there will be a great dearth of cattle. [Boo!]

If the wind should arise at the setting of the sun, then there will come death to kings and other leaders. [Okay, I’m not sure I’d mind this too much… not that I wish death on anyone, not even our own Dear Leader.]

[Today, so far, has been very fair and clear, and no wind.  Huzzah!  However, the weather reports say that we shall have ‘wintery conditions’ this evening late until tomorrow mid-morning.  Well, those who look forward to this kind of thing will have a White Christmas.  The Widow looks forward to plenty of wine and fruit.]

Christmas Eve, Dick!  Christmas, Ebenezer!

Traditionally, as was true of all Vigils before important Feasts, this is a fast day.  We are still in Advent until this afternoon when Vespers or the Vigil Mass of Christmas begins the Great Feast. 

Our Vigil Mass always has the “Children’s Nativity” with several of our little angels (and shepaherds, and Mary and Joseph, and Three Kings, and a really big Star) making their way from one of the many doors of the church to the Manger before the Altar.  So cute. Never know what is going to happen – do we have a cryer this year (faced with the multitude, King #2 wants her Mommy, right now!)  Can we keep the Star from outpacing the Kings, and the Angels from outrunning the Shepherds?  Can we keep them moving so that they will reach Bethlehem before the end of the hymn?   It always works out.  And when that is finished, and the participants return to their families, Mass begins.

And what a rejoicing it is.  After Advent (“It’s not penitential!” “Yeah, right.”), days (weeks, for some) of fasting and abstinence and getting ourselves ready for His coming, Christmas is here!  Our Lord has come and our joy rings to the rafters!

Sour ol’ Naogeorgus in the 16^th century couldn’t stand all this flummery.  First he makes fun of the credulous who believe in miracles, then calumnates the priests on the score of stealing the offerings for use in gambling, and ends by rolling his eyes at the congregation standing around a crèche and singing hymns and carols.  Naogeorgus never died, you know.  He lives today in any media organ you care to name:

“Then comes the day wherein the Lord did bring his birth to pass,

Whereas at midnight up they rise, and every man to Mass.

This time so holy counted is, that diverse earnestly

Do think the waters all to wine are changed suddenly,

In that same hour that Christ himself was born, and came to light,

And unto water straight again transformed and altered quite.

There are beside that mindfully the money still do watch,

That first to altar comes, which then they privily do snatch.

The Priests, lest other should it have, takes oft the same away,

Whereby they think throughout the year to have good luck in play,

And not to lose: then straight at game till daylight do they strive,

To make some present proof how well their hallowed pence will thrive.

Three Masses every Priest doth sing upon that solemn day

With offerings unto every one, that so the more may play.

This done, a wooden child in clouts is on the altar set

About the which both boys and girls do dance and trimly jet,

And carols sing in praise of Christ, and for to help them hear

The Organs answer every verse, with sweet and solemn cheer.

The Priests do roar aloud, and round about the parents stand,

To see the sport, and with their voice do help them and their hand.”

There are more traditions for Christmas Eve here.

(I am off to cut a few sprigs of holly to decorate my bedstead, and then it will be time to get ready for Mass.)

A blessed Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night.

19 December - Ember Day

Weather – Ember Day – the weather today indicates the weather of January.

Today is the first of the Winter Ember Days, the other two being this coming Friday and Saturday.  These are days set aside in every quarter of the year during which we fast and pray, thanking God for his many blessings, and asking for the grace to use them well and in the service of others.

I wrote more about them here.

For the fun of it, I took again the Medieval Personality test, and this year – or at least right now – I am Phlegmatic.

The Phlegmatic:

   Is deliberative; slow in making decisions; perhaps overcautious in minor matters.

   Is indifferent to external affairs.

   Is reserved and distant. [painfully shy…]

   Is slow in movement. [Yeah, well, creaking old bones and a tendency to embonpoint can account for that…]

   Has a marked tendency to persevere.

   Exhibits a constancy of mood. [Yep, even-keel, that’s I]

(And enjoys hibernating before the fire)

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Meanwhile, I have been checking the weather to see how close the prognostications for the month have come.  These were the ones for December:

Weather for December:

Based on the 12 Days of Christmas: Sunny and less cold.

Based on the first 12 days of January: Rain, wind, cold, raw.  Brrrr…

Based on the Ember Days: Dark clouds in the morning, bright sunshine in the afternoon.

