Back in the early days of personal computing I spent no few hours engrossed in the game of Zork, an adventure game where you prowled around the bowels of an underground world, killing troll-like beings and gathering treasures. No graphics. Just text. It was great fun. After that came the game Myst, which was very similar but your prowling was done visually. Imagine, if you have never played it, an enviroment very similar to the TV world of Lost, except you are alone and discovering abandoned machinery and ancient texts that hint at a lost civilization of some sort. You move settings on the machinery and your reality shifts. Again, great fun and very time consuming.
I eventually tired of the games and left them behind me. I also was somewhat concerned at the amount of time that was eaten away while I sat and puzzled my next move. I fully understand how addictive personalities can lose themselves in such an activity.
Awhile back I discovered some free arcade style games on msn.com and would stop in and play a few minutes here and there when I needed to take a break from the genealogy or work arenas. The nice thing about the games at MSN is that unless you pay for the full version, you can only play so far until you've maxed out the levels available to you, so it would not take long for me to reach the top and get bored replaying the same level of difficulty. And I would move on.
Then I found some of those old favorites at Half-Price Books, publisher's closeout copies, for a fraction of the download price. I bought a copy of Luxor, a copy of Diner Dash, and a copy of Pirate Poppers. Each of these took about a month or so of advancing slowly to the top level, with each level becoming more and more difficult to master, before I would hit that last level. That last level could take weeks to finally master, but with every loss I would be more determined that no computer was going to get the best of me. To win the top levels called for quick reflexes and strategy to beat the clock. Over and over I would tackle that last level until that magic day when I could chortle with victory.
I have now worked my way through three different editions of Diner Dash (I can't help it, I love that game). Currently I am embattled with Atlantis and Super Granny 3. I find I can sit down "for a few minutes" after supper and the next thing I know the evening news is coming on.
But, speaking of the news, as of today I no longer feel too guilty about the time spent on computer games. This morning I watched a segment on how mental exercises can help stave off dementia and Alzheimer's. They recommend activities that cause your brain to react in new ways, such as brushing your teeth with your less-dominant hand and trying to do normal routine activities with your eyes closed so that your brain has to deal with sensory loss.
I have become aware that during the months I have been playing these games, my reflexes are getting sharper and I'm spotting patterns in the playing field that escaped me in the beginning. Now when I go back and repeat some of the lower levels that once gave me trouble, I breeze through them without effort.
When I was going through and disposing of my father's papers, I found a crossword puzzle book that had been virtually untouched. As soon as I tried to do one of the puzzles, I knew why. The clues were bizarre and the answers were sometimes so weird as to be unfathomable. I'm a long-time crossword puzzle solver and I was at a loss how they came up with some of the words. I kept at it, though, through sheer cussedness. And a weird thing happened. I started getting more and more of the puzzle blanks filled in before I would have to resort to checking the answers. I was learning to think in the same bass-ackwards way the editors of the puzzles thought.
I believe there's a lot to this mental exercise thing. I'm going to stop feeling guilty for playing my computer games and for cussing that crossword book. Both have helped me keep my brain sharpened. Time spent exercising the brain is not time wasted.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
LSW
Monday, June 09, 2008
Friday, June 06, 2008
Hopeless
Despite my best intentions, I just can't resist dragging in more clutter.
I'm beginning work on a miniature version of "The Swamp" from my favorite television show of all time, M*A*S*H. I'm having to revert to my early days of dollhouse construction, because there just aren't that many military items readily available in 1/12th scale. It's back to looking at full-sized items that can be substituted for the proper effect.
For instance, I spent about a week puzzling over how I was going to recreate the oil-drum heater that sits in the middle. All the miniature barrels I could locate were not big enough. Hobby Lobby has a good supply of wood craft, but nothing that could be pressed into service. I finally came to the conclusion that I needed a tin can that was skinny, taller than single serving and shorter than a standard 303 can. A juice can maybe, but not quite. When I was preparing supper last night, I discovered the perfect thing in the pantry - a tomato paste can. I just have to come up with something to cook that requires tomato paste so I can empty that can.
Now I'm puzzling over footlockers. I just need them to sit there, not to be open, so I'm thinking some kind of wood block painted olive drab. Again, Hobby Lobby failed me and I decided to check Michael's today at lunch.
That's where I made my mistake. Michael's doesn't have anything that would work for footlockers either, but I lost it in the paint aisle. There are two paints that I just love and can never find when I need them. One is designed to create a stucco effect and makes great dollhouse floors and walls. The other is a stone texture you spray on that really does a great adobe imitation. A few years back Hobby Lobby quit carrying the stucco paint and I bought up everything they had left on the shelf when it hit clearance status. I can still find Fleck-Stone, but never in the color I want.
Michael's has the full range of both. I quickly grabbed a jar of the heirloom rose stucco, the paint I am using for the interior of my Mexican food restaurant and that I very nearly did not have enough to complete the job. (Now I can go back and do some touch-ups.) I grabbed a jar or two of other colors and then realized that all of it - the stucco, the Fleck-Stone, and another sandstone paint I'm a little partial to - was on clearance. Which means that just as I find a source, it may be about to dry up on me. I will be doing an inventory this weekend to find out just what I need and probably be back at Michael's sometime next week to stock up.
It's just hopeless. Even when I'm not really looking, I find stuff I can't help but buy and drag home.
I really need a bigger house.
LSW
I'm beginning work on a miniature version of "The Swamp" from my favorite television show of all time, M*A*S*H. I'm having to revert to my early days of dollhouse construction, because there just aren't that many military items readily available in 1/12th scale. It's back to looking at full-sized items that can be substituted for the proper effect.
For instance, I spent about a week puzzling over how I was going to recreate the oil-drum heater that sits in the middle. All the miniature barrels I could locate were not big enough. Hobby Lobby has a good supply of wood craft, but nothing that could be pressed into service. I finally came to the conclusion that I needed a tin can that was skinny, taller than single serving and shorter than a standard 303 can. A juice can maybe, but not quite. When I was preparing supper last night, I discovered the perfect thing in the pantry - a tomato paste can. I just have to come up with something to cook that requires tomato paste so I can empty that can.
Now I'm puzzling over footlockers. I just need them to sit there, not to be open, so I'm thinking some kind of wood block painted olive drab. Again, Hobby Lobby failed me and I decided to check Michael's today at lunch.
That's where I made my mistake. Michael's doesn't have anything that would work for footlockers either, but I lost it in the paint aisle. There are two paints that I just love and can never find when I need them. One is designed to create a stucco effect and makes great dollhouse floors and walls. The other is a stone texture you spray on that really does a great adobe imitation. A few years back Hobby Lobby quit carrying the stucco paint and I bought up everything they had left on the shelf when it hit clearance status. I can still find Fleck-Stone, but never in the color I want.
Michael's has the full range of both. I quickly grabbed a jar of the heirloom rose stucco, the paint I am using for the interior of my Mexican food restaurant and that I very nearly did not have enough to complete the job. (Now I can go back and do some touch-ups.) I grabbed a jar or two of other colors and then realized that all of it - the stucco, the Fleck-Stone, and another sandstone paint I'm a little partial to - was on clearance. Which means that just as I find a source, it may be about to dry up on me. I will be doing an inventory this weekend to find out just what I need and probably be back at Michael's sometime next week to stock up.
It's just hopeless. Even when I'm not really looking, I find stuff I can't help but buy and drag home.
I really need a bigger house.
LSW
Thursday, June 05, 2008
The 8PM Panic
This just hasn't been a particularly good week. I'm still in recovery mode from the work crush in May and I really do not suffer fools gladly while that is in progress. If I were still commuting into Austin, this would undoubtedly be the time when my middle finger would be getting sufficient exercise. Thankfully my commute is presently helping to calm me down with views of grazing cows and, this morning, a napping pinto horse curled up like a kitten in the tall grass. When I'm this tired, I am thankful for such distractions that bring a smile amidst all the aggravations that make me want to scream and hurl things.
So, anyway, last night at 8PM we headed out for our nightly walk. Contrary to what would be the sensible thing to do, I have remained on our usual route and am being careful to look way ahead on the block where the bouncey Pogo might be so I can scoop up the wee ones before we get there. Last night I had just spotted Pogo and was calculating at what point I needed to grab the dogs, when out of left field came an animated ball of fluff barking furiously, with its owner running behind yelling for it to come back.
Mojo took one look, said "screw this" and hit the end of the leash headed the opposite direction - toward a very busy street - and popped his collar off. Away he ran, with me and Coco in panicked pursuit, and us being followed by the fur ball and the pudgy owner. (I really don't know what the neighborhood would do without us for late evening entertainment.)
Well, if it had been Coco I might still be running after her yelling "stop!". But Mojo is my little scaredy-cat and after looking behind to make sure the fur ball had been taken into custody, slowed down and made for the safe haven of Mommy.
Of course by this time Pogo had caught on that she was missing out on the fun and was lying in wait for her chance. But Coco and Mojo were perfectly willing to be carried at that point and we passed without further incident, with Pogo's owners still trying to catch her.
