Driftwood Neighborhood Yard Sale Results, in order:
Rained hard at 5 AM when I was going to bed. I hoped and prayed yard sale would be rained out. It was not.
Arrived at house that was distributing maps at 7:45 (modestly early). They had no maps as the appointed mapmaker dropped the ball. A few other people meandering about. Bought two little handmade shiny decorative bowls, orange clay with white relief design. Very cute and different. Someone will get these with candy in them for Christmas. $2.50. Passed up on kitchen stool which lady said she loved but the only thing that ever warmed the seat was a pile of junk, so out it goes. These people were very jolly. Oh, I also bought a Pennsylvania Dutch traditional recipes for PIES and PASTRIES booklet. A cartoon of a very jolly friendly lady holding a pie is on front. She wears a cap thingy and white apron. Written inside: Kissin' wears out . . . cookin' don't. This cost me 10 cents. I'm pretty sure it will go in my Thrift Shop pile. No, I'm positive it will. It has the odor of Premium Aged Dust, I'm suffocating even as I type because it is laying right in front of me. Nice knowing you, Little Booklet. I needed you like a hole in the head anyway.
Around the corner at a sale I met the most adorable dog. They had a box of children's books, but all modern stuff. Well-used books, happy to report. Did see Little House on the Prairie.
Next stop, lovely mini European chateau, home of the lovely couple I met last week, the ones who informed me of yard sale and were going to simplify and model their lives after the French. Mike bought a couple of music CD's for his singing class for .50 each, James Taylor and Carole King. While we were there, someone bought a canoe for $200. Some haggling went on. I don't haggle, it doesn't suit my personality. That isn't good, is it?
Then we parked our car in my friend's driveway and the three of us walked the neighborhood together. Met some of friend's neighbors. I asked one lady I know, How early did people arrive for this 8 o'clock sale? 7:00, she said. Wasn't that a wicked waste of breath? She told me she had old cloth dolls for sale for $2 each and her neighbor said, You need to add two zeros behind your 2's. So the lady did add one zero behind the 2's and sold them at 7:00 AM sharp to an antique dealer. Went by and petted dog again. Returned to "map" house. I admired an omelet pan. The price tag said, Great omelet pan! SO durable - you can leave it in your will - $2.00. The lady thought it came from an industrial kitchen supply. My friend insisted on buying it for me. It is very cute, but I didn't have to have it. It is soaking in kitchen sink, we'll see if I can make it as pretty as it is durable. We'll also have omelets for lunch after church tomorrow. Lesson: Don't admire things around friend, she's generous to a fault. She's a TOTAL sweetheart, we adore her. Also bought extra thick pale pink terrycloth highly absorbent composition Wilson sport's headband, new in wrapper, 2003 $.50. I said to my friend, I use headbands to hold my hair off my face for washing. She said, Pawsh, just wash your face. And she demonstrated. My friend does not have time for nonsense.
Made our browsing way back to mini chateau and had fun talking. Found out that the nice lady had lived in Michigan at one point, of course. Across the tree shaded little road I picked up a pack of note cards. The picture on front looks a real quilt, but flip it over and you will read,"It may look like a cloth quilt, but it's not." Instead, these cards are pictures of different quilts that were hand carved from blocks of wood and painted. Some of you will probably get one of these in the mail. For all the world they look like a photograph of a real quilt. $1.00. Mike held up a video, still in cellophane brand new, and asked if I wanted it. It was the movie Last Time I Saw Paris starring Elizabeth Taylor. Of course I wanted it. I said we'd watch it tonight, which didn't happen. $1.00.
Went back across road to chateau because friend wanted Mike to see the back yard. Totally spectacular, like last time I saw it. Bought a muted green silk dress jacket for Mike for a nothing $5.00. Perfect condition, man just didn't wear that color. While I was at it, spotted silky placemats and napkins. They were gold-ish and had beads sewn on the edge. I like cloth napkins for breadbasket liners. The lady said she buys lots of her things in France. The tag on these said Pottery Barn. I think it's fun to have something from Pottery Barn, France. $5.00. Then she showed my a St. John white knit party jumpsuit with silvery embellishments across the front. Thank goodness, upon closer inspection, it had moth holes (thank goodness for me, not for her). I would look ridiculous in anything that high end. RIDICULOUS. But I told lady, We keep coming back to your chateau and buying stuff. Pleasant is the word to describe the whole affair. WHY? won't the italics go off? I walked off with a free cloth bag to hold all my junk because if you spent $5 you got to pick out a free cloth bag.
Finally got to meet the man whose house I covet. He was hoeing in his shrubbery. Very nice and outlined the improvements he's made to the house when I told him HOW MUCH I admire it. When he first bought it 20 years ago his sister said, Why would you buy THAT? Apparently it was very plain and pitiful looking. But he added windows, porch, bumped out a bedroom to add a bath, etc. Some people are just the cleverest. Didn't get invited inside. THIS TIME.
In there somewhere I commented to our friend, These yard sale hosts are going to be tired by 1:00 PM. NO!, they'll be INVIGORATED, she countered. See, my friend is the full glass type, not half full, but spilling over FULL. She's a marvelous influence on me. Did I ever tell you she's 90 years old? She makes 90 the new 30, NO KIDDING. That makes her significantly younger than I.
Back to friend's house to listen to beautiful Mozart violin music and sip white grape juice. And watch boaters on the bayou, which really seems like a lake off Tampa Bay. In fact, this whole area reminds me of Michigan and Paw Paw Lake. Let's not forget to pet and brush Bylow, the best Sable kitty. Oh yeah, and Mike bought two more CD's, jazz, for $.50 each.
When all was said and done, which was plenty, Mike and I went to eat pancakes at this little tiny place on Central Avenue. Delicious. On sleepy way home we stopped at The Garage Sale Store. It's exactly what it sounds like and the prices are dirty dirt cheap. Found a Sidekick Corning Ware little white appetizer dish or something. PERFECT for Jazzi's dog food because it has a little lip along the edge. You can always use an extra dog dish, I think. $.49.
So, came home to type up Sophia Loren's Spaghetti recipe to go in Mike's Singing for Your Health weekly newsletter. Because somehow at his new class we wound around to spaghetti and the ladies asked for the recipe. I am very grouchy by now and have to go sleep all afternoon.
Okay, Evaluation of Yard Sale: Ummm. I didn't show a whole lot of restraint. Should have had a budget and only carried so many quarters with me. I wish I hadn't bought one single thing. Except Last Time I Saw Paris. But it was still lots of fun. So, didn't catch the yard sale fever, even after 15 year hiatus. Best part of the sale was the people. Heard about a good roofer in the process, too, which, if that works out, would be more than worth the $17.10 we spent. Of course, minus the movie from that, I wanted that. Oh, I did want the headband, minus $.50 more. Mike spent the 2 bucks on CD's, which is really a business expense. And the green silk jacket is pretty cool. So that brings us down to finding a roofer for $8.60. I had seen this roof going on, but the next door neighbor to the roof house said she'd used him, too, and he is an excellent craftsman, and that is great because without a doubt our wood is rotten underneath the shingles. Four layers of shingles on the old part of our house. People, that is not even legal. Okay, so I really do like the little bowls, that brings us to $6.10. Not bad. I didn't count the omelet pan in any of this because it was a GIFT.