The last Sunday of the month indicates the weather for next month: The last Sunday of November had clear skies and high winds, very chilly high winds.

Well, here we are in the last half of the month, and so far, at least in this corner of the Smallest State, most of the days have been plenty darksome, with overcast, rain, threatened rain, fog – no appreciable snow yet, God be thanket.  But while we haven’t had many sunny days, it has been less cold than could be expected

Speaking of snow, another weather superstition is that the date on which the first snow falls indicates the number of snows we will have that winter.  Our first snow (a mere dusting) was on the 27^th of November, which means we can look forward to twenty-seven snows.  Oh, joy…  Couldn’t have waited a few more days and fallen on the 1^st of December, could it?

(The Widow is not overly fond of snow, except for the picture-postcard kind which falls on the fields and leave the roads and sidewalks clear.  When she was growing up (in California), she went to the snow, it did not come to her.  Those were days when people put chains on their tires after hieing themselves to the mountains for some Winter Recreation.)

One final superstition:  The general character of the weather during the last twenty days of December will rule the weather for winter. Starting from the 12^th, the weather has been nearly half and half, so far.  Three continuous days of bright sunshine, followed by five days of overcast and rain.  I wonder which will prevail?

28 September - There are no Stupid Questions

Wanna bet?

Today is (I am informed) National Ask A Stupid Question Day.

Go for it.  Be bold.  You know you want to.  Might have to hustle a bit though.  The media pretty much has the monopoly on stupid questions these days.

"Did Jesus have a wife?"

"Isn't Obama the greatest thing since sliced bread?"

"Will the Pope's butler be burned at the stake like Galileo?"

"If I read it on the Internet, is it true?"

"If I set up a poll and only ask those people who are likely to agree with me, and then publish the results that 99% of Americans think like I do, does that mean they do?"

"If my pet boa gets out of what I was sure was a secure domicile, should I tell the people in charge of the dorm?"

"What if it's just a garter snake?"

and on... and on....

So celebrate like crazy.  Ask all those questions that you know are stupid.  Ignore the rolling eyes and shaking heads.

This is the day to do it.

And this is the uniform of the day.... 

26 August - For my sister

Lordy, lordy, looks who's....

Nope, she's long past that.  She's goin' for the gold!

(the other candles are hiding in the back)

Happy birthday, sis.  Welcome to the golds.

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Weather - Tradition says that it always rains today. [tradition is in the Caribbean today]

The last Sunday of the month indicates the weather for the next month [we started with a little fog this morning, but it is now bright sunshine, clear blue skies, and enough of a breeze to make sitting on the porch the object of the day]

Speaking of which...

There will be as many snows in the following winter as there are fogs in August [one so far]

So many August fogs, so many winter mists [one so far]

On the other hand...

A fog in August indicates a severe winter and plenty of snow [so it looks like that one snow is going to be a doozy]

Observe on what day in August the first heavy fog occurs, and expect a hard freeze on that same date in October [preparatory to the severe winter]

4 July - Saint Martin Bullion

Weather - If Bullion's Day be dry, there will be an early harvest.

If the deer rise up dry and lie down dry on Bullion's day, there will be a good harvest.

If it rains on Bullion's Day, it will rain for forty days.

If it rains on the fourth of July, there will be no grapes that year.

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In medieval calendars, the translation of the relics of St. Martin of Tours [NOT ‘of Bullion’] was celebrated today.

At Tours, the translation of St. Martin, bishop and confessor, and the Dedication of his Basilica, which took place on the anniversary of his elevation to the episcopate some years previous.

Roman Martyrology

This is the same Saint Martin celebrated on 11 November, who divided his soldier’s cloak to cover a beggar, only to see a vision of Christ wearing it.  He later became a bishop.

Pace Robert Chambers and all who copy him, but the ‘Bullion’ part of his name comes from the French le bouilliant (the boiling), a perfect description of his summer feast day, and a way to differentiate it from that of November.

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This is also the Widow’s wedding anniversary.  You’ll never guess what our wedding colors were.

The Shot-gun wedding photo (no it actually wasn't, but thanks for asking)

The local bakery had a lot of fun with this

My love, I promised ‘til death us do part’. 