The wee ones had recovered their equilibrium by the time we got home, but it took me awhile to get over the scare of how close he had come to dashing out in traffic. It amazes me that these same two little dogs had been eager to make the acquaintance of a little dacshund on another block, had dared two mean dogs through a fence and had strained to smell two passing boxers, but are terrified when a fur ball heads their way, unrestrained and yapping. Logical, they ain't.
Tonight we walk another way. Far be it from me to be so stingy and prohibit another street from laughing their collective ass off at my expense. It should not be long before I have a reputation in the neighborhood. If I don't already.
LSW
So, anyway, last night at 8PM we headed out for our nightly walk. Contrary to what would be the sensible thing to do, I have remained on our usual route and am being careful to look way ahead on the block where the bouncey Pogo might be so I can scoop up the wee ones before we get there. Last night I had just spotted Pogo and was calculating at what point I needed to grab the dogs, when out of left field came an animated ball of fluff barking furiously, with its owner running behind yelling for it to come back.
Mojo took one look, said "screw this" and hit the end of the leash headed the opposite direction - toward a very busy street - and popped his collar off. Away he ran, with me and Coco in panicked pursuit, and us being followed by the fur ball and the pudgy owner. (I really don't know what the neighborhood would do without us for late evening entertainment.)
Well, if it had been Coco I might still be running after her yelling "stop!". But Mojo is my little scaredy-cat and after looking behind to make sure the fur ball had been taken into custody, slowed down and made for the safe haven of Mommy.
Of course by this time Pogo had caught on that she was missing out on the fun and was lying in wait for her chance. But Coco and Mojo were perfectly willing to be carried at that point and we passed without further incident, with Pogo's owners still trying to catch her.
The wee ones had recovered their equilibrium by the time we got home, but it took me awhile to get over the scare of how close he had come to dashing out in traffic. It amazes me that these same two little dogs had been eager to make the acquaintance of a little dacshund on another block, had dared two mean dogs through a fence and had strained to smell two passing boxers, but are terrified when a fur ball heads their way, unrestrained and yapping. Logical, they ain't.
Tonight we walk another way. Far be it from me to be so stingy and prohibit another street from laughing their collective ass off at my expense. It should not be long before I have a reputation in the neighborhood. If I don't already.
LSW
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
On Being Texan, Continued
A couple of recent finds at Half-Price Books have also reminded me of some of the nice things about being Texan. One was an audiobook, The Tao of Willie, part memoir and part wisdom of our own Willie Nelson. Too bad we can't get Willie into the governor's office. It would be a great improvement.
One of the little gems in his book was a quotation at the beginning of a chapter. It was new to me, but probably not to folks older than me who had the privilege of listening to Will Rogers on the radio back in the old days. "Never miss a good chance to shut up". Amen.
Yesterday I found a Lyle Lovett CD I didn't have and the first cut is worth the price. It deals with a man who has observed someone coveting his precious possession. The response? "Take the girl, but don't touch my hat". Good Texas swing music and a great message. What more could you ask?
Well, a good plate of Tex-Mex. Just got back from a truly awesome lunch at La Cabana. I am in a blissful state of mind.
LSW
One of the little gems in his book was a quotation at the beginning of a chapter. It was new to me, but probably not to folks older than me who had the privilege of listening to Will Rogers on the radio back in the old days. "Never miss a good chance to shut up". Amen.
Yesterday I found a Lyle Lovett CD I didn't have and the first cut is worth the price. It deals with a man who has observed someone coveting his precious possession. The response? "Take the girl, but don't touch my hat". Good Texas swing music and a great message. What more could you ask?
Well, a good plate of Tex-Mex. Just got back from a truly awesome lunch at La Cabana. I am in a blissful state of mind.
LSW
Summer Has Arrived
It's a little early this year. The heat, that is. My car thermometer has read 100 degrees several times during the afternoon commute home. I fear we are in for one hot August. You will never hear me complain about the spring rains, because I have 50+ years experience with August in Texas.
But--despite the heat--you have to appreciate the wonderful blue Texas skies in weather like this. I feel a real satisfaction driving through the countryside with those azure skies and puffy white clouds as far as you can see. I am a Texan and the heat and the blue skies are a part of me I wouldn't give up.
Now for Cemetery Update 2. I made a quick trip out to the Oak Hill Cemetery near McDade on Saturday to pick up a newly updated burial listing from the cemetery association. They were having their annual picnic and business meeting and folks were busy visiting and setting up the food tables. Unfortunately I was not able to stay for the meal, but I did stay long enough to check out the improvements they've made to the cemetery since last year. The primary accomplishment for the year was removing the fencing that has long separated the "white" and "black" sections and clearing the black section for the first time since I've been going out there. I had no idea how many more graves were there until now.
Oak Hill is one of my favorite examples of a scraped grave cemetery, where all the graves are mounded dirt and the only plants are trees and bushes. No grass to be mowed, which makes maintenance much easier. Not to mention that the snakes are easier to spot.
With the work done to incorporate the long neglected graves into the main cemetery, and it had to have been a lot of work, the cemetery has almost doubled in area.
The community of Oak Hill died when the government confiscated the land for the creation of Camp Swift in WWII. The descendants of those who lived there are still around and they have done a great job taking care of their ancestors who rest here.
But--despite the heat--you have to appreciate the wonderful blue Texas skies in weather like this. I feel a real satisfaction driving through the countryside with those azure skies and puffy white clouds as far as you can see. I am a Texan and the heat and the blue skies are a part of me I wouldn't give up.
Now for Cemetery Update 2. I made a quick trip out to the Oak Hill Cemetery near McDade on Saturday to pick up a newly updated burial listing from the cemetery association. They were having their annual picnic and business meeting and folks were busy visiting and setting up the food tables. Unfortunately I was not able to stay for the meal, but I did stay long enough to check out the improvements they've made to the cemetery since last year. The primary accomplishment for the year was removing the fencing that has long separated the "white" and "black" sections and clearing the black section for the first time since I've been going out there. I had no idea how many more graves were there until now.
Oak Hill is one of my favorite examples of a scraped grave cemetery, where all the graves are mounded dirt and the only plants are trees and bushes. No grass to be mowed, which makes maintenance much easier. Not to mention that the snakes are easier to spot.
With the work done to incorporate the long neglected graves into the main cemetery, and it had to have been a lot of work, the cemetery has almost doubled in area.
The community of Oak Hill died when the government confiscated the land for the creation of Camp Swift in WWII. The descendants of those who lived there are still around and they have done a great job taking care of their ancestors who rest here.
Our own Uncle "Mac", Hezekiah Madison Mobley, and his wife Sarah and several of their children and grandchildren are buried at Oak Hill. We also have many Dunkin relatives at rest here. True Texas pioneers, they came to Bastrop County in the 1870s to leave behind the losses they suffered in Georgia during the Civil War. Thanks to Uncle Mac and his brother, my gg-grandfather Joseph, I am privileged to live in Texas. And it is a privilege. Even in August.
LSW
Monday, June 02, 2008
Weekend in Review
The ongoing war with clutter is still raging. The house was quiet this weekend and I did not feel like sitting at my desk or working on dollhouses, so I ended up tackling the next closetful of clutter. About a half-dozen boxes of assorted knick-knacks, some of which had not seen the light of day since THE MOVE, were hauled out into the middle of the family room and their contents unwrapped and put through the first sort. Pile for me, pile for little brother, pile for possible transfer to friends, pile for charity fundraiser, pile for thrift store, pile for the trash bin. The last did make it to its destination, but the remainder were put into individual boxes in my office to await the proper connections to be made.
The cats were in cat heaven. As I shucked newspaper off owls, cows and miscellaneous bric-a-brac, I threw it into a big heap in the middle of the floor. They dove into the middle, jumped around in it, tackled each other and carried pieces off to shred. By the time they tired of that game, there were empty boxes to explore. Late in the day I found them on the top two tiers of their cat tower, dead to the world. Best they've been in weeks.
The next day I got back in the closet and hauled out sheets for the thrift store and assorted blankets for the vet clinic. The cats were back in action, happy for another day of unexpected entertainment. Despite them, I made progress. You can't really miss what I took out, but every little bit helps. I now have a mess of stuff in the office, but the anticipation that it will soon be wending its way elsewhere and no longer taking up room in my house.
The dogs were happy to assist me in moving the outside pot plants into more shady areas and setting up water baths for those with clay pots. Mojo dearly loves to work outside, eager for the chance to battle the water hose. Coco stands well away for fear she will get wet and mess up her coiffure, but she wouldn't miss being a part of things.
The one cloud on their weekend was our walk last night at 8PM. We had covered about three-fourths of our route when we ran into their old nemesis Pogo, the Jack Russell terrier that lives just around the corner. Normally her owners grab her when they see us coming, but this time they were busy and here she came. She's not a mean dog, but she has more bounce than sense. Sort of like Tigger in the Walt Disney Pooh movies. Mojo and Coco can't stand her and before I could grab them up, were spinning around me and effectively tying me up with their leash, getting more and more panicked as they could not figure out how to get away from her.
