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Saturday, March 31, 2018

Friday, March 30, 2018

CHAG SAMEACH


In Hebrew, Pesach means "to pass over";  interestingly, this year Passover will be celebrated March 30 to April 7 and Good Friday will be the same day as Passover.  The Last Supper, was a seder and Jesus was an observant Jew.

Passover is the Festival of Freedom which commemorates the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt and their transition from slavery to freedom. 

The main ritual of Passover is the seder, a festive meal that involves the retelling of the exodus through stories and songs and the consumption of ritual foods: matzah, unleavened bread (represents the fact that the Israelites had to leave quickly and couldn't wait for the bread to rise), maror, bitter herbs (represents the bitterness of slavery), harroset, mixture of apples, nuts, raisins, and spices (represents the mortar the Hebrew slaves used in building for the Egyptians), karpas, celery, parsley, or other green vegetables (represents spring), and a roasted egg (represents mourning). 

The Haggadah outlines the stories and rituals of Pesach.

The appropriate greeting for Passover is Chag Sameach which means "Happy Holiday" in Hebrew.

Thursday, March 29, 2018

HOLY THURSDAY

    


Maundy Thursday was a question on Jeopardy! recently.  

When I gave the correct answer, my 
brother asked, "HOW did you know that one?"

I answered, "I also know about Shrove Tuesday and Spy Wednesday."

He said, "Now, you're making up that one!"

I answered, "I certainly am not; Spy Wednesday is called that because that's the day that Judas was given the 30 pieces; you should read Scripture." 

He asked, "Why?  When I have you to tell me all about it!"

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

CARRY-IN COOKBOOK

I've learned that the term "carry-in" is a regional term as "pot luck" seems to be more prevalent usage. 

As a Department Manager, my department had, without a doubt, the best carry-in dinners in the plant. I was the only female in the Department.

Good Friday was a holiday; our carry-in dinner was scheduled for Thursday. One of my repairmen collected money to purchase the meat. Each person was to contribute $2.00 for the meat and bring a covered dish.

I told my boss, the new Assembly Manager, who had been appointed a few weeks prior, that he MUST join us for dinner. He said, "Oh, I hear that every department is having a pot-luck." I said, "But none will be as good as ours." He said, a little sarcastically, "I suppose that's because YOU are here."  I said, "Oh, Hell no, the guys do everything." As a matter of fact, I worked very hard organizing the event, but the guys did do all of the work.

The Carry-In Committee Chairman came to me on Wednesday and said that they'd gotten such a good deal on the ham and turkey that they had money left over and he said, "I'm thinking about having shrimp cocktail." I said, "Wow, I love shrimp cocktail."

Before lunch time on Thursday the forklift drivers had wire baskets lined up in the gangway with boards placed across them for makeshift tables. The Committee had brought tablecloths, pots of yellow tulips, and candles for the tables.  The layout was splendid with a great variety of dishes the guys were proud to share.  I paged my boss to come join us.  I told him that he would be the first in line, as our guest.  He said, "I can't believe it; flowers, candles, and SHRIMP COCKTAIL at a pot-luck!"



Because of the great dinners, I decided that a "Carry-In Cookbook" would be a nice memento for the guys. I asked each one of the guys to submit a favorite recipe and to add a humorous anecdote if they wished. I did all of the typing, proofing, graphics, and assembling and the guys pitched in the money to pay for the binding. The day after I had distributed the cookbooks to MY guys, the Assembly Manager confronted me and told me that HIS other departments were upset because they had not received cookbooks. I said, "Tell them WAAAANNNNHHH!", making crying sounds.  I will admit that was unprofessional, but I could not believe that they were acting that silly. He gave a look of disgust and said, very dismissively, "You have the most pampered pieceworkers I've ever seen." I could not let that pass and answered, "That's probably why our quality and production are the best in the whole plant!" 


A few days later I received a call from Human Resources and I was told that it was not acceptable to make the cookbook for JUST my guys as it demonstrated favoritism. I answered, "I hate to resort to logic, but how it could be construed as favoritism when EACH one of my guys had been FAVORED with a cookbook?" The HR Manager did not like my flippancy but I told him to tell the other departments to do as I had done if they wanted a cookbook for their people and that all the work had been done on my own time at home except for gathering the recipes and that l had done that at break times.   I admit, I added, sarcastically that I would be willing to give advice.

When the President and CEO came to visit, I gave him a copy of the cookbook to give to his wife and she sent me a lovely thank-you note.  My boss sheepishly asked if he could have one for his wife.