Not even death, my dearest friend, not even death…

Mother's Day

A.H. and Caroline Smith, 1868

For Mother’s Day this year, here is a Carte de visite (albumen process) from 1868 of my great-great-grandmother Caroline Daugherty Smith with her husband and first two children.

Caroline was two months from her fifteenth birthday when she married the German farmer next door.  Her 14^th and last child was born in 1885 when she was 40.  In between, there was the War between the States, Reconstruction in Texas, Comanche raids, the great herds of longhorns going north out of Texas (her half-brother Charlie Goodnight gave his name to the Loving-Goodnight Trail), bank failures, depressions, railroads criss-crossing the land, and over it all the day-to-day struggle to raise a family.

God bless her, and all mothers today.

The Borrowing Days

"The worst blast comes on the Borrowing Days."

The Borrowing Days (or Borrowed Days) are the last three days of March (and sometimes the first three of April, making in all six days).  Traditionally, these days are cold and stormy, at a time when we are looking forward to “that April with his showers sweet” and the gentle west wind “Zephyrus, also with his sweet breath”.  While March is many-weathered, it has hopefully been dry and increasingly warmer, so this period of cold and storm called for an explanation.

March borrows of April three days, and they are ill;

April borrows of March again three days of wind and rain.

One of the legends is that a shepherd once promised March a lamb if the month would guarantee good weather.  March did so, but when he went to get his promised payment, the shepherd, seeing that there were only three days left in the month and his flock was flourishing, reneged on the agreement.  March, in disgust, took his last three days, borrowed three from April, and for the six days sent such terrible weather that the entire flock perished.

March borrows from April

Three days and they are ill;

April returns them back again,

Three days and they are rain.

March does from April gain

Three days and they’re in rain,

Returned by April in ‘s bad kind,

Three days and they’re in wind.

“These days being generally stormy, our forefathers have endeavored to account for this circumstance, by pretending that March borrowed them from April, that he might extend his power so much longer.  Those who are much addicted to superstition will neither borrow nor lend on any of these days.”  Dr. Jamieson, Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language (1808).

On the other hand:

"Beware the blackthorn winter.”

'Blackthorn winter' is the traditional name for a period of warm days at the end of March or beginning of April – which fools the blackthorn (and other trees) into blooming – followed by a period of cold weather.   If the cold is severe enough, the blossoms are liable to be blasted then and there, and for fruit-bearing trees, this would be a catastrophe.

Not to mention sweet-breathed Zephyrus tempting us to put away our winter woolies and get out the shorts and sandals (with the ensuing colds and sniffles thereby).

Well, here in the Smallest State, we’ve had both.  A period of exceptionally warm days last week brought out a profusion of blossoming trees and shrubs – and the Borrowing Days have been cold.  Yesterday was cold and overcast (the day preceding was cold and rainy), today is cold and clear, and tomorrow, snow showers are predicted.

Oh bother.

13 October - US Navy Birthday

"Resolved, That a swift sailing vessel, to carry ten carriage guns, and a proportionable number of swivels, with eighty men, be fitted, with all possible despatch, for a cruise of three months, and that the commander be instructed to cruize eastward, for intercepting such transports as may be laden with warlike stores and other supplies for our enemies, and for such other purposes as the Congress shall direct.

That a Committee of three be appointed to prepare an estimate of the expence, and lay the same before the Congress, and to contract with proper persons to fit out the vessel.

Resolved, that another vessel be fitted out for the same purposes, and that the said committee report their opinion of a proper vessel, and also an estimate of the expence."  Source.
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Today in 1775, the Continental Congress authorized, by the above resolutions, "the procurement, fitting out, manning, and dispatching of two armed vessels" along with a committee to oversee the same.   The United States Navy dates its founding from that day.

You'd think that something as reasonable as ships to protect our shores would be at the forefront of any discussion, especially considering how much coastline the original 13 colonies (and their neighbors) had, but this was still 1775.  Independence was a hotly-contested issue, and certainly not a foregone conclusion, especially by those who hoped that showing the British Crown we were serious about defending our rights as British subjects would lead to a reconciliation (and life returning to normal).  There were privateers occasionally doing some damage, but their actions could be disavowed as needed. An authorized Navy could not be disavowed, and the whole thing smacked of real provocation, with no hope of reconciliation.

You can read here a detailed essay on the background and situation which led to this legislation, and find links to images and histories of some of the vessels of the Revolutionary War here.