I finally, in desperation, loosened my grip on the leash enough to bend down to get Coco, who was pressing up against my legs. Mojo, in the meantime, was dancing at the end of his leash like a fish out of water. The instant I touched Coco, she knew that she was about to die at the teeth of her enemy and let out a shriek that sounded like she was being murdered. It took some effort to get a good grip on her and haul her up out of harm's way and she was screaming the entire time. It was only when she was finally tucked against my shoulder that she realized she was safe and ceased sounding like a stuck pig.
This of course had a bad effect on Mojo and tickled Pogo no end. Her owners were trying to herd her away from us, but she was having too much fun and kept running big circles around our little 3-ring circus. I was finally able to reel Mojo in with his leash and get him hauled up, too. I was afraid he might be stressed into one of his seizures, but he calmed down pretty quick when he found himself above the action. Pogo's owners apologized profusely and we went on our way, two little dogs peering anxiously over my shoulder to be sure the threat was left behind.
Quiet, country living at its best. I'm surprised we didn't have somebody call the cops. All's well this morning, but I think we may just leave that street out of our route for awhile. I'm getting too old for that kind of excitement.
LSW
The cats were in cat heaven. As I shucked newspaper off owls, cows and miscellaneous bric-a-brac, I threw it into a big heap in the middle of the floor. They dove into the middle, jumped around in it, tackled each other and carried pieces off to shred. By the time they tired of that game, there were empty boxes to explore. Late in the day I found them on the top two tiers of their cat tower, dead to the world. Best they've been in weeks.
The next day I got back in the closet and hauled out sheets for the thrift store and assorted blankets for the vet clinic. The cats were back in action, happy for another day of unexpected entertainment. Despite them, I made progress. You can't really miss what I took out, but every little bit helps. I now have a mess of stuff in the office, but the anticipation that it will soon be wending its way elsewhere and no longer taking up room in my house.
The dogs were happy to assist me in moving the outside pot plants into more shady areas and setting up water baths for those with clay pots. Mojo dearly loves to work outside, eager for the chance to battle the water hose. Coco stands well away for fear she will get wet and mess up her coiffure, but she wouldn't miss being a part of things.
The one cloud on their weekend was our walk last night at 8PM. We had covered about three-fourths of our route when we ran into their old nemesis Pogo, the Jack Russell terrier that lives just around the corner. Normally her owners grab her when they see us coming, but this time they were busy and here she came. She's not a mean dog, but she has more bounce than sense. Sort of like Tigger in the Walt Disney Pooh movies. Mojo and Coco can't stand her and before I could grab them up, were spinning around me and effectively tying me up with their leash, getting more and more panicked as they could not figure out how to get away from her.
I finally, in desperation, loosened my grip on the leash enough to bend down to get Coco, who was pressing up against my legs. Mojo, in the meantime, was dancing at the end of his leash like a fish out of water. The instant I touched Coco, she knew that she was about to die at the teeth of her enemy and let out a shriek that sounded like she was being murdered. It took some effort to get a good grip on her and haul her up out of harm's way and she was screaming the entire time. It was only when she was finally tucked against my shoulder that she realized she was safe and ceased sounding like a stuck pig.
This of course had a bad effect on Mojo and tickled Pogo no end. Her owners were trying to herd her away from us, but she was having too much fun and kept running big circles around our little 3-ring circus. I was finally able to reel Mojo in with his leash and get him hauled up, too. I was afraid he might be stressed into one of his seizures, but he calmed down pretty quick when he found himself above the action. Pogo's owners apologized profusely and we went on our way, two little dogs peering anxiously over my shoulder to be sure the threat was left behind.
Quiet, country living at its best. I'm surprised we didn't have somebody call the cops. All's well this morning, but I think we may just leave that street out of our route for awhile. I'm getting too old for that kind of excitement.
LSW
Friday, May 30, 2008
Retro Vision
First off, I was already thinking this blog out when I heard the news that Harvey Korman died. That man was part of one of the all time great variety shows and his work with Tim Conway gave me some of the best belly laughs ever. I can still laugh just thinking about the dentist sketch, which I'm sure you can find over on youtube if you don't know what I'm talking about. The world will be a little less funny now.
While I'm paying homage, let me mention how sorry I was to hear that Sidney Pollack also died this week. The man was a genuis. Jeremiah Johnson, Three Days of the Condor and Tootsie are just three movies he directed that I now own on DVD and still enjoy as much as the first time I saw them.
I watch a lot of old movies and old television shows. With few exceptions, they are far more entertaining than the current fare available via 200+ cable channels. Yesterday, while I was lying in bed working on the laptop (backache, headache, knotted muscles, enough said), I decided to start working my way through a newly acquired collection of classic TV on DVD.
To set the stage for my trip down memory lane, you have to remember what television was like in the mid 1960s. There were 3 broadcast channels: CBS, NBC and a very young ABC in some markets. Our antenna picked up the San Antonio stations. Once in a blue moon when the wind was just right and you had your left hand on the TV and your right hand on the window frame, you could pick up KTBC in Austin. It was snowy, but it could be done and I would sometimes suffer the visual distortion for a chance to see a favorite program that had been pre-empted in San Antonio.
I had a very bulky black and white television set in the corner of my bedroom and I felt rich for this luxury. Not many folks had more than one set in the house at that time. (A small digression at this point - I remember when one of the more well-to-do families obtained a color set and invited little brother and me over to watch the telecast of Cinderella starring Lesley Ann Warren. It was a fairly new production at the time and a treat to get to see in color. I can remember vividly sitting in their living room, watching the program while their youngest son ground up sugar cookies in his new PlayDough contraption. Ah, memories.)
I remember being very enamored of a British import called The Avengers. I watched it faithfully, as did one of my close friends. We rehashed plots and discussed the characters at length. The show actually had several incarnations. Except at the very first, the male lead was John Steed, played by Patrick Macnee. The female lead changed several times, but the years it was broadcast in the USA were the years of Mrs. Emma Peel, played by Diana Rigg. She was one of those rare characters liked by everyone, both male and female. We were heartbroken when the announcement came that the character was to be written out because Diana Rigg was going on to bigger and better things. The show was never the same after that.
I had not purchased any DVDs of the series because I did not care for the non-Mrs. Peel episodes. Around the time of my recent birthday I became aware that a special set had been released of all the episodes involving Mrs. Peel. The furry kids got it for my birthday present (they have Amazon accounts and it was on my wish list, bless their little hearts). Yesterday was the first time I had settled down to watch a few episodes. I half-way expected to be disappointed. Memory so often makes things seem better than they were.
On the contrary, I am having a great time. First of all, there is a big deal made about the switch from black and white to color. According to the accompanying notes, the color episodes were the only ones that made it to the USA back when. That means I have about 30-40 episodes in the collection that I probably never saw at all. The ones in color I watched in black and white, so those should be a treat for other reasons. (I have caught a few episodes from time to time in the intervening years, but not many of them.) Yes, the stories are camp and the special effects laughable, but they were camp and laughable when they were new. That was half the fun and the fun is still there. The repartee between Steed and Mrs. Peel is witty and intelligent. In the 1960s the folks behind television shows had higher opinions of their audience's mentality and wrote accordingly.
The last time I so enjoyed revisting my television past was when they issued a complete set of The Persuaders, a spy show starring Roger Moore and Tony Curtis. Up until then, I had the feeling I was the only one in the world who had ever watched the show. While it was broadcast in San Antonio, the station had such a low opinion of it that they showed something else in its time slot and shifted its broadcast to 11PM on Sunday night. It was probably on the ABC channel, as I never got to see it without heavy snow being involved. I think that was the start of the dark circles under my eyes, because I would faithfully stay up until midnight, on a school night, with the volume turned down low enough that my parents wouldn't know what I was up to. I would be hunched over close to the set so I could hear and barely able to see what was going on. That, my friends, is the definition of a devoted fan. It was a real shock to get the DVDs and see everything clearly and in color. I had almost remembered that it was supposed to be snowy.
I will not confess just how much retro television I have collected on DVD, but I will say that I am never at a loss for something decent to watch in lieu of the garbage that passes for entertainment these days. I especially enjoy the shows that started out in England on the BBC: The Avengers, The Persuaders, Are You Being Served?, Fawlty Towers, and Keeping Up Appearances. Quality television is out there - you just have to look back a few decades to find it. It's just too bad how laziness and greed has caused the genre to deteriorate to the sad state of affairs it is now.
LSW
While I'm paying homage, let me mention how sorry I was to hear that Sidney Pollack also died this week. The man was a genuis. Jeremiah Johnson, Three Days of the Condor and Tootsie are just three movies he directed that I now own on DVD and still enjoy as much as the first time I saw them.
I watch a lot of old movies and old television shows. With few exceptions, they are far more entertaining than the current fare available via 200+ cable channels. Yesterday, while I was lying in bed working on the laptop (backache, headache, knotted muscles, enough said), I decided to start working my way through a newly acquired collection of classic TV on DVD.
To set the stage for my trip down memory lane, you have to remember what television was like in the mid 1960s. There were 3 broadcast channels: CBS, NBC and a very young ABC in some markets. Our antenna picked up the San Antonio stations. Once in a blue moon when the wind was just right and you had your left hand on the TV and your right hand on the window frame, you could pick up KTBC in Austin. It was snowy, but it could be done and I would sometimes suffer the visual distortion for a chance to see a favorite program that had been pre-empted in San Antonio.
