Whazzit 2

While folding clothes in the laundry room my eyes were attracted to the one-pint Ball jar on the shelf between the detergent and the bleach. The jar is a third full of thumb tacks for our bulletin board on which BBBH and I post reminders, then promptly forget to check the board again. That is, until after a decision has been taken due to expiration of the notice, so to speak.

Anyway, what really caught my attention was the gizmo atop the tacks. I know my mother had one of these, and used it frequently. What I couldn't find anywhere in the house was the 12-oz. aqua-colored RC bottle with the red and yellow logo. And that is a must-have if the item here is to be utilized.








Scarce there be a person who yet today uses one of these for its intended purpose. In addition to the minimal cost for this appliance, there was an additional 2 cents for the cost of the bottle, for each purchase of the product required a bottle deposit, and if you didn't return the bottle, you bought it.

While Mom kept such a bottle with her laundry supplies, my favorite thing to do with one was this. I would go to the corner grocery with a dime, buy a bottle of RC and a bag of Planters Peanuts. While still in the store (remember, I didn't have the two cents for the bottle) I would swig heartily a couple times, rip the peanut bag open with my teeth, then pour its contents carefully into the throat of the bottle. Then -- aaaah! Such pleasure. What a memory!

(It rather seems in memory that Mom's gadget was aluminum rather than the colorful avocado green plastic. Yeah, that green is so sixties, Mom's must have been aluminum.)

[Bottle photo, rccolainternational.com]

First Sunday in Advent

Today is the First Sunday in Advent. It is a joyful time, as we celebrate the anticipated coming of Christ at His birth. Moreover, we celebrate as we look forward to His coming again! (One purple candle is lighted.)

The Psalm is the Twenty-fifth.
From the Prophets, Jeremiah 33:14-16. "Lo, days are coming, an affirmation of Jehovah, And I have established the good word That I spake unto the house of Israel, And concerning the house of Judah. In those days, and at that time, I cause to shoot up to David a shoot of righteousness, And he hath done judgment and righteousness in the earth. In those days is Judah saved, And Jerusalem doth dwell confidently, And this [is] he whom Jehovah proclaimeth to her: `Our Righteousness.'" --Young's Literal Translation
The Epistle is I Thessalonians 3:12-42.
The Gospel is Luke 21:25-28, 34-36.

The congregation may sing "Love Divine All Loves Excelling." The Choral choice might be "It is Well With My Soul." (Stanza Five quoted here, though entire song is to be sung.)

But, Lord, ‘tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord!
Blessèd hope, blessèd rest of my soul!
It is well with my soul, It is well, It is well with my soul.

Eleanor Castile

Eleanor of Castile, first queen consort of Edward I of England, died on November 28, 1290. She was married to Edward when she was but thirteen years of age. She bore to him sixteen children, of whom three were boys. Edward was the only son to live to adulthood and he eventually became King Edward II.

Eleanor is credited with having a system of reimbursement for the queen consort established, and this continued down through the years.

She and Edward had many adventures, and apparently were much enamored of each other. Following her death, Edward took her to London and at each stopover erected a cross in her memory. Very interesting history if you are into that sort of thing. Look it up.

(Picture of statue, which may not be a true likeness of Eleanor, from Wikipedia.)

Black Bloated Friday

So it is late Friday morning, Thanksgiving Day 2009 having passed into history. While myriad flocks of humanity all across the country invade the malls and swarm over the merchandise, doubtless rudely shoving and mauling each other in the process (I'm only imagining this, for I have never seen it happen), I sit here in the comfort of my own home. But that is not to say I am comfortable. Because the inevitability of discomfort following a day of complete inertia, except for the incessant motion mouthward by the right hand holding one or another comestible, has inundated me, body and spirit.


Serves me right.


But better that, much better, than being out with the madding crowd.

How many days will you have turkey leftovers?

Thanksgiving

And for what am I giving thanks? Among the many other blessings that God has granted, I am also thankful for the pure enjoyment of sitting here in my living room with no other company but the dog. The clock hands just dropped to the back side of the noon hour and I am not involved in messing with anything. Except this. There is no aroma of roasting turkey or baking pies. There is no rattle of pots and pans from the kitchen. It is comfortable, warm and cozy here. The cars are parked in their accustomed spots and are not being impressed into road duty today. The house is not filled with our progeny. There are no family arguments taking place, kids still airing their grievances with one another after more than forty years of harboring their grudges, some of their 'annoyances' having been embellished over time, to the point that the differences in their recollections have become a major part of their disagreements. There are none of the children's kids, our grandkids, adding to the confusion by their whining about how "not fair" everything is in their lives. Nor are there any of them sulking in a corner. Nor are there any of our greatgrandkids calling their friends on their cells, or more likely texting silently as they glower at all assembled, while the youngest of the lot are throwing toys or food, smacking one another just for the fun of it, or screaming at the top of their lungs, distorting their cherubic little faces into red crevasses running with tears and snot. The phone has not rung this morning. No one wishing us a "Happy Thanksgiving." Right. Everyone is too busy dealing with all the "stuff" hinted at above. Yes, we have an abundance of blessings for which we are truly thankful. And sometimes we need to take time to be grateful for what we don't have! (Oh, btw, our family celebration will be on Sunday.)

Ham for Dinner

This scrawny bird showed up here on the farm two years ago. He escaped the executioner's axe because, frankly, he was too skinny to eat. So his image was circulated to wish friends and family-->

The following year, we scared him out of the woods again, and behold, there seemed to be no improvement in his physical condition. Once again he survived, this time to wish my blog pals a Happy Thanksgiving. So we sought the little dickens again this season. But to what avail? He not only is too small to butcher, he is by now too old and too tough, I suspect, to eat. So, again we send him to you to say
Happy Thanksgiving, and eat more Pig!
Special feature for your entertainment: Grace's post.

Ready for Winter Rest

Our fields for the most part are harvested and ready for the winter layover. We can see for miles in most directions.

This is literally the last leaf clinging to the weeping cherry in front of the house. (Remember O. Henry's story about the Last Leaf?)

But the Bradford pear is still a palette of many colors.

And this, the largest tree in front of the house, is being quite ornery. See the leaves on the ground? I'd like to rake them and get them off the grass. But look at the tree. The bottom third is still in leaf, in green leaf yet. What is that about? Aggravation, that's what.

[One month ago.]

Looking Ahead

A few days ago I put up a post which showed a picture of an elderly man feeding the birds. I wrote a little piece to accompany it, which son Carl referred to as my cri du coeur. (He studied at The Sorbonne). So today I am highlighting another local artist, Bev Holliday, who painted this pictorial philosophy which hangs in our living area. I shall interpret.

The loving youngsters represent my progeny, specifically the myriad great grandchildren I have. They are watching me sail "into the sunset," so to speak. They have a lifetime to look forward to as they mature and prepare to launch out into life's sea. Little do they realize that my ship shall not return to them, but rather will sail to a far shore.

The artist might disavow my interpretation, perhaps even averring that it portrays her kids at the beach last summer. Good for her. I see what I see.

In memory of Ellie, who sailed into the sunset eleven years ago today.