And for your enjoyment, check out this 1777 map of Narragansett Bay, done for the British army by a helpful Loyalist to show, among other things, "the works and batteries raised by the Americans".   (Yep.  Little Rhody was right at the forefront of agitating for a Navy, because we knew those British ships had to be stopped out there away from our coastline.  Unfortunately, too little, too late, as Newport, Bristol, and Warren found to their cost.)

This is a screen capture.  You can see the whole map in great detail at the David Rumsey Map Collection website.

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When the Widow wore a uniform, such as that pictured here - yes, children, ichthyosaurs roamed the seas, to the detriment of our wooden dugouts - we were still called WAVES - Women Accepted for Voluntary Emergency Service.  That transitioned (along with an update in uniform) to WIN (Women In the Navy), making the old joke "Join the Navy and ride the Waves" obsolete.  Sailors are an inventive bunch, though, and a little change in acronym doesn't stop them.  I won't sully your ears.

But barring that, and too many funerals, and too many goodbyes, and WAY too many times getting shot at - this sailorette enjoyed her tours.

--------------    GO NAVY!    --------------

Now I know...

After the annoyance that was Hurricane Irene, I have found that should all power cease, I will probably turn homicidal within five days.

That is not quite fair.  I managed to survive without power for five days (I know to fill up the bathtub and every available pot, pan, and large bowl with water, also to garner as many jugs of drinking water as I can), but it was listening to the neighbors' generators that made me search out the rifle from its hiding place (by flashlight) and whatever shells I could find.  They (the generators) are all LOUD; that is a given.  But one of them sounded like an idling lawn-mower.  RUMMMMMrummrummm.. put.. put.. put.. RUMMMMMMrummrummm... put.. put.. put...

There must be something against the Geneva Convention about forcing a person to listen to that for 100+ hours!

And for all you cynical types: No, it wasn't because my neighbors with their loud, obnoxious generators could watch television or access the files on their computers, and certainly weren't worried about the food in their freezer thawing.  Nor was it because they could still get water for cooking and washing dishes and flushing toilets, without checking the jugs to see how much water was left, and determining which pots of water could be used now... but if the power doesn't come on tomorrow, I'm screwed...  No indeed.  I've been camping.  I know how it works to have nothing but a camp lantern to see by, and to find a bush in which to do one's business, and to wake up with the sun (horrible thought) and go to bed with the same.  I am not jealous.  My ancestors lived like this, and so can I!

(Pay no attention to that man installing a generator.)

26 August - For my sister

Another year has gone by, and my youngest sister is another year older today, so herein I wish her a happy birthday and many happy returns of the day.

With the usual cake

and a symbolic number of candles.

Both she and my younger sister will gleefully remind everyone that I am older than they, and always will be... which is true, I will admit, but merely being younger does not stop nature in its course.  So for my sisters, the one whose birthday is today, and the other whose birthday cometh up in a couple of weeks, I offer the following:

[ Men, and other squeamish types, kindly avert your gaze please ]


Do your boobs hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot?
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder
Like a Continental soldier?
Do your boobs hang low?

With much love from your eldest, and still evil, sister.

7 August - Squirrels; Brunswick Stew

According to The Old Farmer's Almanac for tomorrow: "Gray squirrels have their second litter now."

Hmmm.  Well, if the Mamas are sitting on their nests waiting for the stork to arrive, those fuzzy-tailed varmints outside attacking the bird feeders must be the males of the population, having some kind of "Guys Night Out".

Oh well.  I don't mind.  I like to listen to their chatter.

For those who are not so fond of the Feeder Thieves, I here give a recipe for BRUNSWICK STEW, of which the main ingredient is Squirrel:

Clean and draw 3 squirrels and soak them in cold salted water to cover for about 3 hours.
Boil enough potatoes to equal 2-3 cups when diced.

Bring 4-5 quarts of salted water to boiling.  Add the squirrel and 1/4 to 1/2 pound of chopped bacon.  Lower heat and cook until meat is tender enough to fall from the bones.  Remove squirrels from the pot, remove bones from the squirrels, return meat to the pot.  Add 1-2 cups of Lima beans (fresh, canned, or frozen) and the same of peeled and chopped tomatoes (a 1-pound can is sufficient).  Cook until beans are done.