I had a very bulky black and white television set in the corner of my bedroom and I felt rich for this luxury. Not many folks had more than one set in the house at that time. (A small digression at this point - I remember when one of the more well-to-do families obtained a color set and invited little brother and me over to watch the telecast of Cinderella starring Lesley Ann Warren. It was a fairly new production at the time and a treat to get to see in color. I can remember vividly sitting in their living room, watching the program while their youngest son ground up sugar cookies in his new PlayDough contraption. Ah, memories.)
I remember being very enamored of a British import called The Avengers. I watched it faithfully, as did one of my close friends. We rehashed plots and discussed the characters at length. The show actually had several incarnations. Except at the very first, the male lead was John Steed, played by Patrick Macnee. The female lead changed several times, but the years it was broadcast in the USA were the years of Mrs. Emma Peel, played by Diana Rigg. She was one of those rare characters liked by everyone, both male and female. We were heartbroken when the announcement came that the character was to be written out because Diana Rigg was going on to bigger and better things. The show was never the same after that.
I had not purchased any DVDs of the series because I did not care for the non-Mrs. Peel episodes. Around the time of my recent birthday I became aware that a special set had been released of all the episodes involving Mrs. Peel. The furry kids got it for my birthday present (they have Amazon accounts and it was on my wish list, bless their little hearts). Yesterday was the first time I had settled down to watch a few episodes. I half-way expected to be disappointed. Memory so often makes things seem better than they were.
On the contrary, I am having a great time. First of all, there is a big deal made about the switch from black and white to color. According to the accompanying notes, the color episodes were the only ones that made it to the USA back when. That means I have about 30-40 episodes in the collection that I probably never saw at all. The ones in color I watched in black and white, so those should be a treat for other reasons. (I have caught a few episodes from time to time in the intervening years, but not many of them.) Yes, the stories are camp and the special effects laughable, but they were camp and laughable when they were new. That was half the fun and the fun is still there. The repartee between Steed and Mrs. Peel is witty and intelligent. In the 1960s the folks behind television shows had higher opinions of their audience's mentality and wrote accordingly.
The last time I so enjoyed revisting my television past was when they issued a complete set of The Persuaders, a spy show starring Roger Moore and Tony Curtis. Up until then, I had the feeling I was the only one in the world who had ever watched the show. While it was broadcast in San Antonio, the station had such a low opinion of it that they showed something else in its time slot and shifted its broadcast to 11PM on Sunday night. It was probably on the ABC channel, as I never got to see it without heavy snow being involved. I think that was the start of the dark circles under my eyes, because I would faithfully stay up until midnight, on a school night, with the volume turned down low enough that my parents wouldn't know what I was up to. I would be hunched over close to the set so I could hear and barely able to see what was going on. That, my friends, is the definition of a devoted fan. It was a real shock to get the DVDs and see everything clearly and in color. I had almost remembered that it was supposed to be snowy.
I will not confess just how much retro television I have collected on DVD, but I will say that I am never at a loss for something decent to watch in lieu of the garbage that passes for entertainment these days. I especially enjoy the shows that started out in England on the BBC: The Avengers, The Persuaders, Are You Being Served?, Fawlty Towers, and Keeping Up Appearances. Quality television is out there - you just have to look back a few decades to find it. It's just too bad how laziness and greed has caused the genre to deteriorate to the sad state of affairs it is now.
LSW
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Now I Ask You
Is this not a sight to strike terror in the heart of a civilized human being?
I have to live with it. Count your blessings.
LSW
I have to live with it. Count your blessings.LSW
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Cemetery Update
Last year I mentioned a small cemetery that rests in the center of a large field just outside Norman's Crossing. Last year the field was planted in corn and I could not even see the cemetery until it was harvested. I had intended to go back and get photos of the stones, but my timing was always wrong. If I had my camera, the soil was too muddy to make the trek out to the middle of the field. If the soil was dry, I had left my camera at home.
But today I was running a little bit early on the trip home, I had my camera and the field was dry. I hiked out to get photos and got a surprise. Between last year and this year someone had done some restoration work. The photo I took from a distance last year clearly shows a barbed wire fence and tumbled tombstones. Today the cemetery has been newly fenced and all the stones have been repaired.
The field this year is planted in cotton and the little cemetery is quite picturesque surrounded by the healthy plants. It has been a long time since I've walked down rows of a full field of plants. I can remember riding in the back seat of the car as we cruised around the farm lands around San Gabriel when I was about 5 years old. I was always intrigued by the undulating motion of the rows of plants as the car sped by.
Someone with as much farming heritage as I have could not help but find such a sight beautiful. I was really tempted to take my shoes off and walk out to the cemetery barefoot. Is there anything more satisfying than the feel and smell of freshly plowed dirt?
These folks have a really nice place to spend eternity. I'm so very glad that someone cared enough to spend the time restoring this little cemetery.
LSW
But today I was running a little bit early on the trip home, I had my camera and the field was dry. I hiked out to get photos and got a surprise. Between last year and this year someone had done some restoration work. The photo I took from a distance last year clearly shows a barbed wire fence and tumbled tombstones. Today the cemetery has been newly fenced and all the stones have been repaired.
The field this year is planted in cotton and the little cemetery is quite picturesque surrounded by the healthy plants. It has been a long time since I've walked down rows of a full field of plants. I can remember riding in the back seat of the car as we cruised around the farm lands around San Gabriel when I was about 5 years old. I was always intrigued by the undulating motion of the rows of plants as the car sped by.
Someone with as much farming heritage as I have could not help but find such a sight beautiful. I was really tempted to take my shoes off and walk out to the cemetery barefoot. Is there anything more satisfying than the feel and smell of freshly plowed dirt?These folks have a really nice place to spend eternity. I'm so very glad that someone cared enough to spend the time restoring this little cemetery.
LSW
Monday, May 26, 2008
Just Can't Trust Them Anymore
This is for the over 40s group...
Do you remember back in the good old days when you could count on certain things from the television writers? Like, for instance, Bonanza. You could count on the season ending with all the main characters still alive. Even when Pernell Roberts left the cast, his character Adam just moved away. Eventually they quit talking about him, but you knew he was still out there somewhere. When Dan Blocker died one summer while the show was on hiatus, his character died, but quietly off camera. By the time the new season began, you already knew what had happened and the shock had worn off.
The characters would get injured, yes, but they never just suddenly winked out of existence. Their guest stars were the ones who died abruptly, but it's not like you didn't know it was coming. You just knew when one of them got interested in a girl, she was a goner. God forbid that the winning combination of Pa and the brothers should be upset by a girl for longer than a 2-hour episode, for Pete's sake.
In the good old days, you could pretty much count on your favorite characters sticking to the end of the series, Pernell Roberts notwithstanding. (I missed him, but I don't think very many people did. Including the other cast members.)
In the good old days you could also count on getting to the end of the season. Nowadays the shows are judged and axed before you even realize they started. I find that I sometimes don't even try a new series until it is in reruns and I know there will be a series to watch.
Anyway, the point of this whole diatribe is that I am catching up with the last few shows of the NCIS season that I recorded on the DVR. There was ample warning that a major character would die in the last episode and I kinda knew who it would be if I were in charge, but I was wary. Nowadays the shock factor seems to be a big appeal and I was really anticipating that one of my favorite cast members might be disappearing for the sake of end of season ratings.
So, I confess, I poked around the Internet and found a spoiler to tell me who was biting the dust before I watched the final episode. I figured I would rather be forewarned instead of suffering an unwelcome surprise that would piss me off. As it turns out, my guess was correct so I can watch without dread.
I just don't like this new trend to kill off major characters. You get fond of your favorite characters and it hurts to lose them. It seems counterproductive to me to irritate your audience, but maybe the younger generation doesn't mind the lack of continuity.
I'll have to hand it to one show that breaks the mold. Lost regularly kills off its cast members, but then they keep coming back in flash backs or as ghosts, so they never really go away. I can handle that, although I really think they could have found a way to keep Charlie among the living. I miss that boy.
Is it any wonder I keep adding to my collection of vintage TV shows on DVD? I know I can count on them to make me happy. Everybody but the guest stars will be alive when the credits roll. That's the way it should be.
LSW
Do you remember back in the good old days when you could count on certain things from the television writers? Like, for instance, Bonanza. You could count on the season ending with all the main characters still alive. Even when Pernell Roberts left the cast, his character Adam just moved away. Eventually they quit talking about him, but you knew he was still out there somewhere. When Dan Blocker died one summer while the show was on hiatus, his character died, but quietly off camera. By the time the new season began, you already knew what had happened and the shock had worn off.
The characters would get injured, yes, but they never just suddenly winked out of existence. Their guest stars were the ones who died abruptly, but it's not like you didn't know it was coming. You just knew when one of them got interested in a girl, she was a goner. God forbid that the winning combination of Pa and the brothers should be upset by a girl for longer than a 2-hour episode, for Pete's sake.