Last year I was at a mall in Columbus and one of the guys who had worked for me was there with his wife, and as he introduced me to her, he said, "This is the lady who made the cookbook!" His wife told me how much she loved the cookbook and especially because TWO of her recipes were in it.

I thought, "I completed that Contract ahead of schedule and under budget, but what he remembered after 26 years was the COOKBOOK!"


This is one of his wife's recipes which I have been making since 1983 and it is my family's favorite sheet cake:

Mrs. Richard Harmon's Hershey's Cocoa Cake

Grease and flour a 15" x 10" sheet cake pan (cookie sheet with sides)

Mix in saucepan and bring to a boil:

2 sticks margarine
1 cup water
4 rounded tablespoons sifted Hershey's Cocoa (do NOT use any other brand!)

Remove from heat.

Mix together dry ingredients:

2 cups granulated sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda

Mix together and add to the dry ingredients mixture:

2 eggs
1/2 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla

Mix well. Place in sheet cake pan.

Bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees.

Let cool completely before icing.

HERSHEY'S COCOA CAKE ICING

1 stick margarine
1/3 cup milk
3 tablespoons Hershey's cocoa
1 teaspoon vanilla

Mix well and bring to a boil. Remove from heat and add:

1 pound powdered sugar

Mix well and pour over cooled cake.

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

BLUE SAILORS

After my back injury we decided to put a Jacuzzi tub in the downstairs shower room. I was working long hours at the time and Gerald said he would go "online" and check out the tubs. He told me that he had compared prices and that he had ordered one. One day I came home from work and there was an enormous crate on the patio. I commented that it surely was a big box. Gerald arranged to have the shower removed and to have the tub installed.

The bathroom was tiled in lovely 1950's yellow tile which I wanted to keep. One day I came home from work and Gerald announced that the tub was installed. When I opened the door the tub almost filled the entire room. The tub measures 9 feet by 4 feet. To enter the tub, one must disrobe, sit on the edge of the tub, swing one's legs around and maneuver INTO the tub. Once in the tub, it's a wonderful experience with all those jets beating against one's aching back.

I had assumed that the tub would be white as the basin had been white. The tub is an enormous LAVENDER tub. When I asked Gerald WHY he had chosen that particular color he said, "You know, when we're driving along you always say how much you like chicory." How could I not LOVE the fact that he had chosen "chicory" because he remembered my loving the wildflower weed chicory color? How SWEET is that?

CHICORY--the color of the tub is not CHICORY because CHICORY is blue, NOT lavender! WHY is the tub LAVENDER? WHY don't they know what the hell color CHICORY is at Kohler?

Mother told me about using chicory root during the Depression to mix with coffee to make the coffee go further! When something was bitter, she would always say, "That's as bitter as chicory!" I knew she used chicory for different "potions". She always called chicory "blue sailors". I decided to research chicory and guess what?  Chicory (cichorium intybus) is also known as Blue Sailors (just as Mother said) and also Coffeeweed.  It is a bushy perennial herb with blue, white or LAVENDER flowers!

It's well known how I love Binney and Smith Crayola crayons; I am forever correcting people about colors and shades. Just last night someone said that something was "green" when it was obviously "chartreuse" and NOW, I am corrected about CHICORY.



Monday, March 26, 2018

KEEP ME IN YOUR HEART


Warren Zevon, when he knew he was dying from terminal lung cancer, was asked by his great friend and fan, David Letterman, if there was anything that he understood now, facing his own mortality, that he didn't know before. Warren replied, "Just how much you're supposed to enjoy every sandwich."  I try to enjoy every sandwich in my life.

Enjoy Every Sandwich is the title of a a tribute album by many famous musicians (Dylan, Springsteen, Don Henley, Jackson Browne, and Bonnie Raitt, among others) released after Warren's death; it includes two unreleased Zevon songs: The Wind, sung by Billy Bob Thornton, and Studebaker, sung by Warren's son, Jordan Zevon. Werewolves Of London, sung by Adam Sandler, was, for some reason, especially touching to me.

My favorite song by Warren is Keep Me In Your Heart. It reminds me of the poem by e e cummings i carry your heart with me, which was part of my wedding ceremony:


i carry your heart with me by e e cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Sunday, March 25, 2018

DESIGNATED DRIVER

I am a non-drinker, a member of MADD, and we do not serve liquor in our home. I am not opposed to other people drinking;  however, I expect them to behave responsibly. In nearly all social situations involving alcohol, my husband and I are gladly the designated drivers. 