So, here is the upside to this experience, filling up my glass here. I am GLAD I wish I hadn't bought anything. It shows something. It shows I'm getting some sense because I really don't WANT anything more. I would rather NOT have anything more . . . well, you know what I mean. I shall simplify, too! It shows all that or else it shows I'm getting old, rotten and deflated.
A Trip to the Thrift in the Offing,
KEM
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Assorted Foods, Mainly Undercooked Ones
Today I was interested to read on some AOL comments that one of the participants was named Buckwheat. That so thoroughly grabbed my attention that now I don't remember the content of the article. My sister, Buckwheat, you know, is not alone in the universe (wonder if the child who played Buckwheat on The Little Rascals is still living? Google Time). To my knowledge to date, there are possibly three Buckwheats currently inhabiting the planet.
Last night I fixed a disgusting dinner. Tuna and Red Bean Salad. It sounded good, but I messed it up along the way. See, I had the celery and parsley leftover from last week's Spaghetti and Meatballs. Mike really loved those, it's a good thing because he ate them 4 times in a row. I love to use up things like celery and parsley, it feels so good. Well, you put greens on a plate. I had to use spinach, when really, Romaine would have been the choice. See, we had Caesar Salad Monday night with the homemade dressing and ev'rythin' (as Shirley Temple was wont to say). I used the Romaine for that. Well, the dressing for tuna and red bean was supposed to be a little oil and lemon juice. But I had about that much Caesar dressing leftover, so I wanted to use that, applying three-day rule, even though I had my qualms about using a dressing with raw egg even one day later. But my hairdresser, a 23 year old walking encyclopedia, thought it would be okay three days later. See, I got my hair done earlier that day, not in the morning, of course. Well, the recipe calls for hardboiled eggs. No problem, I have a method that's No Fail. It cooks the eggs perfectly tender and gorgeous, not rubbery, no gray ring around the yolk. Well, when I go to peel the eggs and tap them on the sink, what became exposed looked sort of jiggly-wiggly. Hmmm. I went ahead and cracked them open and they were not even really softboiled. No, not by a longshot. Not wanting to waste, I threw them in the salad and stirred it all up. Very gross. But I'm starving, so is Mike, because it's ten at night. Besides, I figured we'd live. See, my granny used to serve runny scrambled eggs, some people like it that way. My grampa loved burnt toast and and black bananas. Wonder how those two got together. Well, my runny eggs were disguised within the tuna, kidney beans, spinach, Caesar dressing and all the rest. A situation where ignorance is bliss. I knew the situation, but why should Mike be any the wiser? He might as well carry on, tallyho! (improper use of language, to go with improper use of eggs and deceit in general).
When we sat down to eat (I can't stand standing up to eat, boy, if you can't sit down to eat, what's the use?), Mike took a bite and he looked a little funny. He looked at me. I tried to look a combination of nonchalant and slightly surprised, like, You have some kind of problem? He said, I've never had beans and tuna before. I'm thinking, From which cave do you hail? But Mike avoids beans, it's his purpose in life, never liked them. Beans are great. Honestly, where do some people get their notions? But after we downed the salad he said, Thank you for the delicious salad. This is the moment I awaited. I brag, It was supposed to have hardboiled eggs in it but they didn't cook. It took a lot of self-restraint to keep that choice bit to myself for so long. But the thought of Mike scraping his salad into the trash held my tongue. Besides, my tongue was too busy trying to convert raw egg flavor to hardboiled taste. There is a difference, you know.
Still not sure what happened with the eggs, I think I forgot to bring the water back to a boil after adding the cold eggs and BEFORE removing pan from burner and covering for 15 minutes. I still have two of these impertinent eggs left. Wonder what to do with them. Drink them? I could poke a hole in the shell and suck them up through a straw. My friend used to blend mild and raw egg every morning when she was a school-age girl. She whirred this concoction in the garage so as not to awaken her mother. It tasted very good on LIFE cereal. Her mother instructed her to make this for the protein. A kind of eggnog I guess you could say.
Tonight I redeemed myself, though. Had these organic pork chops that were terribly juicy. Maybe I didn't cook them long enough either, but really, what is more permanent than overcooked meat? So, if we didn't get salmonella from the undercooked eggs, I guess I've seen to it that we will from the undercooked pork. But, boy, they were good. You dust them with flour, salt and pepper and brown them in oil. Then you stir together equal parts of ketchup and water and a spoonful of brown sugar and let that sit on chops for a while (in baking dish). Then you cover those babies up and cook at 350* for 10 minutes. Then give 'em 10 more minutes uncovered. They were almost an inch thick. We're dead. Well, I had sweet potatoes with butter and OJ, broccoli sauteed in oil and water, with garlic, and stewed apples with cinnamon. Very tasty fall dinner, if I don't say so myself. Of course, it may have been The Last Dinner.
Speaking of my grandfather, he was ahead of his times in the health department. Every morning he performed a ritual for his whole life (he was not an early riser, except in Michigan when he had to oversee the greenskeepers in the dewy dawn for his golfcourse). When his feet hit the floor, he marched straight to the kitchen sink and drank 8 TALL glasses of water. These were not 8 ounce glasses, probably closer to 16. He stood there and held the glass under the faucet, turned on the tap, filled the glass, turned off the tap, emptied the glass in about five huge gulps, held the glass under the faucet, turned on the tap, filled the glass, turned off the tap and so on. One morning granny called in frantic distress, Water is gushing out of his forehead like a fountain! Sounded like a panicky situation to me, although to this day I still can't quite picture it, a fountain of water springing up from his forehead?? He ate oatmeal and stewed prunes every morning for breakfast. He worked out at the YMCA for hours each day. The biceps in his arms were like cannonballs, I kid you not, perfect, hard-as-steel round balls. He was always glad to flex those muscles, and I was always awestruck to see them. He used to love boxing, too. Well, he was the healthiest person in our family. When granny got sick and the doctor ordered exercise, she would stand facing a wall and let her fingers crawl up the wall a few inches. That, my friends, was her idea of exercise. Grampa's disgust was unequalled. Again, you have to wonder, but they were madly in love with each other, so the personal lifestyle differences just kept things interesting. Oatmeal and prunes for him, chocolate cake and pickles for her. You have to admit, that's interesting.
Tomorrow I want to tell you about the book DToddlerD did love. Mike read my blog and said it was fun to read what DTD liked and didn't like. But really, yesterday I only highlighted what she didn't like, namely Fisher-Price Little People and Stuff, French fries, hot dogs, Good Night, Moon, Sally Goes Shopping and so forth. I really didn't say what she DID like. So, I shall. But of course by now you know that my telling you today I'm going to tell you something tomorrow is about as trustworthy as a campaign promise. Which is not very. Just a blast of sizzling hot air, I is. Baseball season is running out, and I still haven't told you what America's real true love is. It's kind of embarrassing, my fake promises, that is. Well, America's pastime is a little peculiar, too. But everyone's doin' it!
Let's say a prayer for all of the unemployed people in the USA. For the underemployed, too.