In the good old days, you could pretty much count on your favorite characters sticking to the end of the series, Pernell Roberts notwithstanding. (I missed him, but I don't think very many people did. Including the other cast members.)
In the good old days you could also count on getting to the end of the season. Nowadays the shows are judged and axed before you even realize they started. I find that I sometimes don't even try a new series until it is in reruns and I know there will be a series to watch.
Anyway, the point of this whole diatribe is that I am catching up with the last few shows of the NCIS season that I recorded on the DVR. There was ample warning that a major character would die in the last episode and I kinda knew who it would be if I were in charge, but I was wary. Nowadays the shock factor seems to be a big appeal and I was really anticipating that one of my favorite cast members might be disappearing for the sake of end of season ratings.
So, I confess, I poked around the Internet and found a spoiler to tell me who was biting the dust before I watched the final episode. I figured I would rather be forewarned instead of suffering an unwelcome surprise that would piss me off. As it turns out, my guess was correct so I can watch without dread.
I just don't like this new trend to kill off major characters. You get fond of your favorite characters and it hurts to lose them. It seems counterproductive to me to irritate your audience, but maybe the younger generation doesn't mind the lack of continuity.
I'll have to hand it to one show that breaks the mold. Lost regularly kills off its cast members, but then they keep coming back in flash backs or as ghosts, so they never really go away. I can handle that, although I really think they could have found a way to keep Charlie among the living. I miss that boy.
Is it any wonder I keep adding to my collection of vintage TV shows on DVD? I know I can count on them to make me happy. Everybody but the guest stars will be alive when the credits roll. That's the way it should be.
LSW
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Confessions of a Hoarder
All crafters speak of their "stash" - that stockpile of assorted materials for present and future projects. Knitters have a stash of irresistible yarn. Scrapbookers have a stash of specialty papers and embellishments. We dollhouse people have stashes of little doors, flooring, wood, and other mini-things that may be needed, we know not when. (I must confess here that I am also a knitter, so I have my own stash of yarn that I take out and admire every so often. I still have hopes that someday I will actually make something from it.)
Back in the early days of my dollhouse hobby, miniatures were not readily available. A dollhouse enthusiast learned to look at everything around them with an eye toward what it could be used to represent in a 1/12th scale world. One of the best known full-sized item that fits in nicely in a dollhouse is a bottle cap. A fluted toothpaste cap or a clear cap from a bottle of hairspray makes a terrific dollhouse wastebasket. The metal cap from a glass bottle of soda fills in nicely as a pie pan. An empty jelly tub from a restaurant takes on new life as a kitchen sink. You get the idea.
I've been making dollhouses for almost as long as I've been a genealogist and the two areas have similarities. I'm not talking about the need for attention to detail, though that is certainly a common denominator. I'm talking about the access to needed materials. In the 1960s, in my early days of genealogy, you had to be really creative and persistent to get the job done. Records had to be sought via the U. S. Postal Service and rare trips to far-flung libraries. Nowadays newcomers to the hobby have it relatively easy with the ability to access many records from their home via the Internet. (Have I ever told you the story of scanning census microfilm page by page, Texas county by Texas county, hours on end, where indexes were not available? The newbies have no idea how hard we had to work back when. I think I'm beginning to feel like a geezer.)
Likewise, when I got into the dollhouse hobby in the 1970s, miniatures just weren't that easy to find. There was a corner in a toy store or two where a few dollhouse items could be found, but mostly you had to deal with mail order companies or make things yourself. If you were lucky enough to find miniatures, they were expensive. I didn't make a whole lot of money back in those days, so I wasn't able to indulge in the higher priced items.
As the craft stores began to spring up, miniatures were a little more readily available. I still couldn't afford full price very often, but when I found things on clearance that might be useful "someday", I snatched them up and put them back for future use. Over the years things have gotten even more readily available and I continued to buy basic things like wallpaper, flooring, doors, windows, and furniture sets whenever I found good buys.
As my income improved, so did my stash. I began to buy dollhouse and roombox kits when Hobby Lobby would include them in their weekly sales. I would find a dollhouse kit somewhere marked way down because of a few dings in the box. It would come home with me.
The thing is, I now have more miniatures and dollhouse material stashed away than there will ever be rainy days to work on them. My early dream was to someday have a "street" of shops. I'm making some progress on that dream. I currently have finished an antique shop, a knitting store, and a Southwestern store. I'm very close to having a completed Mexican food restaurant. In my stash are project boxes for a bookstore, a Christmas store, a gift store, a bed & breakfast and a museum. (Project boxes mean I am actually collecting the furnishings and accessories for the store. Project boxes are in addition to the dollhouse kit itself.) I have store kits for another 3 stores as yet unplanned. And I'm not even going to list the number of containers I have acquired with the idea of using them for vignettes that won't be a part of my "street". I won't even go into how many storage bins I have full of furniture and building components. Let's just say I have a portion of the garage set aside just for my dollhouse addiction. The guest room upstairs is almost wall-to-wall dollhouses and roomboxes. I'm getting ready to dispose of the bed to make more room for dollhouses. (If I have guests, I'll be sleeping on the floor.)
There is hope. I'm getting a little bit better about turning down good buys. Awhile back I passed on a fully built dollhouse on sale at the outlet mall in San Marcos. I patted myself on the back for that one. For some time now I've skipped visiting Hobby Lobby when miniatures are included in their sales. I've at least stopped buying "in case" and started buying for definite projects. Yes, miniatures are still coming in faster than they are being used. One of our last stops on the recent genealogy trip included a visit to a fantastic dollhouse store in Nashville. At least everything I bought and carried back carefully on the airplane in my carry on bag was destined for a specific planned project. Well, most of it anyway.
My hoarding does pay off sometimes. This morning I was contemplating a kit-bashing angle of the Mexican restaurant and decided I needed some Spanish-style tile for an accent piece. I dove into a storage bin and found just enough mosaic flooring to fit the bill nicely. When I found that the doweling they included in the kit for the roof vigas was bigger than the holes they had drilled, I found a slightly smaller dowel in my wood stash. I hated the kit flooring and found that I had 3 random plank flooring sheets purchased on clearance that will look fabulous.
I may be addicted, but I feel no guilt. I tell myself that the time to buy is when I have the funds (and storage room) to do so. When I retire, I won't be wondering what to do with myself. There will be dollhouses and roomboxes to build. And sweaters to knit.
And, of course, books to read.
LSW
Back in the early days of my dollhouse hobby, miniatures were not readily available. A dollhouse enthusiast learned to look at everything around them with an eye toward what it could be used to represent in a 1/12th scale world. One of the best known full-sized item that fits in nicely in a dollhouse is a bottle cap. A fluted toothpaste cap or a clear cap from a bottle of hairspray makes a terrific dollhouse wastebasket. The metal cap from a glass bottle of soda fills in nicely as a pie pan. An empty jelly tub from a restaurant takes on new life as a kitchen sink. You get the idea.
I've been making dollhouses for almost as long as I've been a genealogist and the two areas have similarities. I'm not talking about the need for attention to detail, though that is certainly a common denominator. I'm talking about the access to needed materials. In the 1960s, in my early days of genealogy, you had to be really creative and persistent to get the job done. Records had to be sought via the U. S. Postal Service and rare trips to far-flung libraries. Nowadays newcomers to the hobby have it relatively easy with the ability to access many records from their home via the Internet. (Have I ever told you the story of scanning census microfilm page by page, Texas county by Texas county, hours on end, where indexes were not available? The newbies have no idea how hard we had to work back when. I think I'm beginning to feel like a geezer.)
Likewise, when I got into the dollhouse hobby in the 1970s, miniatures just weren't that easy to find. There was a corner in a toy store or two where a few dollhouse items could be found, but mostly you had to deal with mail order companies or make things yourself. If you were lucky enough to find miniatures, they were expensive. I didn't make a whole lot of money back in those days, so I wasn't able to indulge in the higher priced items.
As the craft stores began to spring up, miniatures were a little more readily available. I still couldn't afford full price very often, but when I found things on clearance that might be useful "someday", I snatched them up and put them back for future use. Over the years things have gotten even more readily available and I continued to buy basic things like wallpaper, flooring, doors, windows, and furniture sets whenever I found good buys.
As my income improved, so did my stash. I began to buy dollhouse and roombox kits when Hobby Lobby would include them in their weekly sales. I would find a dollhouse kit somewhere marked way down because of a few dings in the box. It would come home with me.
The thing is, I now have more miniatures and dollhouse material stashed away than there will ever be rainy days to work on them. My early dream was to someday have a "street" of shops. I'm making some progress on that dream. I currently have finished an antique shop, a knitting store, and a Southwestern store. I'm very close to having a completed Mexican food restaurant. In my stash are project boxes for a bookstore, a Christmas store, a gift store, a bed & breakfast and a museum. (Project boxes mean I am actually collecting the furnishings and accessories for the store. Project boxes are in addition to the dollhouse kit itself.) I have store kits for another 3 stores as yet unplanned. And I'm not even going to list the number of containers I have acquired with the idea of using them for vignettes that won't be a part of my "street". I won't even go into how many storage bins I have full of furniture and building components. Let's just say I have a portion of the garage set aside just for my dollhouse addiction. The guest room upstairs is almost wall-to-wall dollhouses and roomboxes. I'm getting ready to dispose of the bed to make more room for dollhouses. (If I have guests, I'll be sleeping on the floor.)
