Unsettled

Over the past several months I have rewatched the entire Waltons series.  Revisiting childhood and all that.

The first thing I realized is that I am old in more ways than remembering when gas was .30/gallon  I mentioned it one day and a coworker had no clue what I was talking about.  She was born post-Waltons.  So I did a little research.  Except for Elizabeth, the Walton children are all older than I am.  I don’t know exactly how to react to that.  It might be depressing.  Or it might be weirdly comforting.  I’m not sure.

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Back then, when the series first aired we didn’t have cable TV.  It didn’t exist yet.  Or not in the middle of nowhere where I grew up.  We had three channels that came in clear, four that were generally fuzzy.  And there was plenty to watch, the little time that the TV was on.

I don’t have any sort of provider these days.  I realized I was paying a ridiculous amount of money to not watch anything.  I’ve enjoyed the past few months, revisiting old friends.  Yes, that’s how the Waltons seem to me, old friends.  After all, I grew up with them.

Or I should say I was happy until the last three reunion movies.  For reasons I don’t understand the story line was vastly altered.  Children born to Walton children no longer existed.  Mary Ellen, whose first son vanished and who was unable to have more children suddenly had three.  Ben’s son disappeared too.  And Olivia never got to see the Atlantic Ocean for her 40^th wedding anniversary trip due to the early arrival of John Boy’s twins.  Heh.  She’d been there at least three times throughout the series.

I know it’s just a TV show and doesn’t really matter but it’s based loosely on an actual family.  The writer was involved all the way through, included the last few movies where things were altered.  It just doesn’t make sense to not keep things consistent.  In fact, watching it all at once, in order, is a bit disturbing.  I feel slightly let down.  There are no more movies so things will never be set right.

Oh well.  As I said, it really doesn’t matter.  I will keep the DVD’s and watch them all again in another ten years or so.  By then, even fewer people will know who I’m talking about.

Childhood Memories

When I was a wee babe my first room was in an old farmhouse.  It had a wooden tongue and groove ceiling.  And was creepy as hell.  To put it mildly.

My earliest memory is standing in my crib, screaming for help.  And no one coming.  There were “things” in my room.  Unexplainable things.  Evil things.  That came down through the hole in the ceiling.  It had a cover but often in the morning, it was moved.  My parents always tried to tell me it was squirrels in the attic.  They were mistaken, of course.  There were never squirrels any other time.  Or any evidence of rodents in the attic.  No, it was not squirrels.  It was “things.”

It’s been suggested that the hole was a fireplace flue.  Hmm.  I don’t think so.  The farmhouse was very small and the chimney was on the other side.  It’s not very likely that such a structure would have two fireplaces.  And there was no corresponding hole down through the floor so I’d say that idea is out.

If that weren’t creepy enough for a tiny tot this pair of taxidermied ducks hung on the wall above my crib.  Yeah.  Who does that?

The saving grace of the room was the windowsill.  It was about sixteen inches deep and safe.  I can’t tell you how many nights I spent on the windowsill.  It protected me from the “things.”  I went back there today, to take these photos and it was very tempting to crawl up on it.  Yes, there is still evil in that house and no, no one else seems to feel it.

What is wrong with those people?

Remembering...

Halloweens growing up did not hold many decent memories.  It simply wasn’t fun. 

I grew up in the middle of nowhere, in a school district that was scattered over a vast area.  My friends lived on the far reaches of the district, nearly 20 miles away.  As you can imagine trick or treating back and forth with them was out of the question.

My neighborhood, if you can call it that since really all it consisted of was a road with a scattering of houses, had no sidewalks and no street lights.  As a small child, I was not allowed to traipse up and down the road after dark.  Nor were the few other children that lived within a mile and a half. 

There were two years when one set of parents collected all the kids and took us around as a group to the same houses where they’d picked us up individually.  It took all of ten minutes, start to finish.

Costumes then, when you had a mother who didn’t sew, were those cheap, shiny open-in-the-back jumpsuit type things with a plastic mask.  I know I had a Flipper costume.  And I half-remember a Casper costume although that might have been the same electric blue coverall as Flipper with a new mask.

Carving pumpkins was highly frowned upon.  It was much too messy although there were sad attempts when I was honestly too little to be wielding the big carving knife.  The wrath they inspired just wasn’t worth it.

Yeah, Halloween to me leaves a lot to be desired.  But to those of you who have happier memories, enjoy!