Recently, I was enjoying a social gathering with a group of women; all of them were drinking margaritas. I can't help noticing the number of drinks people consume. After the dinner, in the parking lot, I announced, "I'll have to make two trips; my car isn't big enough for all of you to ride at once." Three of the women said, "Thanks, Sue." The fourth said that she was OK and would drive home. I said, quietly, but emphatically, "If you get in that car, I WILL call the police."  She said, "Who do you think you are?  You gotta be kidding!" One of the others said, "Trust me, she will do it." The woman answered, defiantly, that she would call a cab. I answered, "THEN I will wait here until the cab comes." One of the other women told her that I should take her home first and that she would wait for me to return. During the short ride to her home she was very defensive, insisting that she was "perfectly OK";  I told her that she was slurring her words and that she would not be acting that way if she were sober.

The following day she called to apologize BUT I subsequently learned that she also called one of the other women and said that she would NEVER go out with me again and be humiliated like that.

I wonder what her level of humiliation would have been if she had been arrested as a drunk driver.

Read the eye-opening article from the New York Times regarding the consequences and calculations of being over the legal limit.  click here.

Saturday, March 24, 2018

BUNG WRENCH, REVISITED

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Friday, March 23, 2018

MEANINGFUL DIALOGUE

One of my New Year's resolutions was to avoid confrontations about political issues.  Instead, I shall talk about the reasons I support candidates or issues, rather than attacking the opposition.  

I had a meaningful dialogue recently.  At Kroger, I saw an elderly man sitting on a cart used by handicapped people. I noticed his hat, and I thought the hat had a military service-related insignia on it. I was going to thank him for his service to our country. As I got closer, I saw that it was an NRA logo instead, and I backed away. The man obviously noticed that I had been looking at his hat and that I had backed away.

He asked, "You didn't like me when you saw that?", as he pointed to his hat. I answered, "I wouldn't judge anyone without knowing him." He said, "A lot of people hate the NRA." I asked, "Really? I'm surprised, especially around here." He said, "I hear it from people all the time." I said, "It doesn't mean they hate you; it means they detest what the NRA leaders are doing." Although I was surprised, I was nevertheless pleased to learn that others--especially local people--had expressed to him their dislike of the NRA.

I said, "I thought it was a military insignia on your hat and I was going to thank you for your service." He answered, "Well, I had 31 years in the service." I started to take his hand to shake hands but part of his hand was missing.  He offered his other hand to me and I said, "Thank you for your service, sir; you should be wearing a hat showing your service." He said, "They didn't give me a free one!" (That was funny!) I answered, "I'll get one for you."

I don't think it's appropriate to attack a stranger verbally and I understand that polls show that the majority of the members of the NRA disagree with Mr. LaPierre, who is nothing more than a shill for weapons manufacturers. A number of weapons barons are members of the Governing Board of the NRA, and they obviously serve up LaPierre as their whipping boy. Actually, it's very brilliant of them: they must have learned the tactic to lie, hide, and deny from the cigarette producers who were eventually pilloried before Congress.

Thursday, March 22, 2018

NONSENSICAL RIFLE ADDICTION


A friend said he'd heard the acronym, "NONSENSICAL RIFLE ADDICTION."  I answered, "I have a list of anti-NRA acronyms;  I'll share."  This is my collection gathered from family, friends, and the media:

NOT REALLY ADMIRING
NADA RUEGERS ALLOWED
NEIN REGULATED ARSENAL
NONSENSICAL REDNECK ASSES

NOTHING RATIONAL ALLOWED
NOT RATIONAL ADULTS
NO RIFLES ALLOWED
NATIONAL REPUBLICAN ASSOCIATES
NOT RATIONAL ANYTIME
NO RATIONAL ADULTS
NEUROLOGICALLY RETARDED AGGRESSORS
NEUROTIC REACTIONARY AMMO-HOLES
NAZI RETARDED A-HOLES


It just makes me feel better.

How many NRA members does it take to screw in a light bulb? It doesn't matter; they'll still be in the dark!

Actually, I heard that joke aimed at LIBERALS;   I just switched it around to fit the NUTCASE ROBOTIC APPROVERS.


Wednesday, March 21, 2018

SOME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT UNSAID

Nowadays, when terrible tragedies happen involving children, counselors are dispatched to schools to help classmates cope. That was not done when we were children.

My father worked at Pennington Bakery and the father of one of my classmates also worked there. When we were third graders, her father died in an accident at the bakery when he fell into the dough machine.

Of course my father told us about the accident but we knew that it wouldn't be discussed at school; it was never mentioned by our teacher. The classmate was not at school for several days.  She was my friend throughout school, but we never were "close" friends and of course I never asked her about the accident.