Raw Egg KEM
Last night I fixed a disgusting dinner. Tuna and Red Bean Salad. It sounded good, but I messed it up along the way. See, I had the celery and parsley leftover from last week's Spaghetti and Meatballs. Mike really loved those, it's a good thing because he ate them 4 times in a row. I love to use up things like celery and parsley, it feels so good. Well, you put greens on a plate. I had to use spinach, when really, Romaine would have been the choice. See, we had Caesar Salad Monday night with the homemade dressing and ev'rythin' (as Shirley Temple was wont to say). I used the Romaine for that. Well, the dressing for tuna and red bean was supposed to be a little oil and lemon juice. But I had about that much Caesar dressing leftover, so I wanted to use that, applying three-day rule, even though I had my qualms about using a dressing with raw egg even one day later. But my hairdresser, a 23 year old walking encyclopedia, thought it would be okay three days later. See, I got my hair done earlier that day, not in the morning, of course. Well, the recipe calls for hardboiled eggs. No problem, I have a method that's No Fail. It cooks the eggs perfectly tender and gorgeous, not rubbery, no gray ring around the yolk. Well, when I go to peel the eggs and tap them on the sink, what became exposed looked sort of jiggly-wiggly. Hmmm. I went ahead and cracked them open and they were not even really softboiled. No, not by a longshot. Not wanting to waste, I threw them in the salad and stirred it all up. Very gross. But I'm starving, so is Mike, because it's ten at night. Besides, I figured we'd live. See, my granny used to serve runny scrambled eggs, some people like it that way. My grampa loved burnt toast and and black bananas. Wonder how those two got together. Well, my runny eggs were disguised within the tuna, kidney beans, spinach, Caesar dressing and all the rest. A situation where ignorance is bliss. I knew the situation, but why should Mike be any the wiser? He might as well carry on, tallyho! (improper use of language, to go with improper use of eggs and deceit in general).
When we sat down to eat (I can't stand standing up to eat, boy, if you can't sit down to eat, what's the use?), Mike took a bite and he looked a little funny. He looked at me. I tried to look a combination of nonchalant and slightly surprised, like, You have some kind of problem? He said, I've never had beans and tuna before. I'm thinking, From which cave do you hail? But Mike avoids beans, it's his purpose in life, never liked them. Beans are great. Honestly, where do some people get their notions? But after we downed the salad he said, Thank you for the delicious salad. This is the moment I awaited. I brag, It was supposed to have hardboiled eggs in it but they didn't cook. It took a lot of self-restraint to keep that choice bit to myself for so long. But the thought of Mike scraping his salad into the trash held my tongue. Besides, my tongue was too busy trying to convert raw egg flavor to hardboiled taste. There is a difference, you know.
Still not sure what happened with the eggs, I think I forgot to bring the water back to a boil after adding the cold eggs and BEFORE removing pan from burner and covering for 15 minutes. I still have two of these impertinent eggs left. Wonder what to do with them. Drink them? I could poke a hole in the shell and suck them up through a straw. My friend used to blend mild and raw egg every morning when she was a school-age girl. She whirred this concoction in the garage so as not to awaken her mother. It tasted very good on LIFE cereal. Her mother instructed her to make this for the protein. A kind of eggnog I guess you could say.
Tonight I redeemed myself, though. Had these organic pork chops that were terribly juicy. Maybe I didn't cook them long enough either, but really, what is more permanent than overcooked meat? So, if we didn't get salmonella from the undercooked eggs, I guess I've seen to it that we will from the undercooked pork. But, boy, they were good. You dust them with flour, salt and pepper and brown them in oil. Then you stir together equal parts of ketchup and water and a spoonful of brown sugar and let that sit on chops for a while (in baking dish). Then you cover those babies up and cook at 350* for 10 minutes. Then give 'em 10 more minutes uncovered. They were almost an inch thick. We're dead. Well, I had sweet potatoes with butter and OJ, broccoli sauteed in oil and water, with garlic, and stewed apples with cinnamon. Very tasty fall dinner, if I don't say so myself. Of course, it may have been The Last Dinner.
Speaking of my grandfather, he was ahead of his times in the health department. Every morning he performed a ritual for his whole life (he was not an early riser, except in Michigan when he had to oversee the greenskeepers in the dewy dawn for his golfcourse). When his feet hit the floor, he marched straight to the kitchen sink and drank 8 TALL glasses of water. These were not 8 ounce glasses, probably closer to 16. He stood there and held the glass under the faucet, turned on the tap, filled the glass, turned off the tap, emptied the glass in about five huge gulps, held the glass under the faucet, turned on the tap, filled the glass, turned off the tap and so on. One morning granny called in frantic distress, Water is gushing out of his forehead like a fountain! Sounded like a panicky situation to me, although to this day I still can't quite picture it, a fountain of water springing up from his forehead?? He ate oatmeal and stewed prunes every morning for breakfast. He worked out at the YMCA for hours each day. The biceps in his arms were like cannonballs, I kid you not, perfect, hard-as-steel round balls. He was always glad to flex those muscles, and I was always awestruck to see them. He used to love boxing, too. Well, he was the healthiest person in our family. When granny got sick and the doctor ordered exercise, she would stand facing a wall and let her fingers crawl up the wall a few inches. That, my friends, was her idea of exercise. Grampa's disgust was unequalled. Again, you have to wonder, but they were madly in love with each other, so the personal lifestyle differences just kept things interesting. Oatmeal and prunes for him, chocolate cake and pickles for her. You have to admit, that's interesting.
Tomorrow I want to tell you about the book DToddlerD did love. Mike read my blog and said it was fun to read what DTD liked and didn't like. But really, yesterday I only highlighted what she didn't like, namely Fisher-Price Little People and Stuff, French fries, hot dogs, Good Night, Moon, Sally Goes Shopping and so forth. I really didn't say what she DID like. So, I shall. But of course by now you know that my telling you today I'm going to tell you something tomorrow is about as trustworthy as a campaign promise. Which is not very. Just a blast of sizzling hot air, I is. Baseball season is running out, and I still haven't told you what America's real true love is. It's kind of embarrassing, my fake promises, that is. Well, America's pastime is a little peculiar, too. But everyone's doin' it!
Let's say a prayer for all of the unemployed people in the USA. For the underemployed, too.
Raw Egg KEM
Thursday, October 8, 2009
A Dissection of Yardsailing
Can it possibly be time to blog again?? My, oh, my.
Once upon a very long time ago, I took up the occupation of yardsailing (I tried for "saling" or "saleing" or even "sale-ing", but nothing clicked). I took up this worthy occupation because DTD was a little toddler and she needed things. Or rather her mommy was having too much fun fantasizing Darling Toddler Daughter needed all these precious darling things, like Fisher-Price Little People and 1950's books that showcased the Dick and Jane style artwork that made women want to be a mommy in the first place. I like sweet and innocent, gentle and inviting. None of the harsh, edgy, sterile stuff you might see today. Although not all is a total loss in these, our modern times. The children's book Lily's Purple Plastic Purse is a prime example that the world has yet a remnant of charm. Emphasis on remnant.