Happy Weekend

When I born, my grandmother lived next door to an artist.  This was my birthing present.  Sadly, I do not know her name.  I wish I did.

She had a basset hound named Gomer who would come and stay with me whenever I visited my grandmother.

Happy memories. 

Depressing

Over the past week or so I’ve been rewatching Disney movies I saw as a kid.  Wow!  The memories I have of them seriously fail to correspond with my impressions now.  Other than the music, they are not even remotely similar to how I believed they were.

Overall they are violent.  Sad until the very last moment, if they actually do manage to redeem themselves.  Full of hateful bitchiness.  If you haven’t watched Peter Pan lately, Tinkerbell is NOT the cute little fairy you remember from your childhood.  It’s very depressing to realize that whole segment of my early life is so misconstrued.  It was so bad that I put them away again after only watching about a third of what I had planned.

I think from now on I’ll stick to listening to the soundtracks and enjoying the music while skipping the rest of the stories.

Thistles!

My grandmother loved thistles.  I agree they’re beautiful.  But I rarely let any grow in my yard because they tend to be right where I walk and the thorns attack me.

I made an exception this year.  It was so dry that not much else was growing by mid-July and I wanted something green.  Well, nothing much other than the strawberries but they’re possessed and it’s best not to dwell on them other than to say I ate a few more berries just now when I was outside.

Anyway, my grandmother adored them. So do the bees in my garden.  And soon they’ll be going to seed which means the goldfinches will have a feast.

Yep, the plants may be deadly to my skin but the flowers sure are pretty.

Memories

When I was a kid one of the best things of summer was fresh corn.  Yes, I know.  Very odd for someone petrified of cornfields but the scariest ones are the ones with huge field corn, not sweet corn though enough of that in one place is still creepy.

I grew up in the middle of nowhere and we always had a few rows of corn in the garden.  I could pick it because they were long rows, usually only two and I could reach everything without actually needing to stand between the stalks.

The method for cooking the corn was simple.  Put a small amount of water on to boil, then go pick and clean the ears.  By the time that was accomplished the water was ready.  Steam the cobs for a few minutes and it was ready to eat.  Yes, I was spoiled by fresh veggies, mostly cooked like this, that still retained all their flavor my entire young life.

But as much as I loved corn, I was never fond of gnawing it from the cobs.  I wasn’t prissy but it was too messy.  Fresh peach juice running down my arms, dripping from my elbows was fine.  Corn slop was not.  But then I enjoy my corn naked instead of buttered so what do I know?

The preferred method for me was to cut the corn from the cob.  If this was done just right, the kernels would stick together in little pats and could be eaten with my fingers.  Nothing better than fresh sweet corn to snack on. 

My grandmother hated when I asked her to do that for me but my grandfather was a kindred spirit.  He was a very quiet, stoic man, I think to keep the peace, but that was one thing he would put his foot down about.  When we had corn with them, he always had her cut it off and then sat and ate it with his fingers with me.  I’m sure she griped plenty after I’d gone but he did it all the time anyway.  I suspect he was fairly deaf to most of her griping since she did so much of it, especially when it came to me but that’s a story for another time.

Amazingly enough in spite of the dry conditions, the corn in this corner of Pennsylvania is super yummy this year.  True, the kernels aren’t as plump as some years but they are very sweet and wonderful.

Bet you can guess what I’ll be nibbling on tonight!

Remembering

This week is the 40^th anniversary of Hurricane Anges.  I know it was a tragedy and very costly natural disaster but personally, I have good memories about the occurrence.

I was just a kid and was spending the week in Carlisle with my great aunt, always a wonderful time.  Her next door neighbors had a daughter my age and I looked forward to spending time with her.  Her mom babysat small children, four and under so Crystal and I were generally sent out to fend for ourselves.  It was a safe and friendly neighborhood at the time.  We’d been roaming during my visits for years so everyone knew us and where we belonged so we were given pretty much freedom.  If we were going further than around the block, either walking or roller skating, we had to check in first although there was a pre-approved corner store on the same street a few blocks away that we didn’t need permission to go to.

The year of Agnes it rained.  Non-stop.  Not that we let that stop us from meandering.  But it rained so hard we were required to wear high rain boots and slickers.  The boots, we kept on even when splashing in puddles that were extremely deep with water pouring in over the top.  The slickers, more often than not, were left behind on the porch where we’d been sent to get us out from underfoot of Crystal’s mom and the kids she watched.  Yeah, I admit it.  We were really no help to her.  We were too involved in our own games which the other kids were too young to include.  Irva took us to ladies luncheons with her and my grandmother visited, teaching us to knit as we sat on the porch and watched it rain.