When we were sophomores, my classmate, who had lost her father in that accident, suffered another tragedy when her mother tried to kill her and her brother. Her mother was taken to "Orient"--the State mental hospital--and she and her brother were taken in as foster children by a good family. This was not discussed at school either. The week after graduation, her boyfriend was killed in an automobile accident.

How much tragedy can a person endure? I had great admiration for her and how she handled all the obstacles in her life that the tragedies had caused. She seemed to have great character and strength. She went to college, married and divorced, became an art teacher, and is now retired.

When her mother died, I went to the funeral home in Mount Sterling to pay my respects. She was stunned to see me and asked how I had learned of her mother's death as there was no obituary in our local newspaper.  I told her that I worked in Columbus and read the obituary in the Columbus Dispatch. Of course I didn't ask the questions which were on my mind such as "Why wasn't the obituary in the local paper; why was the funeral in Mt. Sterling; didn't they want visitors, etc." The obituary had given the hours for visitation, thus I felt they must want visitors. She, her brother, and her foster family were the only ones present.

As we sat reminiscing, I mentioned that her brother looked like their father.   She asked, with great surprise, "You remember my daddy?"  I said, "Of course I do;  your dad and my dad worked together and I remember seeing your dad at the company Christmas parties."  She called her brother over and told him that I remembered their dad and he said he could barely remember his dad.  She asked, wistfully, "Then you know what happened to my dad?" I had her hand in mine and I said, "Of course I know what happened to your dad." She said, "You have an amazing memory because I don't remember your dad at all." I said, "That's because you wouldn't have any reason to remember my dad because nothing happened to him." I said, "It was imprinted on me because of the great fear associated with it." She said she didn't understand. I told her that all of her classmates had the fear that something terrible could also could happen to their fathers and because we couldn't talk about it, it was also a trauma to us. I told her that I'd seen the fathers of other classmates but I didn't remember them because nothing happened to them.  I said, "But amazingly, I remember all of the mothers of my classmates--how they looked, how they dressed, if they worked outside the home--but I wonder why I remember them." She said, "Then you remember about my mother." I just nodded. I instinctively knew that I should not pursue the subject.

Then I felt that I should not have been at the funeral home; that I was the conduit for memories best left unshared. When I went home I told my mother about the visit and she told me, "You know, some people do not want to be reminded about things; they don't want things thrown in their faces no matter how long ago it happened." I said, "I didn't throw anything in her face." Mother said, "You might not think so, but that's probably not how she felt and that was probably why they had the service in Mt. Sterling to keep nosy people away." I said, "I wasn't being nosy, I just wanted to pay my respects to someone I have admired all of our lives." Mother said, "Just think, if it were you, how you would feel to have all that dredged up;  some things are better left unsaid."  I said, "But all that happened in the 1950's; how many people would remember that?" My mother said, "All the people--like you--who would go to the funeral home." That was quite an object lesson; I am now very circumspect about paying "visits" to funeral homes.

My youngest brother, who was born the same year of the accident at the bakery, had no knowledge of that event, but was listening to the exchange between Mother and me, said, "No, you shouldn't have gone--it sounds like a Joyce Carol Oates novel."




For a fascinating look at the books of Joyce Carol Oates, and a short biography, click here.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

CONSTANT QUOTERS

Several years ago, in a group conversation, I made a reference to "Pip" to describe someone.  A person whom I had never met, came over, placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "I know that you probably have GREAT EXPECTATIONS that people will understand your reference; you can probably tell that most do not." I answered, "Perhaps we should be friends!" Although we have never seen each other since that evening, she branded us "The Constant Quoters" and we became GREAT e-mail and Facebook friends.

In a group of new employees, I asked each to identify himself. One man said that his name was "Val";  it wasn't until I handed him his paycheck that I saw his first name was JEAN and his middle name was VALJEAN.   I exclaimed, "JEAN VALJEAN, you had to be named for Victor Hugo's Jean Valjean!" He said, "Yes, but please call me Val;  at least you pronounce it correctly."  He explained that his mother was French and a fan of Victor Hugo, but he also told me that he appreciated my knowing about Hugo. 

The other Constant Quoter sent an advertisement to me showing "FREE 24601" on the front.  It's now on my "must have" list although I seldom wear tee-shirts.  

I told Gerald he should play 24601 as a lottery number.  My brother quipped, "That didn't work out too well for ole Jean Valjean, did it?"