Meanwhile, dice boiled potatoes.  Dice carrots and celery to equal 1-2 cups each.  Grate enough cabbage to equal 1/2 cup.  Cut enough corn kernels from ears to equal 1-1/2 cups with the milk scrapings (or use canned corn). Chop 1 onion.

Add the corn, potatoes, carrots, celery, cabbage, onion, and 2-3 tablespoons of butter to the pot.  Season with 1 teaspoon of salt and 1/2 teaspoon of pepper.  Simmer and stir until ingredients are melded and the consistency of mush, about 30 minutes.  Serve hot.

If you can't catch sufficient squirrels, you can substitute a 4 - 5 pound cut-up stewing chicken.  Cook it and the bacon in enough water to cover until the chicken is tender.  Remove the chicken, allow to cool, and cut the meat into bite-size pieces (discard the bones and skin).  Return the meat to the kettle and add your other ingredients (you may need to add more water as well).

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According to my husband, my mother-in-law, as a young wife, made Fried Squirrel one night for dinner.  Maybe she got hold of a tough one and didn't parboil it first, but for some reason, this entree foiled all attempts to eat it.  First her husband tried to cut it, then he tried gnawing it off the bone like a chicken leg.  When that didn't work, he tossed it to the dog, who worried for a few minutes, and then took it outside and buried it.  After that, squirrel never showed up on the table again. ("And if you're wise," said my husband, "you won't mention cooking squirrel to her."  I didn't.)

7 June - Festival of Fishermen

Ovid says that today is a festival of the Tiber River for fishermen:

"The day's a festival for those who tug at dripping lines

And hide their bronze hooks under little strands of bait."

Fasti, Book VI

Myself, I never used bait.  Jes' don't see the need for any catching to interfere with my fishing.

18 March - Ember Day;

Weather: Ember Day - the weather today foretells the weather of May.

Started out overcast (but warm), then sunny (and warm), then overcast with high winds (but still warm).
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According to the Old Farmer's Almanac, chipmunks emerge from hibernation about now.  Soon they will be hanging out below the bird-feeders, taunting the sparrows into throwing seeds down on them.

And if they are not careful, soon I will find little chipmunk corpses on the back steps - presents from the true Rulers of the Yard.

And Spring is here at last in the Smallest State! (Not that it won't be cold until May - that's a given.) The crocuses (croci?) are blooming all over the yard.

Lovely, just lovely...

I think today I will just celebrate the Return of the Croci (and that I've been allowed to see them once again).

10 March - The Telephone; Telephone Pudding

Today in 1876, after much work and experimentation, Alexander Graham Bell uttered those immortal words "Mr. Watson, come here! I want to see you!" into his contraption and the telephone was born.  I wonder if he knew then that he was creating a tyrant that would rule us all and eventually deform an entire generation into Unfocused Creatures Whose Heads Rest On Their Shoulders As They Wander Aimlessly Along Seemingly Talking To The Air.

[Not to mention the number of first dates which never make it to second dates, because Mr. I-Am-An-Important-Jerk spends more time talking on his phone than to his companion.]

This page, Alexander Graham Bell's Path to the Telephone, has much information on the steps leading up to the invention.  Also see Wikipedia's articles, here for how it works and here for a timeline with links to the Other People Who Invented the Telephone First.  Funny how everybody seems to be inventing the same thing at the same time.

Yes, children, the above picture is a 'rotary phone'.  Once upon a time, we had to dial each number separately and wait for the dial to swing back into position before dialing the next number.  And there was no redial button.

It was also completely necessary if one was to have any social life at all.  How else could one tell one's girlfriends, not one hour after seeing them at school: what-she-said, what-he-said, who's-cute, who's-not, who's-going-to-the-prom-with-whom (with commentary on the suitability), and who-is-wearing-what-tomorrow, and, oh yeah, what-was-the-homework-in-history-class-again?  Since there was usually only one phone line to the house, this continued until Dad stormed in saying that he'd been trying to get through for the last hour (Dads always exaggerate) and what could be so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?

But that was a big improvement on the candlestick telephone, for which one clicked the receiver switch-hook (what the receiver is hanging on in the drawing to the left) to get the attention of the operator, who would then connect you to whomever you were calling (you'll see these in old movies especially - "Hello, operator?  Get me the police!  There's been a murder at Millstone Manor!").

