Musings and Memories

The year was 1969. Sex, drugs, rock and roll. Woodstock was already in the planning, and friends and loved ones were being killed in Vietnam. She gazed at the tiny pills in her hand. Two months along at the tender age of 15, she had no concept of what was growing inside her, and was happy to find an older friend who knew what to do. Or so she thought. She downed the pills and waited. And waited. And waited. The girl's mother insisted on confronting the offending boy's parents. A weak offer of  marriage resulted, to the horror of the young mother-to-be. This boy wasn't anyone she wanted to spend her life with...he was just an "acceptable" date while being grounded from seeing her usual friends. An act of rebellion that blew up in her face. Two suitors vied for the expectant young waif, as she became the object of a local rivalry. One, a "bad boy," the other not so much. Unaware of the basic truths of relationships and drawn to excitement, she preferre

The big, old teakettle screamed mercilessly, alerting the sisters it was time. The supper table cleared, one washed and the other dried, alternating duties each day. This ritual began as soon as the youngest was tall enough to reach the sink. Fast forward half a century. I slide my weathered hands into the hot, soapy water.  Thank you, Father JHVH, for running water, cold AND hot.  I think the vast majority of the US  wouldn't be able to function if they couldn't just touch a handle and have a steady stream of hot water. Not until one has lived without it can one appreciate the luxury. There's a method. Glasses are washed first, followed by kitty dishes (Churchill Blue Willow saucers, actually), plates, bowls, cups, and containers. The clean but still soapy dishes are waiting patiently in the right hand bowl of the sink. Waiting for the silverware to initiate the rinse. It's amazing how many knives, forks, and spoons I can hold in my left hand.  (This talent w

The gray cloud cover gave the appearance of threatening snow. Oh. Wait. This is Florida and the temperature is 53F. COLD for these parts, even if it is the middle of January! What's an old, cold lady to do? Mix up a half cup of rice, a half cup of sugar, a quart of reconstituted dry milk, pinch of salt, and a splash of vanilla. Real vanilla, not that imitation stuff you get at the Dollar Tree. Fire up the Beast...my pet name for the restaurant-retired 6-burner LP stove that takes up half a kitchen wall. Bake those goodies in its 350 degree oven for a couple of hours (Butter the casserole dish first, and stir a few times while cooking.) ...heats the whole place nicely all by itself. The bonus is the creamy, sweet rice pudding like Grandma used to make.  A word about the oven...everything gets baked at 350. You could set the dial for 500, and you'd get a 350 oven. Turn it down to 200? Right...still 350. So, you learn to bake everything at 350! Nosey Parker The kit