Monday, March 19, 2018

WHERE'S A SAM ERVIN?

 Seeing that the House of Representatives Intelligence Committee had concluded its so-called "investigation" of the Russian meddling in the 2016 election, my brother commented, "Wasn't exactly like Watergate, was it?"  I sighed and said, "Yes, 'what did the President know and when did he know it?' are among some unforgettable moments."  He asked, "Where's a Sam Ervin, now that we need him?"


 I said, "That is very interesting as Sam Ervin was important in Watergate and he was also the Chairman of the committee which censured McCarthy."

He's too young to remember the Army-McCarthy hearings, but I  can recall my parents being engrossed by them. Those hearings, shown on our 12-inch black and white television, were the genesis of many arguments in my family.  Once I said that McCarthy was "awful" and my mother said to my father, "See, even a kid can tell it!" To this day, the speech by Joseph Welch, ending with the quote, "You've done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last? Have you left no sense of decency?" (see below) is still indelibly etched on my brain. [I will admit that I have resorted to that quote a number of times during arguments] There is a great documentary Point Of Order! about the Army-McCarthy hearings which I recommend. I fondly recall the young Senator Stuart Symington, challenging McCarthy.

Mother adored FDR; my father called him "Ole Peg Leg"; he loved General MacArthur, Mother detested him. Mother loved JFK; my father actually liked Nixon. In 1952, I remember my Grandmother Shirkey telling my mother that she would "watch the children" so that Mother could vote for "OUR Mr. Bricker" and General Eisenhower.  Mother told her that she would be going to vote for "OUR Mr. DiSalle" and Stevenson.  Granny said, "But he's one of those Italians (she pronounced it "Eye-talian")!" Unfortunately, Mr. Bricker won that race, but in 1958, Stephen Young, who became my all-time political hero, defeated Mr. Bricker.  I said that Granny would roll over in her grave to know that OUR Mr. Bricker was finally defeated. [Actually, John W. Bricker, was a very interesting political figure--from Mt. Sterling-- who was Governor, Senator, and Vice-Presidential candidate]

My father would claim that FDR knew about Pearl Harbor before the event. One day at school, a teacher also said that "some people" believed that. I immediately challenged the teacher, in the same way my mother did at home: "You have no proof of that;  that's a lie!" I was taken to Mr. Biddle's office and they called my mother at home and she told Mr. Biddle that he needed to correct the teacher because it was a lie.  When I went home, I said, that was my "finest hour", proudly quoting Churchill.  At that time, I didn't know the term "Pyrrhic Victory", but as I had that teacher's lasting animus, I later realized that my short-lived victory was indeed a Pyrrhic victory.


ARMY-MCCARTHY HEARINGS:  Exchange between legal counsel for the Army, Mr. Welch and Joseph McCarthy (R-Wisconsin) during the Army-McCarthy hearings.  This is credited as the moment where McCarthy began to lose his power and influence, as the hearings were telecast and people could view how McCarthy behaved.


Sunday, March 18, 2018

EAVESDROPPING ADMISSIONS

At a family event I admitted my "predilection" of  EAVESDROPPING;  of course I used a euphemism--"overheard conversations"--to describe my habit.  I mentioned that I had written a blog about it and would re-publish it for them.  This article is from 2016:

         OVERHEARD CONVERSATIONS

Last week I was eating alone at The Mediterranean Restaurant in Wilmington and--as in my wont--I was eavesdropping on the conversation of a group of men sitting at an adjacent table.  After the men had completed their "business-related" conversation, their topic turned to food.  When one of the men began to wax rhapsodic about a favorite grilled cheese sandwich, I felt I had found a kindred spirit and I interjected myself into the conversation by asking, "Do you know that April 12 is National Grilled Cheese Sandwich Day?"  Naturally, one asked how I would know such a fact and I told him that I have a daily reminder of events sent to my e-mail.  I said that a friend of mine and I were "grilled cheese connoisseurs" and that we had an ongoing quest to find--and rate--the best grilled cheese sandwich and we were going to celebrate on the 12th with our decision and notify the restaurant about our conclusion.

The four of us continued with the food-related conversation and then one of the men said that the best grilled cheese sandwich he had was in Monaco and then he said, "Monaco is a country."  Immediately offended that he would think that I didn't know that Monaco IS a country, I said, "Oh, we had that in book-learnin' when I went to school."  He realized his faux pas when one of the other men hooted at my response and said, "Gotcha, Ken!"  I continued, "Oh, gosh, I even know that Monte Carlo is the capital;  do you know what the natives are called?"  He was obviously embarrassed by his companion's laughter at his superciliousness and I said, "They're called Monogosques."