Well, so I set the alarm clock and hit the road. If the early bird ever gets the worm, then he'd better show up in yards at 7:00 AM for sales advertised to begin at 8:00. It's grievous, really, but it is the modus operandi amongst professional yardsalees. It's sorta like trying to drive the speed limit on the Interstate. You keep up with the going speed, approximately 25 MPH over the speed limit, or you get honked off the asphalt, mowed down or, most hateful of all, rude gestures meant to incinerate upon visual contact. It doesn't work so well to abide by the law on the road, or so it seems. With yardsales, you show up politely on time and you may as well not show up at all because all the good stuff is LONG gone. Really, I need to brush up on ethics. We try to follow the rules, but the mass of careless humanity tends to sweep us up into the tailwind of "You are SO left in the dust." So despite our staunchest efforts to stay the civilized course, we find ourselves going 90 and helping frantic strangers set their junk on the lawn.
I had fun on my treasure hunts for the six or so weeks they lasted. I found cute toddler clothes and books and . . . Fisher-Price Little People, zillions of them. In fact, in Burlington, NC, there seems to have been an epidemic of Little People and accessories, like all the village shops, the fire house, the church and school, the trucks and cars and wagons, you name it. Oh, for pity's sake, DTD'S bedroom floor was virtually overtaken by this Fisher-Price City, building after building lined up orderly along the four walls, population booming with cute smiling characters. It was breezily out of control by Yard Sale Three. But that didn't stop me from going out Saturday Morning Number Four to scoop up more F-PLP jazz. It was addictive -- until I understood that it was also hopeless, the idea of owning one of every sort of Little Person ever to hit the free market. And did I really want to become an avid F-PLP collector anyway, especially when DTD never touched the stuff? She had absolutely zero use for it. Good golly, all these loads of stuff must have intimidated her. Maybe she imagined the Little People coming to life at night and crawling up on her bed and "getting" her, like an army of roaches. Yikes, I'm scaring myself. DTD was actually the poor Little Person, to have tolerated all this hooey. Really, common sense limits have to kick in at some point. So I gave up the hunt. But obviously I was not the only FP-infatuated person, all of America seemed to be, judging by the concentration of Little People inventory at these Burlington yard sales.
Sailing about I would run into my good friend, as she made frugality an art. As our daughters were the same age, I didn't want to get competitive about our finds, though. And rising early was NOT going to last, which of course it didn't, Lil'P notwithstanding. So not only did I quit the LP quest, but I ceased and desisted from yard sailing altogether.
BUT. But, but, BUT before thrift (and nonsense) and I parted ways, on two separate and distinct Saturday mornings, at two separate and distinct yard sales, I found REAL TREASURES. And here, FINALLY, is the punchline to the stale old promise I made weeks ago, when I said there really WAS a point to telling you about the books Sally Goes Shopping Alone and The Little Rabbit that would not Eat. Just imagine, if you will, my eyes bugging out of my head, neck veins popping, heart racing and hyperventilation when, upon rummaging through someone's box of old musty books I beheld none other than SALLY GOES SHOPPING ALONE. Issued 1940 and in almost mint condition. WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This can't be happening!, I gleed and gloated. The book's owner was probably only too glad to collect my quarter and watch me rapturously float over her yard, leaving a trail of mouth foam, Sally book clutched to my breast. Whew, that nutcase is off the property, thought she. I do tend to go overboard in my enthusiasm. But, don't you just KNOW how I felt?? Here was one of my favorite childhood books, if not THE favorite, reserved just for me. UNREAL! Couldn't wait to read it to DTD. But she has her own mind. She didn't spring for the F-PLP. She never liked the book Good Night, Moon (which made me think maybe the hospital mixed up the babies). And, as I recall, she didn't form an instant bond with Sally and Sally's vivid account of her grown-up shopping spree. But then, down the road, DTD went through periods of not liking some All-American things such as French fries and hot dogs. So, I figured I got a Swiss-born baby or something. Just kidding, she's mine, all mine.
Well then, as if Sally Alone was not enough, I next stumbled upon The Little Rabbit that would not Eat. This was a new and revised edition, 1942, original edition copyrighted 1925. The pages of this copy were loosened from the front cover and the back was missing. But so what, the pages were still sewn together, more or less. And it was a little moldy, too. I've concluded DUST = MUST. You know how we leave things laying around, like books. Then dust lays all over the book and along the edges and then we open the book and the dust falls in. We don't care or even know because who sees this kind of dust, really? So then the book is closed and the dust is pressed inside, sealed tight. Maybe then the book gets shelved, undisturbed for years. Next time you pull it down and open it, PRESTO!, you now have MUST!, as in mold and mildew. It's premium-aged DUST! Honestly, I am enjoying this tonight.
So, I was thrilled to find a second treasure. I thought that was very sweet of God. I believe I checked my emotions with the Rabbit book, turning up old childhood favorites was getting to be old hat by now, ha! Save embarrassing jigs and facial contortions for the latter years, when Darling Toddler Daughter winks into Darling Teenage Daughter. Oh, wait a second, here's something I just noticed. Inside the cover of Sally is written, To Susie from Alice, 12/25/41. And also, To Bryan from Grandma Lou, 10/10/87. The book became mine in 1993, I'm at least the third owner. The Rabbit book is inscribed, in what appears to be very old ink, THIS BOOK BELONGS TO Susan from Christine. Very intersting, two Sues and all. I LOVE dreaming what little hands may have held these books, what little hearts loved them as I did.
Well, I'll wrap it up by expanding your knowledge of NIP, the naughty bunny who wouldn't eat. When his parents went on summer holiday, he and his siblings, FLIP and SKIP, visited their Grandma. When NIP turned up his nose at vigor-giving carrots, his Grandma indulged him, because he was the youngest. She let him have cocoa in acorn cups and dessert in place of nutrititious meals, which were an abomination to little NIP. NIP became littler and sick and weak. He couldn't even tag the squirrels or rabbits and had to be IT over and over again. His appetite was reduced so that even the thought of Hickory Nut Cake and Walnut Ice Cream made him nauseous. Grandma took pale little limp little NIP to Doc Owl who said, Young fellow, if you don't change your ways, you may wind up in BUNNY HEAVEN! Well, NIP did change his ways since Grandma reckoned forcing him to down his vegetables was preferable to tearfully informing his parents, He's gone on to Bunny Heaven. If NIP had gone to Bunny Heaven I rather think Grandma would have joined him shortly thereafter and the whole scene would have been very bad. But the artist just SO perfectly captured little NIP'S health decline, a sadder more wan little face you never did see. In one picture there is a platter bowl of carrot, lettuce and pea pods on the ground. NIP has his back to it but his head is turned ever so slightly toward the dish and he's eyeballing it with a stink eye, as CDW would say. The only green thing to ever touch NIP was his jacket. Well, that all changed in the end, thank the dear Lord. Happy endings are THE ONLY WAY to go, wouldn't you say?
Guess what? I'm going to a yard sale on Saturday. Remember St. Petersburg's Best Kept Secret? Yeah, that neighborhood's having a yard sale. I told you. Like I'm going to miss that. Don't you just know I'm going to find the book where they hang slices of apple pie for Christmas tree ornaments?? Sale starts at 8:00. Be there at 7:00 or be square.
