We went up to see Dad and Evelyn today. It was good to get out and away from home to relieve the Cabin Fever that comes with mid-winter.
When we arrived we found that Dad had been baking up a storm.
A lemon meringue pie was expected, but brownies and chocolate chip cookies were in the works too!
Thank goodness they were expecting more company over the weekend. It gave us a good reason to resist the temptation to bring some home. Everything was way too good!
I had an appointment in Watkins Glen this morning, so I left the house a little early. I wanted to drive up to the lake to see it in the snow and sunshine.
It brightened my day, but made it so difficult to walk into my work two hours later.
The past few weeks I have felt in kind of a rut. It seems that my days cycle through the prep for work, my eight hour workday, then home to cook and clean and do it all over again. On the weekends I seem to play catch-up, and nothing seems out of the ordinary or worth blogging about.
I’ve kept watch out the window, but even the birds are few at my feeders this winter. The ones that do come, don’t stay long.
I am ready for this winter, and my slump, to end!
George and I flew to Finland in June of 1999. Morgan had spent ten months there as a foreign exchange student, and we went over to spend some of her last days with her. We had a wonderful ten days full of new people, experiences, and a language that was fascinating to hear, but impossible to pick up on in a short time. We landed in Helsinki, spent a couple of days there, then took the train northward over a period of three days to arrive in northern Finland where Morgan had called home for nearly a year. Her last host family had invited us to stay with them at their home in the country.
We arrived at Midsummer, which is a holiday of sorts. After the long darkness of winter, they were enjoying twenty-four hours of daylight. We picnicked on grilled reindeer sausage, learned how to properly participate in sauna, and visited in the backyard till we were exhausted. There was never any clue from the sky that it was time to retire for the evening.
They offered us this cute little guest house for sleeping. Going to bed at midnight, I remember we covered the windows with dark clothes from our suitcase to be able to sleep. Having the sun shining through the night was very disorienting!
Here the Finnish flag is being raised in the back yard to celebrate the longest day of the year.
For more Remember Whensday posts, check Sally’s site here.
My grandmother worked as a companion to the elderly, and it was usually for families that she had known for years. My younger sister, Kathy and I would occasionally stay with Grandma at these homes, giving her a chance to spend time with us and giving my dad a couple days respite from single-parenting after my mother died.
Even though we had to be well-behaved and quiet, Grandma wanted to keep our minds busy on these visits. She taught us several versions of solitaire, we did word puzzles, or watched the game shows on TV with her. At night we would snuggle into bed beside her.
On New Year’s Eve, 1963, my sister Kathy and I stayed with Grandma overnight in Naples. I remember staying up late, looking out the big windows and seeing the skiers come down the hills with lights. It seemed a magical night at that time in my life, and I forever thank Grandma for those special memories.
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March 1967. My grandparents took me to California to visit my aunt, uncle and cousins. It was my first flight ever, and it made me feel very special to be taken along. I was only thirteen.
I remember the flight meal, the sensation of my ears popping, and changing planes in Chicago. In San Francisco we boarded a large helicopter for the flight across the bay to Palo Alto. Having come from the snowy northeast, I was amazed at how green everything in California was at that time of year.
We spent two weeks, with trips up the coast, to the beach, and into San Francisco. I had my first taco at a stand on the beach, and my first avocado served with a meal. I remember listening to records with my cousins, especially The Monkees, who were the rage then.
Here we are Easter Sunday with the Golden Gate in the background….my aunt Jean, me, and my cousin, Brian.
Thanks to Sally for hosting this meme!
We spent yesterday afternoon in Rochester, meeting with my cousin Tracy to look through a box of our grandmother’s mementos. She died twenty years ago, just a month before her 94th birthday.
There are many old photos in her collection which have no notation on them, so we can only guess who they might be. There are also letters that my uncle Gordon wrote home during World War II.
The most touching item that we came across was his Purple Heart, neatly boxed as my grandmother most likely received it. I can’t imagine the emotion she must have felt, having just lost her oldest son to the war in France in June 1944.
I asked Tracy if I could keep the medal for awhile, to hold it and share it. I can imagine my mother and her mother touching it and mourning the loss of brother and son. It has been tucked away for so long. I needed to bring it to the light of day today and remember them.
When I took my current job, I worked for two therapists, things were pretty low-key, and breaks and lunch were on a schedule. Fast-forward seventeen years and there are now ten therapists, fast-paced days, and frequent overtime. My head is spinning by Friday.
I’m planning to spend this three-day weekend getting things back on track with some grocery shopping (the cupboards are bare), menu-planning (our meals have been hit-and-miss because I’m so drained by the end of the day), and getting things in order around the house (it’s amazing how much disorganization occurs in a five-day workweek in a house with two adults, a dog, and two cats).
Hopefully some birds will stop by tomorrow. I miss daylight most workdays and my birdwatching has been nil.
It was late August. We were living in upstate New York and traveled west for a family reunion in Oklahoma City. On the way we stopped to visit George’s aunt in Independence, Kansas. She asked us if we would like to take the girls to see the “Little House on the Prairie”.
She gave us directions which took us on roads-less-traveled, and this is what we found…..
The sign says: “This log cabin resembles one described as the Ingall’s home in Little House on the Prairie. A claim was not filed because the land was part of the Osage Diminished Reserve. The Osage signed the treaty selling the land to the government on September 10th, 1870. The family home was listed as the 89th residence of Rutland Township in the 1870 U.S. Census and the family lived here about one year. In her book Laura told of building the cabin, of encounters with Indians, going to Independence for supplies and of Dr. Tannis treating the family members for ‘fever and ague’. Dr. Tannis’ grave is in Mount Hope Cemetery in Independence.” Erected 1977
Unfortunately, what Rebecca (age 6) and Morgan (age 2) probably remember best of that day was the fact that the temperature was a blistering 103 degrees, and our car didn’t have air conditioning.
For more Remember Whensday posts, see Sally’s site here.
As I was getting out of bed this morning, George mentioned that the temperature was at Zero. I was then less than enthused when he suggested that we drive down to Wellsboro, PA for brunch, but I do like the old Penn-Wells Hotel. So I dug out my Cuddle Duds, made him promise to keep the car’s heater running for the whole trip, and we headed south. It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday for the drive which takes us about an hour.
Once, on a December visit there, Christmas carolers had come off the street and into the decorated lobby to sing in front of the fireplace. We were just checking out, so we stopped and joined them around this fireplace. It was very festive and nostalgic, and I think of it every time we go back.
Today it was very quiet there. We arrived as the brunch hours were ending and the lunch hours were soon to begin. They have a delicious buffet which extends through much of the dining room with just about anything you could want or imagine. Diners come dressed in their finest, or in blue jeans, or in their hunting garb. I love the linen-covered tables, the heavy woodwork, and the rich-red walls which are covered in photos showing Wellsboro and the area in days-gone-by.
And as we left and headed for the car, the bank sign across the street showed that the temperature had risen to 19 degrees!