My brother lectures me often about my reaction to perceived slights but I have noticed that some people from other states think that we are ignoramuses. Recently, while seated next to a couple, I noticed a regional speech difference and I asked if they were from New York or New Jersey. They both stated that they were from New Jersey. In further conversation, the man said that he'd gone to college in New Jersey at the state university.  Knowing that New Jersey has only one state university, I said, "Oh, the Scarlet Knights of Rutgers." He was obviously surprised that I knew Rutgers University, let alone the name of the school's teams, as he asked, with a patronizing note,  "YOU know Rutgers?" I asked, incredulously, "WHY would you think that I wouldn't know the STATE University of New Jersey?" He said, "Most Ohioans we've met don't know it."  I said, "I would expect YOU to know that Ohio has a number of state universities so I would think that you would expect Ohioans to know YOUR state university." He could tell that I was irritated and he tried to mollify it by saying how Ohioans had been so "friendly", but being a poor sport, I actually said, "New Joisey" instead of New Jersey in my next sentence.

I was relating that story to my husband the next evening when a man in the next booth turned around and said, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation and I wanted to know if you'd heard that because of the terrible economic conditions they are going to combine Ohio University and Indiana University and move both of them to the state lines and they are going to call it I.O.U."  We all groaned at the joke and realizing he was a fellow eavesdropper, he and I shared some of our own "overheard conversations";  some of mine:

AT A LOCAL RESTAURANT: When smoking in restaurants was still legal, my husband and I were sitting in a local restaurant and Gerald lit a cigarette. Two older people were sitting at a table adjacent to ours and I heard the woman complain to the man about the cigarette smoke. I tapped Gerald on the hand and asked him to put out the cigarette. Later on, the woman was telling her husband that she wished that she could take a Lifesaving class. I leaned over and said, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation about the lifesaving and I wanted you to know that the American Red Cross offers those classes and here's the number of the local Red Cross office." She thanked me profusely and within a few seconds, she realized that if  I'd heard about the lifesaving class, then I had probably also heard her complaining about the cigarette. She said, "Honey, I didn't mean anything by saying that about the cigarettes." I told her it was OK as I was trying to get him to quit anyway.

AT A COLUMBUS RESTAURANT: We were sitting in a restaurant and the tables were very close. From the conversation, I could tell that the couple beside us were gay. During their conversation, one complained about the War Sui Gai and the other said that he wished that they had gone to Schmidt's in German Village. I leaned across and asked, "Did you ever eat Chinese-German food?" They looked at me as if I were crazy and I gave the punch line: "It's good, but an hour later you're hungry for power!" They laughed but one said, "That's terrible." I said, "I know it's not politically correct, but you're eating Chinese and discussing German;  how many Chinese-German jokes are there?" It was about a minute later when they called for their check as they obviously realized that if I'd heard the Chinese-German food conversation, then I'd probably heard the other--intimate--details they had been sharing.

AT MY DOCTOR'S OFFICE: I was sitting beside a woman in the doctor's office. She was busy talking to the man next to her, but it was no normal conversation. She was talking through clenched teeth and it became apparent that the two were having an affair and that the wife was having him followed so the doctor's office was the only safe place for them to meet to talk. She was giving him an ultimatum, "Either you leave her--OR........ "  He was giving the usual excuses which she didn't want to hear and then I became so UPSET because my name was called and I had to go into see the doctor--so I never learned the outcome of it.

The joys of eavesdropping.  Gerald doesn't mind my eavesdropping but he doesn't like for me to join the conversations!

Saturday, March 17, 2018

THE WEARING OF THE ORANGE



On Saint Patrick's Day, I wear something green, but my predominant color is ORANGE.  When people mention my lack of "THE WEARING OF THE GREEN", it provides me with the opportunity to talk about Irish history and that my family came from County Tyrone, NORTHERN Ireland, and that we are the ORANGEMEN (In a bit of chauvinism, I always choose Syracuse as my favorite team in March Madness, knowing that they are the "Orangemen" just like the devotion of some others of Irish descent who cheer the "Fighting Irish" of Notre Dame).  I am disheartened because people do not know the history of their forebears.  My brother asked, "Hell, why would you expect them to know Irish history when they probably don't know U.S. history?"


 I believe in a United Eire.  For years I had a bumper sticker on my car reading "26+6=1", but only one person outside my family "got" its meaning.  One person commented about my bad math.  My brother asked, "When people don't get it, does it diminish  your revolutionary fervor?