NIPpy SAILING SALLY KEM
Once upon a very long time ago, I took up the occupation of yardsailing (I tried for "saling" or "saleing" or even "sale-ing", but nothing clicked). I took up this worthy occupation because DTD was a little toddler and she needed things. Or rather her mommy was having too much fun fantasizing Darling Toddler Daughter needed all these precious darling things, like Fisher-Price Little People and 1950's books that showcased the Dick and Jane style artwork that made women want to be a mommy in the first place. I like sweet and innocent, gentle and inviting. None of the harsh, edgy, sterile stuff you might see today. Although not all is a total loss in these, our modern times. The children's book Lily's Purple Plastic Purse is a prime example that the world has yet a remnant of charm. Emphasis on remnant.
Well, so I set the alarm clock and hit the road. If the early bird ever gets the worm, then he'd better show up in yards at 7:00 AM for sales advertised to begin at 8:00. It's grievous, really, but it is the modus operandi amongst professional yardsalees. It's sorta like trying to drive the speed limit on the Interstate. You keep up with the going speed, approximately 25 MPH over the speed limit, or you get honked off the asphalt, mowed down or, most hateful of all, rude gestures meant to incinerate upon visual contact. It doesn't work so well to abide by the law on the road, or so it seems. With yardsales, you show up politely on time and you may as well not show up at all because all the good stuff is LONG gone. Really, I need to brush up on ethics. We try to follow the rules, but the mass of careless humanity tends to sweep us up into the tailwind of "You are SO left in the dust." So despite our staunchest efforts to stay the civilized course, we find ourselves going 90 and helping frantic strangers set their junk on the lawn.
I had fun on my treasure hunts for the six or so weeks they lasted. I found cute toddler clothes and books and . . . Fisher-Price Little People, zillions of them. In fact, in Burlington, NC, there seems to have been an epidemic of Little People and accessories, like all the village shops, the fire house, the church and school, the trucks and cars and wagons, you name it. Oh, for pity's sake, DTD'S bedroom floor was virtually overtaken by this Fisher-Price City, building after building lined up orderly along the four walls, population booming with cute smiling characters. It was breezily out of control by Yard Sale Three. But that didn't stop me from going out Saturday Morning Number Four to scoop up more F-PLP jazz. It was addictive -- until I understood that it was also hopeless, the idea of owning one of every sort of Little Person ever to hit the free market. And did I really want to become an avid F-PLP collector anyway, especially when DTD never touched the stuff? She had absolutely zero use for it. Good golly, all these loads of stuff must have intimidated her. Maybe she imagined the Little People coming to life at night and crawling up on her bed and "getting" her, like an army of roaches. Yikes, I'm scaring myself. DTD was actually the poor Little Person, to have tolerated all this hooey. Really, common sense limits have to kick in at some point. So I gave up the hunt. But obviously I was not the only FP-infatuated person, all of America seemed to be, judging by the concentration of Little People inventory at these Burlington yard sales.
Sailing about I would run into my good friend, as she made frugality an art. As our daughters were the same age, I didn't want to get competitive about our finds, though. And rising early was NOT going to last, which of course it didn't, Lil'P notwithstanding. So not only did I quit the LP quest, but I ceased and desisted from yard sailing altogether.
BUT. But, but, BUT before thrift (and nonsense) and I parted ways, on two separate and distinct Saturday mornings, at two separate and distinct yard sales, I found REAL TREASURES. And here, FINALLY, is the punchline to the stale old promise I made weeks ago, when I said there really WAS a point to telling you about the books Sally Goes Shopping Alone and The Little Rabbit that would not Eat. Just imagine, if you will, my eyes bugging out of my head, neck veins popping, heart racing and hyperventilation when, upon rummaging through someone's box of old musty books I beheld none other than SALLY GOES SHOPPING ALONE. Issued 1940 and in almost mint condition. WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This can't be happening!, I gleed and gloated. The book's owner was probably only too glad to collect my quarter and watch me rapturously float over her yard, leaving a trail of mouth foam, Sally book clutched to my breast. Whew, that nutcase is off the property, thought she. I do tend to go overboard in my enthusiasm. But, don't you just KNOW how I felt?? Here was one of my favorite childhood books, if not THE favorite, reserved just for me. UNREAL! Couldn't wait to read it to DTD. But she has her own mind. She didn't spring for the F-PLP. She never liked the book Good Night, Moon (which made me think maybe the hospital mixed up the babies). And, as I recall, she didn't form an instant bond with Sally and Sally's vivid account of her grown-up shopping spree. But then, down the road, DTD went through periods of not liking some All-American things such as French fries and hot dogs. So, I figured I got a Swiss-born baby or something. Just kidding, she's mine, all mine.
Well then, as if Sally Alone was not enough, I next stumbled upon The Little Rabbit that would not Eat. This was a new and revised edition, 1942, original edition copyrighted 1925. The pages of this copy were loosened from the front cover and the back was missing. But so what, the pages were still sewn together, more or less. And it was a little moldy, too. I've concluded DUST = MUST. You know how we leave things laying around, like books. Then dust lays all over the book and along the edges and then we open the book and the dust falls in. We don't care or even know because who sees this kind of dust, really? So then the book is closed and the dust is pressed inside, sealed tight. Maybe then the book gets shelved, undisturbed for years. Next time you pull it down and open it, PRESTO!, you now have MUST!, as in mold and mildew. It's premium-aged DUST! Honestly, I am enjoying this tonight.
So, I was thrilled to find a second treasure. I thought that was very sweet of God. I believe I checked my emotions with the Rabbit book, turning up old childhood favorites was getting to be old hat by now, ha! Save embarrassing jigs and facial contortions for the latter years, when Darling Toddler Daughter winks into Darling Teenage Daughter. Oh, wait a second, here's something I just noticed. Inside the cover of Sally is written, To Susie from Alice, 12/25/41. And also, To Bryan from Grandma Lou, 10/10/87. The book became mine in 1993, I'm at least the third owner. The Rabbit book is inscribed, in what appears to be very old ink, THIS BOOK BELONGS TO Susan from Christine. Very intersting, two Sues and all. I LOVE dreaming what little hands may have held these books, what little hearts loved them as I did.
Well, I'll wrap it up by expanding your knowledge of NIP, the naughty bunny who wouldn't eat. When his parents went on summer holiday, he and his siblings, FLIP and SKIP, visited their Grandma. When NIP turned up his nose at vigor-giving carrots, his Grandma indulged him, because he was the youngest. She let him have cocoa in acorn cups and dessert in place of nutrititious meals, which were an abomination to little NIP. NIP became littler and sick and weak. He couldn't even tag the squirrels or rabbits and had to be IT over and over again. His appetite was reduced so that even the thought of Hickory Nut Cake and Walnut Ice Cream made him nauseous. Grandma took pale little limp little NIP to Doc Owl who said, Young fellow, if you don't change your ways, you may wind up in BUNNY HEAVEN! Well, NIP did change his ways since Grandma reckoned forcing him to down his vegetables was preferable to tearfully informing his parents, He's gone on to Bunny Heaven. If NIP had gone to Bunny Heaven I rather think Grandma would have joined him shortly thereafter and the whole scene would have been very bad. But the artist just SO perfectly captured little NIP'S health decline, a sadder more wan little face you never did see. In one picture there is a platter bowl of carrot, lettuce and pea pods on the ground. NIP has his back to it but his head is turned ever so slightly toward the dish and he's eyeballing it with a stink eye, as CDW would say. The only green thing to ever touch NIP was his jacket. Well, that all changed in the end, thank the dear Lord. Happy endings are THE ONLY WAY to go, wouldn't you say?