There is hope. I'm getting a little bit better about turning down good buys. Awhile back I passed on a fully built dollhouse on sale at the outlet mall in San Marcos. I patted myself on the back for that one. For some time now I've skipped visiting Hobby Lobby when miniatures are included in their sales. I've at least stopped buying "in case" and started buying for definite projects. Yes, miniatures are still coming in faster than they are being used. One of our last stops on the recent genealogy trip included a visit to a fantastic dollhouse store in Nashville. At least everything I bought and carried back carefully on the airplane in my carry on bag was destined for a specific planned project. Well, most of it anyway.
My hoarding does pay off sometimes. This morning I was contemplating a kit-bashing angle of the Mexican restaurant and decided I needed some Spanish-style tile for an accent piece. I dove into a storage bin and found just enough mosaic flooring to fit the bill nicely. When I found that the doweling they included in the kit for the roof vigas was bigger than the holes they had drilled, I found a slightly smaller dowel in my wood stash. I hated the kit flooring and found that I had 3 random plank flooring sheets purchased on clearance that will look fabulous.
I may be addicted, but I feel no guilt. I tell myself that the time to buy is when I have the funds (and storage room) to do so. When I retire, I won't be wondering what to do with myself. There will be dollhouses and roomboxes to build. And sweaters to knit.
And, of course, books to read.
LSW
Friday, May 23, 2008
Back to our regular program
FREE AT LAST! The May work crunch is off my desk and the remnants are working their way through the printing process. By Wednesday of next week, the whole thing should be behind us.
Fifty-eight electronic files and three manual entry files processed in a little over two weeks. I even squeezed in a refresher round of manual entry myself while I watched tv this past Wednesday night.
Just in time to enjoy a 3-day holiday weekend without anticipating the need for a last minute sprint to the finish line.
I've lived through another May.
Now I can sift back through email and snail mail and spend some time reminding myself of good things that came my way while I was buried. Like this original decorative wedding certificate issued to my grandparents in 1928, a document I had no idea still existed:
Fifty-eight electronic files and three manual entry files processed in a little over two weeks. I even squeezed in a refresher round of manual entry myself while I watched tv this past Wednesday night.
Just in time to enjoy a 3-day holiday weekend without anticipating the need for a last minute sprint to the finish line.
I've lived through another May.
Now I can sift back through email and snail mail and spend some time reminding myself of good things that came my way while I was buried. Like this original decorative wedding certificate issued to my grandparents in 1928, a document I had no idea still existed:
It is worn and tattered, but it is the real thing. Many, many thanks to Cousin Amanda for sending this treasure to me for inclusion in the family archives. I never cease to be amazed at the wonderful things that have been tucked away for decades and then suddenly come to light and fill us genealogists with joy and hope that more family treasures are safely in the hands of relatives who kept them from ending up in wastebaskets and landfills. Forget raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Old documents are my favorite things.
I'm so very glad to be back where I want to be. At my desk. Surrounded by piles of old documents. Bliss.
LSW
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Playing Dress Up
Earlier this week I passed along some old costume jewelry to Cousin Lisa, thinking there might be something in there she could use in her crafting. She reported back that the stuff made a big hit with the adopted granddaughter of the house, Belicia. She's almost 3-years-old and was delighted to play dress up with all the colorful beads.
It reminded me of my own dress up days. When I was about 5-6 years old, a lady from the church gave me a box of assorted costume jewelry. Mrs. Pearson worked at some large department store and she had acquired an assortment of unsold jewlery, had added some of her own she no longer wanted and gave the whole lot to me. Some of the pieces were still in good shape and Mother swiped those for her own use, but there was still a very large pile of rejects that I sorted and played with for quite a long time. I'm not sure what ultimately happened to the collection. I guess some got played to death and some was passed along to younger cousins when I outgrew dress up age.
Along with the jewelry, I had some of Mother's old dresses that I loved to put on and drape with jewels. I was big on play-acting, so I spent many hours happily changing costumes and characters and entertaining myself. One of the dresses I remember especially. It was a gauzy lime-green dress with a full skirt and large collar that draped wonderfully well. I actually managed to find a couple of photos where Mother is wearing it.
I was particularly fond of that dress and kept it for many years. The last memory I have of playing dress up in that dress was when I wore it in a play my class put on for the PTA. I guess I was in the 4th or 5th grade and I played a queen. I always felt elegant in that green dress, so it was the perfect choice for that part.
I have no memory what became of the dress. For many, many years we moved a collection of Mother's old dresses, including her wedding suit of a cream color with navy piping. I guess she finally tired of hauling them around and gave them to Goodwill. I rather wish I still had that green dress and that wedding suit. They were heirlooms I didn't know I would want all these years later.
Come to think of it, I guess I still play dress up. I do love putting together outfits and accessories. And I still have a large collection of costume jewelry. A girl never knows when she will need to feel elegant. Or kitschy. Or retro. Or refined. Or gaudy. Or medieval.
I think I know why I have a clutter problem.
LSW
It reminded me of my own dress up days. When I was about 5-6 years old, a lady from the church gave me a box of assorted costume jewelry. Mrs. Pearson worked at some large department store and she had acquired an assortment of unsold jewlery, had added some of her own she no longer wanted and gave the whole lot to me. Some of the pieces were still in good shape and Mother swiped those for her own use, but there was still a very large pile of rejects that I sorted and played with for quite a long time. I'm not sure what ultimately happened to the collection. I guess some got played to death and some was passed along to younger cousins when I outgrew dress up age.
Along with the jewelry, I had some of Mother's old dresses that I loved to put on and drape with jewels. I was big on play-acting, so I spent many hours happily changing costumes and characters and entertaining myself. One of the dresses I remember especially. It was a gauzy lime-green dress with a full skirt and large collar that draped wonderfully well. I actually managed to find a couple of photos where Mother is wearing it.
I was particularly fond of that dress and kept it for many years. The last memory I have of playing dress up in that dress was when I wore it in a play my class put on for the PTA. I guess I was in the 4th or 5th grade and I played a queen. I always felt elegant in that green dress, so it was the perfect choice for that part.I have no memory what became of the dress. For many, many years we moved a collection of Mother's old dresses, including her wedding suit of a cream color with navy piping. I guess she finally tired of hauling them around and gave them to Goodwill. I rather wish I still had that green dress and that wedding suit. They were heirlooms I didn't know I would want all these years later.
Come to think of it, I guess I still play dress up. I do love putting together outfits and accessories. And I still have a large collection of costume jewelry. A girl never knows when she will need to feel elegant. Or kitschy. Or retro. Or refined. Or gaudy. Or medieval.
I think I know why I have a clutter problem.
LSW
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Get with it or go home
One way to spot a faux Texan: inappropriate use of colloquialisms.
Fer instance - any real Texan understands that the word "y'all" is only appropriate when designating more than one of y'all. The instant you transplanted Yankees address one Texan as y'all, you might as well pack it up and go home.
My newest source of aggravation from the foreigners in our midst is the overuse of the phrase "fixing to". Newcomers seem to think this phrase is quaint. They start trying to fit it into their conversation frequently in their effort to fit into our culture. Unfortunately they don't understand that unless the phrase slides into the conversation unnoticed, it doesn't work. We Texans can use the phrase and you won't even notice that it was uttered. The faux Texans trumpet it out like "hey, aren't I clever to know how to say 'fixing to'?".
"Fixing to" is never, ever, a phrase that is appropriate to include in written format. I've noticed a disturbing trend developing amongst the columnists of the Austin American-Statesman. This morning a columnist used the phrase twice in the space of one paragraph. How gauche can you be?
I was amused a few years ago by one of the younger native Texans I work with. I usually monitor my Texas-speak fairly well in the business environment, but one day I popped out with the word "ain't". He looked at me appalled. The gen-xer Texans had been working hard for some years to eliminate their unique Texas-speak heritage. I told him to relax. I knew better, but I grew up in small town Texas and some of it was bound to come out from time to time. But while I may slip verbally, I certainly never let it creep into my written communication. I know where and when Texas-speak is appropriate. (Which is not to say I don't sometimes purposefully slip into local vernacular when a stilted conversation gets boring and needs a well-placed jolt.)
Ok, 'nuff said. Y'all stop saying "fixing to" until you know when and where it fits into context, you hear?
LSW
Fer instance - any real Texan understands that the word "y'all" is only appropriate when designating more than one of y'all. The instant you transplanted Yankees address one Texan as y'all, you might as well pack it up and go home.
My newest source of aggravation from the foreigners in our midst is the overuse of the phrase "fixing to". Newcomers seem to think this phrase is quaint. They start trying to fit it into their conversation frequently in their effort to fit into our culture. Unfortunately they don't understand that unless the phrase slides into the conversation unnoticed, it doesn't work. We Texans can use the phrase and you won't even notice that it was uttered. The faux Texans trumpet it out like "hey, aren't I clever to know how to say 'fixing to'?".