A woman of my acquaintance who attends a local evangelical church said that she was having a St. Patrick's Day party. I asked, "Isn't that against your religion?" She asked, "What do you mean?" I didn't even mention the probability that there would be the consumption of alcoholic beverages at such a gathering, but I did comment, "Well, Saint Patrick was Catholic and you are Protestant." She seemed offended and answered tersely, "I'm not a Protestant, but I'm Irish." I asked, "From which county in Northern Ireland did your family originate?" She said she didn't know and asked why would I say Northern Ireland.  I told her that Northern Ireland was mostly Protestant and that the Republic was mainly Catholic.  She reiterated that she was "not a Protestant." I said, "Your church, along with all the other sects, stem from the Protestant Reformation." She seemed stunned.  I asked, "Do you know the history of your church? It's an offshoot of another Protestant church." She said she did not know the history of her church and she was surprised that I did. I asked, with some incredulity, "You joined a church without knowing its history?"

On Facebook, on Saint Patrick's Day, I was amused to see numerous St. Patrick's Day messages and all were from non-Catholics. My brother said, "Everybody's Irish on St. Paddy's Day!" See the message from THE WISE GEEK:

The number of Americans who report having Irish ancestry is seven times larger than the total population of Ireland.

About 11%, or 35 million out of about 310 million, Americans claim Irish ancestry, according to 2011 US Census data. Ireland's total population is about 4.6 million citizens, which means that the US has more than 7 times more people of Irish heritage than Ireland. These numbers were split rather evenly between both men and women and across a fairly wide range of age groups and levels of education. The large number of Irish-Americans may be traced back to the country's wave of Irish immigration experienced in the mid 1800s.

Friday, March 16, 2018

BUZZ

When I was fifteen years old, an execrable lie was told about my family. I often speak of defining moments in life, but at that time when I was fifteen,I didn't know what a "defining moment" was, but today, I know that outside of my mother's womb, this was the most transformative event in my life. How I reacted to the malevolent lie caused me to be the person I am today. The heinous lie haunted me and my family for years and caused me much turmoil as a teenager because of the great impact it caused to my personal life. Because of the pernicious lie, I was subtly ostracized at school--I was never asked for a date--I was never invited to parties--never asked to visit others' homes--and by the time I understood the cause of the quiet, cruel, shunning, I realized that it had been going on for some time;  I had never been able to comprehend why I was being treated "differently";  not only did the iniquitous lie hurt me and my brothers, the malicious lie was later flung in the faces of my nieces and nephews as the lie continued down the generations. Whenever I heard of the children being hurt, I would tell my husband I was glad we never had children who would be able to be hurt.

When the lie was flung in my face, I reacted by physically, and brutally attacking the girl who said it to me. We were in the gymnasium at Bloomingburg School and I pushed her to the floor and I jumped on top of her body and I had my feet holding her legs down and my elbows were on her shoulders holding her torso down with my body and I was pounding her face with my fists; ironically, she was much taller and heavier than I was, but all she could do was pound on my back and pull my hair. I don't know how long I beat her, but Mr. Rudolph pulled me off her prostrate body and he pushed me down on the bleacher seats. Mr. Rudolph helped her up from the floor and she left the gym and went home. She did not return to school for a week.

Because I rode the bus, I had to remain at school the remainder of the day.  There were just two more classes left in the day. I went to my next class, still wearing my gym clothes (which was a definite no-no). Not one teacher and not one student spoke a word to me. My only friend Cammy was not at school that day. The news of the incident obviously spread quickly and between classes one of my brothers came to me; he didn't hug or try to comfort me, but he could tell I was close to crying and he said, "Shirkeys don't cry." That figurative ramrod up our backs that Mother instilled in all of us stiffened my resolve. On the ride home, no one on the school bus said a word.

The truly amazing thing is that I was never taken to the office--no discipline was ever enacted--nobody ever uttered a word to my face about the incident in the remaining two years of school.  I can imagine what would happen to a kid today.  My mind was roiling and I thought that I could NEVER go back to school again. 

When I tearfully related the event to my mother, she was enraged and she called the mother of the girl whom I had assaulted and the woman threatened to call the sheriff and my mother told her to do it, but nothing ever happened.  However, the woman told my mother the genesis of the lie. The mother of one of my sisters-in-law was the one who had originally told the lie more than a year previously. The lie had been swirling around all that time, but we had no knowledge of it. Her motive for telling the lie was revenge, because my brother had broken off his relationship with her daughter.  My brother and her daughter had reunited, married, and yet none of us knew of her mother's perfidy in telling the reprehensible lie.