Guess what? I'm going to a yard sale on Saturday. Remember St. Petersburg's Best Kept Secret? Yeah, that neighborhood's having a yard sale. I told you. Like I'm going to miss that. Don't you just know I'm going to find the book where they hang slices of apple pie for Christmas tree ornaments?? Sale starts at 8:00. Be there at 7:00 or be square.
NIPpy SAILING SALLY KEM
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Load Up the Cheez-Its
Hi. In lieu of a real post tonight, I shall say instead that it is lots of fun to sift through sample size toiletries at the drugstore or Target. I like buying them. They're only one dollar and they last pretty long and you can try how you like something before buying big size AND they actually last long enough, which is better than buying big and having it go cooties on you. Plus, you can't get tired of it because it's just the right size not to get tired of before it's gone. Yeah, I like it.
I also like Dial soap. It's my all time new favorite. It started a whole year ago, when I took my preteen nephew and his equally preteen friend to the grocery store. See, we all stay in a house in Montreat for one week every summer, in June. The highlight of the vacation for nephew and friend is going to grocery first thing and buying one or more of every piece of junk food in sight, which is PA-LENTY, let me tell you. This event is forethought thoroughly, weeks in advance, junk food multiplied by two, please, no REAL food allowed. The boys know how to get the job done. And they get it done FAST. I'm still in produce examining every peach, and they are back in a snap with overflowing cart, ready to get the show on the road and go stash their stuff and map out a plan what they should eat first, second and last. It's a science, they have it down. Of course, before they can do that, since rolling a cart through town probably wouldn't garner the exact types of looks they want from girls, oh, they'd get looks, I have to finish my list, which is long and frightening. So they roll eyes and groan, and I have to send them off on missions to facilitate getting out of the store before week's end. On one such occasion, I sent them off for bar soap. I'm all crazy by now, so I don't instruct as to what particular brand of soap, Just SOAP, please. Well, the friend picked up Dial, the blue and white swirled bars. My turn to roll eyes because Dial is not what I use. But I use it that week. I am refreshed by it that week. I love it that week. I go home and buy some more. It's cheap, it makes me clean AND it makes my bathroom smell like the bathroom in Michigan, which leads me to believe my grandparents used Dial. Aren't you glad you use Dial? Yes, I am. Of course, lately I can't find blue and white swirl Dial so that means I have to contact Palmolive or whoever manufactures Dial, which I really don't know, but Google should fix that in a jiffy. So, I will always remember nephew's cute friend, who introduced me to the best soap, one of the little pleasures in life.
Oh, those boys are more a delight than just piling up a grocery cart and assuring Mayfield Birthday Cake Ice Cream and Sunshine CHEEZ ITS stay afloat into the next century and beyond. Next, when old Fuddy-Duddy KEM FINALLY has her few flawless peaches and organic cream, they beg to do self-check-out. Oh, the fun begins. And we are the last ones ever to do self-serve as the self-check lanes are taken away right away right after our turn. Whoever thought of those anyhow? And I love how my sister, who actually took them to the grocery this year and deposited the boys in Montreat and then had to go home, love how she left a stack of towels for them on a coffee table in their little upstairs TV lounge, the towels they walked by hundreds of times each day because this balcony was on the way to everything else and the boys are into everything else and besides. When it came time for me to locate the destinations they'd flung their wet bath towels (aunts have to stay on top of these things), I searched their room and bathroom and came up empty. Well, there was one little sad hand towel hanging on a rack in the bathroom. I thought it looked heavy and sorta beat. When I felt it, it was obviously holding every last drop of water from two post-bathed boys. You gotta love it.
There were other delights, but my brain is not pinpointing right now. It's trying to track but not quite making it, you ever been there? I KNOW there is a specific thing I want to recall, I sorta see it in my mind, vaguely. I kind of have it in grasp, but not just quite. And that's as far as we get. Won't be the first, won't be the last time with what I call "the elusive float." It used to be so concrete, so locked in, what I want to remember. I'm learning to give up quickly on these futile search and rescue memory safaris. Because they are just that, futile. The only true hope, of course, is letting go and MAYBE the brain will voluntarily pop it up. As a little present. Probably at a most inopportune moment, but I'll take it.
Nephew FUN,
KEM
I also like Dial soap. It's my all time new favorite. It started a whole year ago, when I took my preteen nephew and his equally preteen friend to the grocery store. See, we all stay in a house in Montreat for one week every summer, in June. The highlight of the vacation for nephew and friend is going to grocery first thing and buying one or more of every piece of junk food in sight, which is PA-LENTY, let me tell you. This event is forethought thoroughly, weeks in advance, junk food multiplied by two, please, no REAL food allowed. The boys know how to get the job done. And they get it done FAST. I'm still in produce examining every peach, and they are back in a snap with overflowing cart, ready to get the show on the road and go stash their stuff and map out a plan what they should eat first, second and last. It's a science, they have it down. Of course, before they can do that, since rolling a cart through town probably wouldn't garner the exact types of looks they want from girls, oh, they'd get looks, I have to finish my list, which is long and frightening. So they roll eyes and groan, and I have to send them off on missions to facilitate getting out of the store before week's end. On one such occasion, I sent them off for bar soap. I'm all crazy by now, so I don't instruct as to what particular brand of soap, Just SOAP, please. Well, the friend picked up Dial, the blue and white swirled bars. My turn to roll eyes because Dial is not what I use. But I use it that week. I am refreshed by it that week. I love it that week. I go home and buy some more. It's cheap, it makes me clean AND it makes my bathroom smell like the bathroom in Michigan, which leads me to believe my grandparents used Dial. Aren't you glad you use Dial? Yes, I am. Of course, lately I can't find blue and white swirl Dial so that means I have to contact Palmolive or whoever manufactures Dial, which I really don't know, but Google should fix that in a jiffy. So, I will always remember nephew's cute friend, who introduced me to the best soap, one of the little pleasures in life.
Oh, those boys are more a delight than just piling up a grocery cart and assuring Mayfield Birthday Cake Ice Cream and Sunshine CHEEZ ITS stay afloat into the next century and beyond. Next, when old Fuddy-Duddy KEM FINALLY has her few flawless peaches and organic cream, they beg to do self-check-out. Oh, the fun begins. And we are the last ones ever to do self-serve as the self-check lanes are taken away right away right after our turn. Whoever thought of those anyhow? And I love how my sister, who actually took them to the grocery this year and deposited the boys in Montreat and then had to go home, love how she left a stack of towels for them on a coffee table in their little upstairs TV lounge, the towels they walked by hundreds of times each day because this balcony was on the way to everything else and the boys are into everything else and besides. When it came time for me to locate the destinations they'd flung their wet bath towels (aunts have to stay on top of these things), I searched their room and bathroom and came up empty. Well, there was one little sad hand towel hanging on a rack in the bathroom. I thought it looked heavy and sorta beat. When I felt it, it was obviously holding every last drop of water from two post-bathed boys. You gotta love it.