And that, being of a useful size for desks, was a big improvement over the large wall-box magneto telephone, the crank on one side being turned rapidly several times to get the attention of the operator, who could then switch the caller to the callee.  (They do look like something out of a cartoon, don't they.  This one is at the Binghamton, New York, Historical Society) 

For more on antique phones and their history, check out the Antique Telephone History Website.

Meanwhile, tonight would be a good night for TELEPHONE PUDDING [if you are looking for the South African version, you need to look further.  This recipe is from the South United States]:

To start with, you will need about 2 dozen almond macaroons (either buy them or try one of the many recipes online).  Cut them into halves and use the halves to line a 13" x 9" x 2" baking dish.

Heat oven to 350° F.  Separate 6 eggs.  Scald 2 cups of cream [the recipe calls for 'medium' cream, so I mixed together 1 cup of light cream and 1 cup of heavy cream.  Seems pretty medium to me].

Beat the yolks with 6 tablespoons of sugar and 1/8 teaspoon of salt until the mixture is thick, then add 1-1/2 teaspoons of vanilla.  Add a little of the scalded cream to the egg yolks, beating as you do so [you don't want to cook the yolks... yet], then gradually beat in the rest of the cream.  Pour this mixture over the macaroons.

Place the dish in a larger pan of hot water; place both in the oven and bake until the custard sets, about 25 minutes.  Remove from the oven, and dot the top of the custard with 1 cup of blackberry jam.  Turn the oven down to 325° F.

Now take the egg whites which have been sitting so patiently off to one side and beat them with 1/4 teaspoon of salt until foamy.  Then beat in 6 tablespoons of sugar (1 spoonful at a time) until the meringue is stiff.  Carefully spread the meringue over the custard (edge to edge).

Return it to the oven (without the pan of hot water, this time) and bake it for about 15 to 20 minutes.  Serve it either warm or cold, but not - NOT - while you are clacking away on the 'phone.  Let's give the dessert the respect it deserves, and our fellow diners as well.

9 February - The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh

Tonight, in 1964, the first episode of The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh played on Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color.

On the southern coast of England,

There's a legend people tell

Of days long ago, when the great Scarecrow

Would ride from the jaws of hell,

And laugh with a fiendish yell.

And that eldritch laugh haunted 9-year-old me for many moons.  It was only in the opening and closing songs - the Scarecrow's laugh in the film is much less frightening - and I knew by the second episode when to cover my ears.

But once past the opening theme, what a world of adventure!  The weirdly-dressed Scarecrow and his lieutenants, Hellspite and Curlew, lead a gang of smugglers - the Gentlemen of the Marsh - in their illegal activities.  They outrun and outwit the forces of the Law at every turn, from leading Excise-men on a wild-goose-chase across country and away from the night's 'run', to rescuing prisoners from King George's general, Pugh.

And then, very early on, we discovered that the nefarious Scarecrow is the 'mild and gentle as a dove' Vicar of Dymchurch, Dr. Syn (played by Patrick McGoohan), while Hellspite is his sexton, Mipps (George Cole), and Curlew is John Banks (Sean Scully), the young son of the local squire.

Even a 9-year-old can laugh at the idea of the pompous General Pugh telling the secrets of his campaign against the Scarecrow to the Scarecrow himself - if he only knew!

The original character of Dr. Syn was created by Russell Thorndike, who recounted the arch-smuggler's adventures first in a novel of that name published in 1915, and later in a series of 6 books that expanded on the original tale.  Mr. Disney adapted his version from a retelling of Thorndike's book The Further Adventures of Dr. Syn, written by William Buchanan and titled Christopher Syn.

After watching The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh, I looked for (and found) that book in the local library.  Oh joy!  Oh rapture!  Contra Mr. Disney, Curlew, in the book, was a girl.  Not John Banks, but Jennifer Banks.  The fun of outriding Excise-men and outwitting General Pugh was not reserved to the male of the species.  My dreams suddenly got far more adventuresome.

(Yes, there were bits of romance in the book.  I ignored them.)

You can find out about Dr. Syn, the books, comic books, movies, et al, at DrSyn.com, which, since Tom Hering took down his excellent website "The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh", is the best site for information.

Meanwhile, raise a glass of (smuggled) brandy to the Scarecrow!

So the king told all his soldiers,

"Hang him high or hang him low!