My mother then called the mother of my sister-in-law who, of course, denied that she had told the lie. My mother told her that she knew it was she who did the deed and she never wanted to hear from her or her family ever again. Then my mother called my sister-in-law, but she was the one who was caught in the middle. Before this incident, my sister-in-law would bring her half-siblings to our home for Sunday dinners and my mother told her that those relatives would never be welcome in our home again. Her mother's name was never once mentioned in my mother's home in the presence of my sister-in-law. 

I told my mother that I would never go back to school again. She told me. "Oh, yes you will, and you'll look them straight in the eye and defy them to say anything." It was the Shirkeys against the whole damned world. 


As I reflected, I knew that, at the moment that I was pounding my fists into the girl's face, that I could kill another person, enjoy it, and have no remorse. I was already a devotee of Thoreau and Gandhi and believer in Dr. King's message and had followed the Montgomery bus boycott with admiration. I knew that I had to change, because I didn't want to be THAT violent person.  I often think that if I had followed the path of violence what could have happened to me.

Somebody called Cammy to tell her what had happened at school and she called me;  she was my rock, and I will always be grateful to her for her love, compassion, and understanding and the fact that I was still her friend despite the lie.

I also reflected on what had happened that day which caused the other girl to fling the insult in my face.  She was showing a "diamond" ring that her boyfriend had given to her and I made fun of it, suggesting that it was rhinestone.  It was because of my own arrogance and willingness to hurt the feelings of another that caused her to be mean and repeat the lie.

If I had not done that, I would probably have never heard the lie and would have wondered my whole life WHY I was treated the way I was in high school.  Because of that, I am glad that I DID hear the lie. Ignorance ISN'T bliss.

I did go to school the next day and Cammy was there. As usual we went to her Grandma's house for lunch and we discussed my revelation about myself that I had it within myself to kill somebody.  I resolved to change that behavior and I have never struck another person in my life.

Other than with Cammy and my husband, I have never spoken about this to anyone outside the family. 

Recently, I was reminded about that defining moment in my life because I was told a lie about the daughter of one of my friends.  I oftentimes wonder about the motives of people;  this was easy to understand as she intensely dislikes my friend and she was joyously repeating the trash about her daughter.  I am proud of myself that I reacted to it by saying that I didn't believe it.  I immediately began investigating the story and learned that although the story had a basis, my friend's daughter was not involved in any way.  I called the person who had told the lie to me and she said it was just "BUZZ";  her nonchalance about telling a LIE enraged me.  She asked if I'd ever played the game "buzz" when I was a kid;  it's where a group of people tell a story individually and how it ends up being totally different from the first time it's told.  I answered that we called that game "telephone",  and reiterated by saying, "This is no GAME, it's SLANDER!"  I asked her to please call the person who had told the lie to her and make sure she knew she was SPREADING a lie and ask her not to repeat it.  I demanded to know the name of the person who had told the lie.  She refused;  I shall never speak to the person again. 

Thursday, March 15, 2018

THEY'RE B-A-A-A-ACK!

Today my brother came in and exclaimed, "They're b-a-a-c-k!" and I immediately knew that he meant that the BUZZARDS are here.  I said, "They're early!", knowing that the Annual Return Of The Buzzards in Hinckley, Ohio, is March 15.  I said, "It's probably because of global warming.", as the temperature is 49 degrees today.



Each year, when the buzzards are traveling to Hinckley, Ohio, a great number of them stop and rest in trees in our side yard.  My husband will run into the house and yell, "The buzzards are here!", grab his camera and go out to photograph the event.  We moved to our present home in May, 1984, and in March, 1985, we noticed approximately thirty buzzards roosting in the large trees on the east side of our property.  We are fascinated by their soaring, eerie beauty.



Several years ago, a woman came to our house and asked, "Can I come to your house when the buzzards come?" I asked, "How do you know about the buzzards?" She answered, "We were driving by one day and saw them in your trees and I told my daughter that I was going to ask you if we can come to your yard when they come again so we can see them up close." I asked, "How do you know they'll come again?" She answered, "We've seen them twice so I figure they come every year." I replied, "Of course you can come join us." She asked, "Why hasn't the newspaper ever covered this?" I said, "I think some of my neighbors would be upset if I publicized it."

She said, "We call your house the Buzzard House." She saw me wince at the reference and said, "Oh, every time we drive by, we talk about the buzzards!"

She said, "You should have a party!"

My brother, ever the wit, said, "Yeah, you could serve bird's nest soup!"