There were other delights, but my brain is not pinpointing right now. It's trying to track but not quite making it, you ever been there? I KNOW there is a specific thing I want to recall, I sorta see it in my mind, vaguely. I kind of have it in grasp, but not just quite. And that's as far as we get. Won't be the first, won't be the last time with what I call "the elusive float." It used to be so concrete, so locked in, what I want to remember. I'm learning to give up quickly on these futile search and rescue memory safaris. Because they are just that, futile. The only true hope, of course, is letting go and MAYBE the brain will voluntarily pop it up. As a little present. Probably at a most inopportune moment, but I'll take it.
Nephew FUN,
KEM
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
Early to Bed, Early to Rise and So Forth
Benjamin Franklin, wow, he was something else. I Googled him because I wanted to be sure, sure, SURE (weird word) the quote below is his. I WAS sure. But . . . you know. Well, in the process, I read how diverse and accomplished he was, just one of those people God must have had tons of fun putting together. Benjamin F. was rather UNUSUAL, you might say. A listing of chapter headings and subheadings from a Franklin biography, well, "mind-boggling" might just lay one little light 1/8" of a dainty scratch on the surface of a life so deep and layered. Who on earth can compete with the likes of Benjamin Franklin? Well, I wouldn't want to if I could, which very notion is laughable. I just want to ENJOY such a marvelous creature.
So the quote we all know and love, by which I don't abide: Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. Mr. Franklin would not approve of me. I don't go to bed early, I don't rise early, my health is precarious, I barely scrape by in all departments and this ALL highlights just how unwise I am. All I can offer is that I'm still alive. And I take naps. Does taking an afternoon nap count for going to bed early and rising early, you know, going to bed early afternoon and rising early evening? I want to be healthy, wealthy and wise, but I have to follow my body clock, which has gotten off track to the point of no return. So, I don't think it would be healthy for me to go to bed early in the traditonal sense and lie there for 4 or 6 hours, unable to fall asleep for anything, not even chanting "Early to bed, early to rise" endlessly or counting ten millions of sheep to lull me to dreamland. Then finally nod off only to have to awaken at the crack of dawn 2 hours later and drag through the day in a most ineffecient, unhappy state of mind, body and spirit, producing next to nothing, or, more likely, turning out jazz in the negative realm, mind, body and spirit.
So, who in this current economy is ever going to be wealthy? Not to say we don't work, but I think we could all be early to bedders and risers and healthy and wise, but not especially wealthy. Maybe wealthy in the intangibles, is that what Mr. F meant? So, I think I am exercising a kind of wisdom by default, to manage my quirky self as best I can. Functioning on a haphazard schedule may be more prodicious than ceasing to function all together, which two hours of sleep in a 24 hour cycle would sincerely promise (I'm getting the 13 Virtues in, see below, if it kills me). Well, there you have it, the strangest exegesis ever on one of Benjamin Franklin's most famous truisms ever. Furthermore, can you EVEN BELIEVE 'prodicious' is not in the dictionary? Well, it should be, and when I took it a step futher and Googled 'prodicious' they asked me, Do you mean "prodigious"? No, I don't mean "prodigious". Honestly (huffed with a weary sigh).
Moving on, here is a list of his 13 Virtues to Live By, followed by (how I fare):
Temperance (oh boy, my temper has gotten me into lifelong hot water, but I'm learning, I'd better be)
Silence (not exactly)
Order ( not quite, who are we kidding here?)
Resolution (every New Year -- and birthday and month before birthday)
Frugality (usually of necessity only)
Industry (I agree)
Sincerity (good idea)
Justice (is what I aim for)
Moderation (in a way, if spreading oneself too thin counts)
Cleanliness (AHA!, for what there's time for, anyway)
Tranquility (when asleep and not having nightmares)
Chastity (let's hope so; also,Webster No. 6, pure in style; simple; unadorned, yes, I am chastely plain)
Humility (why not? As one friend said, You might have inverted humility, whatever that means)
So, dear Blogees, how do you stack up next to these virtues? I think we all fall short, but only by degrees. Or, to see the glass half full, which my husband says I do not, I think we attain all, by degrees, some more gloriously than others.
Benjamin Franklin had this thing about getting out of bed and getting moving. It worries me. He says, He that riseth late, must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night. Maybe the slackers he knew rose late AND retired early. At least I don't do both. I only do one, plus naps. I get some things done. My business takes me over at night.
He also says (he has LOTS to say), The sleeping fox catches no poultry. True. Unless the peppy chicken cuddles up with happy sleeping fox of his own accord. All the animal pictures you see circulating the Net, well, it happens. Benjamin Frank didn't have the Net. Of course, an imposter BFrank tells us what BFr would think of the Net. I didn't watch it. I exercised moderation and didn't sit there all night reading the 10,700,000 results that a Ben Franklin Google search produced in .24 seconds. I read only a slim 17 minutes worth, no one can tell me I don't research for my blog. At any rate, I think our famous Mr. Franklin was obsessed with insisting on as little sleep as one dared indulge . He shouldn't have invented (okay, discovered) electricity. We might should have stuck with candles. Then I might have a better chance at early to bed.
Well, he's so interesting, so unreachable, but he wasn't perfect or he wouldn't have written THIS:
If you would not be forgotten,
As soon as you are dead and rotten,
Either write things worthy reading,
Or do things worth the writing.
THAT, my dear friends, I can picture Larry Mondello composing, or at least reciting. At least the first half of it. Also, I have to wonder where my little Living Dust Life (worth writing?) and Quirky Blog (worth reading?) fit into this picture? Hmmm. Ben is making me S & S (Squirm and Stew). I need to go decompress with a Leave it to Beaver (I almost wrote "decompose," see what I mean?). Larry was the greatest.
And with THAT, dear friends, I sign off. Life is short and it's getting shorter by the second. Who said that? Did I just make that up? I'm going to bed (after I do my vacuum, roll the bed, swat at the bathrooms, do the dishes, do my back exercises AND write a very important letter . . . well, the letter might have to wait until my early afternoon rising . . . )
Chinking to the heady trio of Health, Wealth and Wisdom (was our Ben the first Health and Wealth Gospeler? (Gospeler is not in the dictionary) Kinda has a familiar ring. No, surely not, someone else must have T & T'd, Taken and Twisted. Ben would not approve.),
KEM
So the quote we all know and love, by which I don't abide: Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. Mr. Franklin would not approve of me. I don't go to bed early, I don't rise early, my health is precarious, I barely scrape by in all departments and this ALL highlights just how unwise I am. All I can offer is that I'm still alive. And I take naps. Does taking an afternoon nap count for going to bed early and rising early, you know, going to bed early afternoon and rising early evening? I want to be healthy, wealthy and wise, but I have to follow my body clock, which has gotten off track to the point of no return. So, I don't think it would be healthy for me to go to bed early in the traditonal sense and lie there for 4 or 6 hours, unable to fall asleep for anything, not even chanting "Early to bed, early to rise" endlessly or counting ten millions of sheep to lull me to dreamland. Then finally nod off only to have to awaken at the crack of dawn 2 hours later and drag through the day in a most ineffecient, unhappy state of mind, body and spirit, producing next to nothing, or, more likely, turning out jazz in the negative realm, mind, body and spirit.