But never return 'till the day I learn

He's gone in flames below,

Or you'll hang with the great Scarecrow!"

24 January - Gold in Them Thar Hills!; Beefsteak and Oysters

Today in 1848, John Marshall found a few flakes of gold in the tailrace of John Sutter's new sawmill on the South Fork of the American River in California - and you know the rest.  Thousands of people from all over the world rushed to the Mexican territory by land and by sea, and by a bit of both, if they took the Panama route (there wasn't a canal cutting across the isthmus then). 

At first there were big strikes, and the stories of huge nuggets picked up off the ground and rich diggings easily worked weren't all untrue.

But the best way to make a fortune was by dealing in provisions for the miners - everything from tools to clothes to groceries to cooking meals to doing laundry to delivering mail to freighting goods (ahem! and to providing an evening's entertainment with card games and buxom wenches).  When you consider oysters at $1 each, eggs at $6 - $12 per dozen (originally 37 cents), and a washing pan for $16 (originally $2), you can understand how the Big Four - Leland Stanford, Mark Hopkins, Collis Huntington, and Charles Crocker - made their piles.

There are lists of the costs of living here at the Life of a 49er page, and while the prices don't seem so high, remember that an ounce of gold [a rounded teaspoonful of dust or a tablespoonful of flakes] was equivalent to about $16, and 10 hours of work might yield one ounce, or less.  Of course, it might yield a whole lot more, which is what the gambling spirit of the miner counted on.

You can see a replica of the sawmill and try your hand at panning for gold at the Marshall Gold Discovery State Historic Park (you can even take gold panning lessons there, if you want to learn the correct techniques).  Good luck!  ---------------------------------------------------------------
The Widow, in her much younger days, while hiking along a pretty-much deserted river, decided to try her hand at gold-panning, and learned two things: 1. that paper plates don't work, and 2. that she was claim-jumping.

Yes, indeed.  A bearded man came out of nowhere, and informed me of my crime [I can't call him an old prospector.  He was older than me, that much I know, and about three times my size, and I'm not sure when he last had a bath].  Well, I watched the Westerns, and I knew what happened to claim-jumpers, and it wasn't good.  However, the old[er] prospector, instead of stringing me up as a warning to others, let me go with a caution - but not before showing me how to use a real pan, and slosh the sand and gravel around, all the while looking for 'color'.  I spent the better part of an hour there with him, squatting in the icy cold water, sloshing sand around, and knowing that there was a gold nugget just waiting to be found with the next pan-full.

Well, like John Marshall, I found a few (tiny) flakes, which I gave to my host.  It was his claim, after all.
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To determine their purchase of food and supplies, forty-niner Howard Gardiner and and a few of his friends kept their takings in a mustard bottle, on which they had marked the foods available at the camp, starting at the bottom with pork stew; then pork and beans; roast beef and potatoes; plum duff; canned turkey with fixings; and at the top, oysters with ale and porter.  "The average height," said Gardiner, "was pork and beans," and rarely got above plum duff.  According the the Bill of Fare at San Francisco's upscale Ward House restaurant (found here at Food Timeline) , the roast beef entree cost $1 (at the economical What Cheer Restaurant, roast beef and lima beans cost 10 cents), which might give you an idea of how much gold filled the mustard bottle at any given time.

(Plum duff is our old friend plum pudding - a flour pudding with bits of dried fruit which is steamed or boiled in a cloth bag.)

Well, let's strike it rich and have oysters, either in Hangtown Fry or in BEEFSTEAK AND OYSTERS:

First, the oysters.  You will want a pint of shucked oysters or about 16 - 18 unshucked (4 - 6 per person, if you are dining a deux).  If canned, drain and move on to the steak.  If fresh... scrub the shells and rinse in cold water.  Shuck the oysters by inserting the point of a sharp thin knife into the hinged end of the oyster and pushing the blade between the valves (shells) until the muscle at the center is cut and the valves begin to separate.  Run the knife around the shell, separate the valves, and loosen the oyster from the shell.

Broil a nice steak (or individual steaks) to almost your preferred degree of doneness.  Remove steak and lower oven temperature to 375 degrees F.

Cover the steak with drained oysters.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper; dot with butter.

Bake for about 15 minutes, until oysters are plump and beginning to curl at the edges.  Remove, and serve, garnished as you like.