"Fixing to" is never, ever, a phrase that is appropriate to include in written format. I've noticed a disturbing trend developing amongst the columnists of the Austin American-Statesman. This morning a columnist used the phrase twice in the space of one paragraph. How gauche can you be?
I was amused a few years ago by one of the younger native Texans I work with. I usually monitor my Texas-speak fairly well in the business environment, but one day I popped out with the word "ain't". He looked at me appalled. The gen-xer Texans had been working hard for some years to eliminate their unique Texas-speak heritage. I told him to relax. I knew better, but I grew up in small town Texas and some of it was bound to come out from time to time. But while I may slip verbally, I certainly never let it creep into my written communication. I know where and when Texas-speak is appropriate. (Which is not to say I don't sometimes purposefully slip into local vernacular when a stilted conversation gets boring and needs a well-placed jolt.)
Ok, 'nuff said. Y'all stop saying "fixing to" until you know when and where it fits into context, you hear?
LSW
Friday, May 16, 2008
Plumb Whipped
Those who know me well know not to cross me in May. Beginning the first of May and continuing until about the end of the third week, my desk is piled high with data files that have to be processed with enough lead time to get client notices out before midnight on May 31st. I end up working nights and weekends to keep ahead of the folks producing the notices and generally finish my part along about the 25th. That is, except for that inevitable lone client whose file gets lost in the mail or whose tape drive breaks or who just can't find time to pull things together, so that we are always beginning to sweat and worry that this will be the year we won't be able to say "we did it!". I've been doing this every May since 1982 and every year I wonder if this is the year that will put me in the loony bin for keeps.
This year has been a little different because we have contracted our printing to be done off-site. The front end work load is still there, but we don't hear the incessant racket of the printer and we don't see the notices piling up in the mailroom and we aren't crossing every finger to insure that the mail inserter doesn't break down along the way and require a part to be flown in from Outer Slabovia for its repair.
A lot has changed in the 26 years we've had to hurdle this May mountain of work. In the beginning a lot of the data had to be entered into the computer by our data entry people, because our clients weren't on computer. Then the clients got on computer and we had physical problems creep in with disks that arrived mangled and tapes that didn't contain complete files. Nowadays about 3/4 of our clients are able to generate a file and get it to us within minutes via email or ftp. That has resulted this year in all the necessary files, save two, already in our office. Here it is the 16th of the month and I'm down to under a dozen that I still have to process. Those will be done in a day or two and there will be almost two weeks left in the month to handle the printing. Unheard of to get it behind us that quickly. Of course, there are still those two that haven't made it...
So, anyway, I get pretty grumpy along about now. I'm tired. I'm having allergy problems. (I think it's those gardenia bushes that are blooming their hearts out right now.) All I want is to have a free minute to decide for myself what I want to do, and it's not to tackle another pile of programming chores. Last night I found myself snapping at the dogs, and I don't snap at my dogs. We ended up going to bed early to get some needed rest. I plan to take the weekend off as well.
Maybe I'm getting too old for this stuff.
Nah. I've got a few more years left in me.
Lord, have mercy.
LSW
This year has been a little different because we have contracted our printing to be done off-site. The front end work load is still there, but we don't hear the incessant racket of the printer and we don't see the notices piling up in the mailroom and we aren't crossing every finger to insure that the mail inserter doesn't break down along the way and require a part to be flown in from Outer Slabovia for its repair.
A lot has changed in the 26 years we've had to hurdle this May mountain of work. In the beginning a lot of the data had to be entered into the computer by our data entry people, because our clients weren't on computer. Then the clients got on computer and we had physical problems creep in with disks that arrived mangled and tapes that didn't contain complete files. Nowadays about 3/4 of our clients are able to generate a file and get it to us within minutes via email or ftp. That has resulted this year in all the necessary files, save two, already in our office. Here it is the 16th of the month and I'm down to under a dozen that I still have to process. Those will be done in a day or two and there will be almost two weeks left in the month to handle the printing. Unheard of to get it behind us that quickly. Of course, there are still those two that haven't made it...
So, anyway, I get pretty grumpy along about now. I'm tired. I'm having allergy problems. (I think it's those gardenia bushes that are blooming their hearts out right now.) All I want is to have a free minute to decide for myself what I want to do, and it's not to tackle another pile of programming chores. Last night I found myself snapping at the dogs, and I don't snap at my dogs. We ended up going to bed early to get some needed rest. I plan to take the weekend off as well.
Maybe I'm getting too old for this stuff.
Nah. I've got a few more years left in me.
Lord, have mercy.
LSW
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Shades of Green
In August, when everything is burned to a crisp, I will be thinking back to May. I find myself wondering, as I drive past these lush fields of corn, just how many different shades of green I'm seeing.
LSW
LSWFriday, May 09, 2008
Craving a Dime Lime
Nowadays when you want a limeade, you head to Sonic. Back in the 1960s in Smiley, you headed to Rhodes' Drug Store on main street. They had an old-fashioned soda counter where they mixed the limeade by hand. A small limeade (about 8 oz.) was a nickel. A large limeade (about 12 oz.) was a dime.
I don't know how I discovered their wonderful limeades, but once I did I enjoyed them regularly. Oddly enough I did not know what to call them. I just ordered a "dime lime" and Mayme would mix one for me in a tall glass. I would sit at the counter, drinking my limeade and listening to the ever-present group of local men who would meet there for coffee and conversation.
Most of the time I was with Daddy and he would sit and talk for a long time, so after I finished my limeade I would wander over to the magazine rack at the front window and leaf through the movie magazines. If I got too bored, I could always walk the 3-4 blocks home, but I loved those movie magazines and listening to the grownups talk. Mayme probably wouldn't have let many kids stand and read unpurchased magazines, but she adored Daddy and didn't chase me away.
The Drug Store was the social center for that little town. Everybody went to the drug store regularly, not only for prescriptions, but for anything in the non-grocery line that you couldn't find at Manford's Grocery at the other end of the block. The interior was full of antique counters, antique glassware, antique shelving and antique merchandise that had sat unsold on the shelves for a generation or two. There was a collection of antique bottles with antique medicines on display in the back.
But it was also a place where you could get stationary and cosmetics and jewelry and, of course, reading material and finish up with a triple-decker ice cream cone or a dime lime. It was a wonderful place.
We held fund-raising bake sales inside the Drug Store on Saturdays when raising money for our class trips. The tables would pile high with cakes, cookies and pies and everyone would come in early to get the biggest choice. One time Mr. Sample grabbed my apple pie before I had even reached the display table. (See, even then people knew I make great apple pie.)
There was one day when we were in Nixon for some reason and stopped in at their drug store for a drink before heading home. I had no idea how to ask for my limeade. I asked if they had a lime "coke" and they assured me they did. I got a Coke with lime in it, which actually tasted great and I still drink them that way to this day, but it wasn't the same as the handmade limeade at Rhodes'. It was a special treat I only enjoyed there. (It was a long time later that Sonic came on the scene.)
Rhodes' Drug Store is no more. Vic and Mayme grew old and retired. The building stayed shut up for awhile. Somewhere along the line all those antique store furnishings were removed, I assume sold. The building sits empty and unused. Many of the men who gathered there every morning to swap yarns have died. I don't think there is a daily gathering place for coffee in Smiley any more. If you want magazines, you probably have to drive over to Gonzales. That's the nearest place you can find a Sonic with limeade, too.
I wish I could go back and stroll into that drug store and order a dime lime from Mayme again. I hope that somewhere up in heaven she's still manning that soda counter and riding herd on a group of men who are drinking coffee and telling tall tales. If she is, I'm betting Daddy is right there with the Monday morning quarterback club. They were a great bunch of folks.
There will never be another place like Rhodes' Drug Store. The picture below is of the interior of the drug store before the Rhodes' tenure, sent to me by a descendant of one of the men in the photo. The furnishings are the ones I knew. In my china closet are two pressed glass candy dishes that were given to my mother by Vic out of one of those cases on the right. My own little piece of Rhodes' Drug Store. I would trade them for one of those dime limes. But only if Mayme herself made it.
LSW
I don't know how I discovered their wonderful limeades, but once I did I enjoyed them regularly. Oddly enough I did not know what to call them. I just ordered a "dime lime" and Mayme would mix one for me in a tall glass. I would sit at the counter, drinking my limeade and listening to the ever-present group of local men who would meet there for coffee and conversation.
Most of the time I was with Daddy and he would sit and talk for a long time, so after I finished my limeade I would wander over to the magazine rack at the front window and leaf through the movie magazines. If I got too bored, I could always walk the 3-4 blocks home, but I loved those movie magazines and listening to the grownups talk. Mayme probably wouldn't have let many kids stand and read unpurchased magazines, but she adored Daddy and didn't chase me away.
The Drug Store was the social center for that little town. Everybody went to the drug store regularly, not only for prescriptions, but for anything in the non-grocery line that you couldn't find at Manford's Grocery at the other end of the block. The interior was full of antique counters, antique glassware, antique shelving and antique merchandise that had sat unsold on the shelves for a generation or two. There was a collection of antique bottles with antique medicines on display in the back.