So, who in this current economy is ever going to be wealthy? Not to say we don't work, but I think we could all be early to bedders and risers and healthy and wise, but not especially wealthy. Maybe wealthy in the intangibles, is that what Mr. F meant? So, I think I am exercising a kind of wisdom by default, to manage my quirky self as best I can. Functioning on a haphazard schedule may be more prodicious than ceasing to function all together, which two hours of sleep in a 24 hour cycle would sincerely promise (I'm getting the 13 Virtues in, see below, if it kills me). Well, there you have it, the strangest exegesis ever on one of Benjamin Franklin's most famous truisms ever. Furthermore, can you EVEN BELIEVE 'prodicious' is not in the dictionary? Well, it should be, and when I took it a step futher and Googled 'prodicious' they asked me, Do you mean "prodigious"? No, I don't mean "prodigious". Honestly (huffed with a weary sigh).
Moving on, here is a list of his 13 Virtues to Live By, followed by (how I fare):
Temperance (oh boy, my temper has gotten me into lifelong hot water, but I'm learning, I'd better be)
Silence (not exactly)
Order ( not quite, who are we kidding here?)
Resolution (every New Year -- and birthday and month before birthday)
Frugality (usually of necessity only)
Industry (I agree)
Sincerity (good idea)
Justice (is what I aim for)
Moderation (in a way, if spreading oneself too thin counts)
Cleanliness (AHA!, for what there's time for, anyway)
Tranquility (when asleep and not having nightmares)
Chastity (let's hope so; also,Webster No. 6, pure in style; simple; unadorned, yes, I am chastely plain)
Humility (why not? As one friend said, You might have inverted humility, whatever that means)
So, dear Blogees, how do you stack up next to these virtues? I think we all fall short, but only by degrees. Or, to see the glass half full, which my husband says I do not, I think we attain all, by degrees, some more gloriously than others.
Benjamin Franklin had this thing about getting out of bed and getting moving. It worries me. He says, He that riseth late, must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night. Maybe the slackers he knew rose late AND retired early. At least I don't do both. I only do one, plus naps. I get some things done. My business takes me over at night.
He also says (he has LOTS to say), The sleeping fox catches no poultry. True. Unless the peppy chicken cuddles up with happy sleeping fox of his own accord. All the animal pictures you see circulating the Net, well, it happens. Benjamin Frank didn't have the Net. Of course, an imposter BFrank tells us what BFr would think of the Net. I didn't watch it. I exercised moderation and didn't sit there all night reading the 10,700,000 results that a Ben Franklin Google search produced in .24 seconds. I read only a slim 17 minutes worth, no one can tell me I don't research for my blog. At any rate, I think our famous Mr. Franklin was obsessed with insisting on as little sleep as one dared indulge . He shouldn't have invented (okay, discovered) electricity. We might should have stuck with candles. Then I might have a better chance at early to bed.
Well, he's so interesting, so unreachable, but he wasn't perfect or he wouldn't have written THIS:
If you would not be forgotten,
As soon as you are dead and rotten,
Either write things worthy reading,
Or do things worth the writing.
THAT, my dear friends, I can picture Larry Mondello composing, or at least reciting. At least the first half of it. Also, I have to wonder where my little Living Dust Life (worth writing?) and Quirky Blog (worth reading?) fit into this picture? Hmmm. Ben is making me S & S (Squirm and Stew). I need to go decompress with a Leave it to Beaver (I almost wrote "decompose," see what I mean?). Larry was the greatest.
And with THAT, dear friends, I sign off. Life is short and it's getting shorter by the second. Who said that? Did I just make that up? I'm going to bed (after I do my vacuum, roll the bed, swat at the bathrooms, do the dishes, do my back exercises AND write a very important letter . . . well, the letter might have to wait until my early afternoon rising . . . )
Chinking to the heady trio of Health, Wealth and Wisdom (was our Ben the first Health and Wealth Gospeler? (Gospeler is not in the dictionary) Kinda has a familiar ring. No, surely not, someone else must have T & T'd, Taken and Twisted. Ben would not approve.),
KEM
Sunday, October 4, 2009
A Lover of God
Tonight Mike and I went to hear a Kenyan man named William give his testimony. William is a native missionary to people within his own Masai tribe. He is in the USA to visit his supporters. I'll tell you what, you never beheld such a sweet Christian spirit, such joy in a face. Well, surely you have, but it is rare. They have NOTHING where he lives in Africa, he lives in a small community in the bush. He's 38 and has two small children and a beautiful wife, I saw a picture of his family. I'm telling you what, these third world countries are better off spiritually than we Americans, no doubt about it. When people are stripped to the bare necessities of life, and I mean BARE, they are open to knowing God, there is little interference materially speaking. A false religion, maybe, which is very difficult, but drawn away by the complications of managing a modern lifestyle, no. Along these lines I've been thinking lately, maybe at times God strips us of most of the joy in our life because He wants to be the true source of our joy. He wants our attention and He gets it. When all else evaporates, we are left alone with God. When all else fails, a new appreciation of God's love dawns in our hearts.
William was brought to salvation through a few striking events in his life that personally revealed God's sovereign grace to him. William became acquainted with New Frontier's Health Force, headquartered in Clearwater, FL, when founder Dr. Tonya visited several areas in Kenya searching for a place to build a permanent health clinic. William and some others went away to a mountain and prayed for seven days that Dr. Tonya would choose them. She did. In a series of miraculous events, a clinic and church were built in a three year period. William is the project manager and pastor of these ministries. Clearly he is a man who is blessed of God. He is humble and is a channel God uses to bring others to Himself.
William had never seen the ocean (he slept in the airplane :), so when he was driven over the bridge from the airport in Tampa, he just stared and stared in amazement and said, We have a WOW! God! I really can't conceive of the culture shock he met. He spoke excellent English, however, and enthusiastically shared the love of God with us. The whole point of his life is to glorify God and spread the Gospel. It doesn't get any more refreshing than this, to see a man living wholly as God intends us to live. It's hard to describe, but when you meet someone you wish you were like, well, you just feel so grateful, you feel honored and inspired. It was beautiful.
KEM
William was brought to salvation through a few striking events in his life that personally revealed God's sovereign grace to him. William became acquainted with New Frontier's Health Force, headquartered in Clearwater, FL, when founder Dr. Tonya visited several areas in Kenya searching for a place to build a permanent health clinic. William and some others went away to a mountain and prayed for seven days that Dr. Tonya would choose them. She did. In a series of miraculous events, a clinic and church were built in a three year period. William is the project manager and pastor of these ministries. Clearly he is a man who is blessed of God. He is humble and is a channel God uses to bring others to Himself.
William had never seen the ocean (he slept in the airplane :), so when he was driven over the bridge from the airport in Tampa, he just stared and stared in amazement and said, We have a WOW! God! I really can't conceive of the culture shock he met. He spoke excellent English, however, and enthusiastically shared the love of God with us. The whole point of his life is to glorify God and spread the Gospel. It doesn't get any more refreshing than this, to see a man living wholly as God intends us to live. It's hard to describe, but when you meet someone you wish you were like, well, you just feel so grateful, you feel honored and inspired. It was beautiful.
KEM
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