Fun but that only lasted so long before we were off to play in the never-ending storm.  In the evenings, Crystal’s dad would come home with news of the latest flooded areas around town which led to excited chatter, okay outright begging, until he piled us in the car and took us out to see for ourselves.

The trip home was fascinating.  We had to cross the Susquehanna River at Harrisburg.  I can still remember the feeling of awe when I saw the extent of the area the floodwaters had claimed.  I’m not certain but I believe I had to stay a few extra days that year, waiting for route 81 to be passable around the bridge.

Yes, Agnes did a tremendous amount of damage and was a horrific event for so many people.  For that I’m sorry but I must admit I enjoyed it.  It’s all in the perspective.

Searching

I had the coolest teacher when I was in fifth grade. She would let us do extra credit to earn rewards. A sweet treat, being permitted to chew gum in class, a block of time outside to read. The last was always my choice. I did lots of extra work over the winter and spent most of the first days of spring lounging under a tree.

There was a book I read that I remember enjoying immensely. Sadly, the title has escaped me, though I would recognize the back cover if I saw it again.

It was an adventure novel. And a huge book for a ten-year-old, several hundreds of pages. I recall something about a boy going off on a journey to fight battles with a General who happened to be a red ant. There were several other companions with them, critters of various sorts. I know they didn’t return completely unscathed though the boy did return to his yard in the end.

Does any of this ring a bell with you? I love to reread books I enjoyed as a child. Like the Edward Eager Half Magic series. Highly recommended. And so is this other book, if only I can find out its title. Anyone?

Busy, Busy, Busy

Sorry I went missing. I’ve been rearranging my house. Why? My father’s college roommate passed. Sad but not tragic. It was fast so no suffering and he had a long, full life. Yes, he’ll be missed but there are many memories.

And one major one now resides in my house. When I was a kid my dad would take me along when he went to visit. Not that I went to chat with them. No, they had things to discuss, none of which needed to involve me. Especially since I was five to eight at the time. I went for an entirely different reason.

Mr. Earl, as I called him since I couldn’t pronounce his last name, had a player piano. With many, many, many rolls. Yeah, I was taking piano lessons at the time but in no way sounded remotely like a pianist. But put a roll in and let me at the pedals, I always used the pedals, and I was magnificent. Gosh, there were lots of good days spent at that piano.

Now, half a lifetime later it, and three cabinets full of rolls are in my living room. What fun! I have a keyboard but playing it just isn’t the same as a real piano. So I dug out all my old books and have been having a blast. Instead of blogging or putting the last few things back in place in my house. Bad me. Or not. I’m enjoying myself and sometimes that’s more important.

Beau, as it turns out, is quite the musician. He and I are playing duets and will be going public in the near future. I play the written notes. He improvises. We’re quite a pair considering it’s been at least twenty-odd years since I’ve played. I suspect he’s played in a previous life.

The player piano feature? Oh it still plays. I’m just not sure how to rewind the roll. It’s a Playotone piano, manufactured by Hardman Peck. Can anyone help me out with that? I sure would appreciate it. There must be at least 300 rolls here and I’d like to play them.

Three Hour Tour

Just kidding. No boats involved here. No more island, remember?

But I did go to the old homestead the other day. I made a collage of all my book covers and had one to drop off with my mom. You know my mom? The woman who cringes at the mere thought of me. Yes, I knew she'd just adore an oversized picture of all things abhorred.

While I was there I discovered that the field next door is back to being a cornfield. A cornfield. Yeesh, I could feel the creepy seeping out of it and no, I will not be returning until winter, long after the harvest is in and the stalks removed. Look how close the field is to the house.

My room is the one on the back left corner. One window overlooking the corn, one overlooking the corn and at the porch roof. Okay so I know the Things that Dwelled Within the Corn didn't really need the roof to climb up to my window. They could easily get to me without it had they chosen to but still, the idea of it made it that much worse.

Here's the wall I thought to repoint with my dad's wood chisels when I was a kid.Walking away from the house you'll see what replace the island. Nice, but not my island. Yep, can you tell? Still an issue.

I thought, since I was there anyway, I'd theft some blueberries. Want some?