But it was also a place where you could get stationary and cosmetics and jewelry and, of course, reading material and finish up with a triple-decker ice cream cone or a dime lime. It was a wonderful place.
We held fund-raising bake sales inside the Drug Store on Saturdays when raising money for our class trips. The tables would pile high with cakes, cookies and pies and everyone would come in early to get the biggest choice. One time Mr. Sample grabbed my apple pie before I had even reached the display table. (See, even then people knew I make great apple pie.)
There was one day when we were in Nixon for some reason and stopped in at their drug store for a drink before heading home. I had no idea how to ask for my limeade. I asked if they had a lime "coke" and they assured me they did. I got a Coke with lime in it, which actually tasted great and I still drink them that way to this day, but it wasn't the same as the handmade limeade at Rhodes'. It was a special treat I only enjoyed there. (It was a long time later that Sonic came on the scene.)
Rhodes' Drug Store is no more. Vic and Mayme grew old and retired. The building stayed shut up for awhile. Somewhere along the line all those antique store furnishings were removed, I assume sold. The building sits empty and unused. Many of the men who gathered there every morning to swap yarns have died. I don't think there is a daily gathering place for coffee in Smiley any more. If you want magazines, you probably have to drive over to Gonzales. That's the nearest place you can find a Sonic with limeade, too.
I wish I could go back and stroll into that drug store and order a dime lime from Mayme again. I hope that somewhere up in heaven she's still manning that soda counter and riding herd on a group of men who are drinking coffee and telling tall tales. If she is, I'm betting Daddy is right there with the Monday morning quarterback club. They were a great bunch of folks.
There will never be another place like Rhodes' Drug Store. The picture below is of the interior of the drug store before the Rhodes' tenure, sent to me by a descendant of one of the men in the photo. The furnishings are the ones I knew. In my china closet are two pressed glass candy dishes that were given to my mother by Vic out of one of those cases on the right. My own little piece of Rhodes' Drug Store. I would trade them for one of those dime limes. But only if Mayme herself made it.
LSW
Thursday, May 08, 2008
My Year of Living Vacantly
I am thoroughly enjoying a book recommended some time back by brother David and which I have started multiple times only to be distracted away from it time and time again. Last week I found the audio version and have been laughing myself silly all week. The book is by Bill Bryson and is named The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. It is essentially a book about growing up in the 1950s and is chock full of references only we baby boomers can completely appreciate. For instance, who among us remembers Sky King, Sea Hunt, Roy and Dale, the smell of mimeograph ink? If you do, then this book will take you back.
One chapter really hit home for me. I have long described my 11th year on earth as being one where I wasn't really here. It turns out I am not alone in that experience. Bill Bryson describes how he never could remember what day of the week to bring his money to buy savings stamps, could never remember to bring his signed permission slip for class trips, etc. That was me in fifth grade. Does every kid go through a spell of complete oblivion?
The bad thing is, the fifth grade was the first time I had a man for a homeroom teacher. This particular man, Mr. K, was partial to boys and didn't really have much use for flighty girls. So it was particularly unfortunate that my brain went on vacation that year. He was the only teacher who ever actually took girls out in the hall for paddling and I think there was a time or two when I feared I would be next, because I have vague memories of his irritation at my forgetfulness. (There's a vintage memory right there. Paddling?)
I could not remember anything. I annoyed my friends to the breaking point that year by asking every afternoon what we were supposed to do for homework that night. I simply had no recollection of assignments being given, much less what they were. Looking back, I have no memory of anything that happened in that fifth-grade classroom, with the exception of one afternoon when an older boy I had a crush on gave a demonstration of walkie-talkies. And the book rack. I can remember standing at the book rack picking out a new book to read. I guess that is where my 11th year went. I must have spent the entire year lost in books and daydreams.
Whatever the cause, by sixth grade I was more or less back in my physical body. I can remember that year clearly. I can remember the fourth grade clearly. So far as fifth grade is concerned, I was in another dimension. Now, thanks to Bill Bryson, I know I was not the only one that happened to.
Of course, it could be that I was a victim of alien abduction. Did we have UFOs in 1965?
LSW
One chapter really hit home for me. I have long described my 11th year on earth as being one where I wasn't really here. It turns out I am not alone in that experience. Bill Bryson describes how he never could remember what day of the week to bring his money to buy savings stamps, could never remember to bring his signed permission slip for class trips, etc. That was me in fifth grade. Does every kid go through a spell of complete oblivion?
The bad thing is, the fifth grade was the first time I had a man for a homeroom teacher. This particular man, Mr. K, was partial to boys and didn't really have much use for flighty girls. So it was particularly unfortunate that my brain went on vacation that year. He was the only teacher who ever actually took girls out in the hall for paddling and I think there was a time or two when I feared I would be next, because I have vague memories of his irritation at my forgetfulness. (There's a vintage memory right there. Paddling?)
I could not remember anything. I annoyed my friends to the breaking point that year by asking every afternoon what we were supposed to do for homework that night. I simply had no recollection of assignments being given, much less what they were. Looking back, I have no memory of anything that happened in that fifth-grade classroom, with the exception of one afternoon when an older boy I had a crush on gave a demonstration of walkie-talkies. And the book rack. I can remember standing at the book rack picking out a new book to read. I guess that is where my 11th year went. I must have spent the entire year lost in books and daydreams.
Whatever the cause, by sixth grade I was more or less back in my physical body. I can remember that year clearly. I can remember the fourth grade clearly. So far as fifth grade is concerned, I was in another dimension. Now, thanks to Bill Bryson, I know I was not the only one that happened to.
Of course, it could be that I was a victim of alien abduction. Did we have UFOs in 1965?
LSW
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Amber Waves of Grain
Last Saturday I had cause to travel my old commute route on Highway 71 to Austin. You know what? I don't miss it. I don't miss the heavy traffic. I don't miss the construction mess where the new toll road is coming in at Del Valle. I don't miss the traffic lights. Quite frankly, I don't miss Austin. In the 1970s I thought Austin was a fabulous town. Now, not so much. Too many people. Too much construction. Too many lofts.
If you look closely, the core of Austin is still special. But all the garbage you have to wade through to find the special just takes too much energy and I'm not getting any younger.
So, I am enjoying my present commute with new appreciation this week. I am watching the new corn growing a foot every day. I am watching the new cotton crop barely peeking above the ground. And I am enjoying the golden fields of grain that are waving gently in the breeze. It was a challenge to find a place where I could park safely and get up close and personal, but it was worth the search. (For the record, this field is just north of the SPJST hall in Elgin.)
Amber waves of grain, indeed. Beautiful.
LSW
If you look closely, the core of Austin is still special. But all the garbage you have to wade through to find the special just takes too much energy and I'm not getting any younger.
So, I am enjoying my present commute with new appreciation this week. I am watching the new corn growing a foot every day. I am watching the new cotton crop barely peeking above the ground. And I am enjoying the golden fields of grain that are waving gently in the breeze. It was a challenge to find a place where I could park safely and get up close and personal, but it was worth the search. (For the record, this field is just north of the SPJST hall in Elgin.)
Amber waves of grain, indeed. Beautiful.
LSW
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Stress Relief
This was truly a week to forget. Work stresses. Family stresses. Two funerals. Thank heavens for the tranquilizing effect of my two BFFs.
They have not gotten through the week unstressed themselves. A few days ago, Coco decided to smell something on our walk and I wasn't paying close attention. By the time either of us knew something was wrong, her leg was covered with fire ants. I scaped them off with my bare hands, but missed one between her toes and a few more yards down the road, we had to stop and dispatch him to the great ant heaven.
And poor Mojo. The first day or so after Mom returned from her trip was the midnight problem of the chirping smoke alarms. This week, while piled in bed and thinking he was safe, Mom was watching Lost and wouldn't you know one of the scenes involved a chirping smoke alarm. He was about ready to pack his bags and call Uncle David to come get him.
But this morning all is well. Mom finished the vacuuming (poor things don't know I plan to crank up the carpet shampooer after awhile) and they've had their sunbath on the deck. They are all ready to sprawl on the couch and nap the afternoon away.
Unfortunately, Mom has to work.
It's a dog's life.
LSW
They have not gotten through the week unstressed themselves. A few days ago, Coco decided to smell something on our walk and I wasn't paying close attention. By the time either of us knew something was wrong, her leg was covered with fire ants. I scaped them off with my bare hands, but missed one between her toes and a few more yards down the road, we had to stop and dispatch him to the great ant heaven.And poor Mojo. The first day or so after Mom returned from her trip was the midnight problem of the chirping smoke alarms. This week, while piled in bed and thinking he was safe, Mom was watching Lost and wouldn't you know one of the scenes involved a chirping smoke alarm. He was about ready to pack his bags and call Uncle David to come get him.
But this morning all is well. Mom finished the vacuuming (poor things don't know I plan to crank up the carpet shampooer after awhile) and they've had their sunbath on the deck. They are all ready to sprawl on the couch and nap the afternoon away.
Unfortunately, Mom has to work.
It's a dog's life.
LSW
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