I have an old book whose copyright was recorded in 1867. I checked the copyright registers and copyright laws no longer apply to this book. The book is by Dr. A. W. Chase.M.D.. It covers everything from recipes to common advice on just about everything. I thought you might find some of the contents of this book interesting just as I did. The title of the book is " Dr. Chase's Recipes or Information For Everybody".
The eighteen items of "Advice To Young Ladies" is a good place to start.
If you have blue eyes, you need not languish.
If black eyes, you need not stare.
If you have pretty feet, there is no occasion to wear short petticoats.
If you are doubtful as to that point, there can be no harm in letting the petticoats be long.
If you have good teeth, do not laugh for the purpose of showing them.
If you have bad ones, do not laugh less than the occasion may justify.
If you have pretty hands and arms, there can be no objection to your playing on the harp if you play well.
If they are disposed to be clumsy, work tapestry.
If you have a bad voice, rather speak in a low tone.
If you have the finest voice in the world, never speak in a high tone.
If you dance well, dance but seldom.
If you dance ill, never dance at all.
If you sing well, make no previous excuses.
If you sing indifferently, hesitate not a moment when you are asked, for few people are judges of singing, but every one is sensible of a desire to please.
If you would preserve beauty, rise early.
If you would preserve esteem, be gentle.
If you would obtain power, be condescending.
If you would live happily, endeavor to promote the happiness of others.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
My Dad And His Stupid Checkers.
If you have sibblings, you knew that they knew you had hot buttons. They would push one or more of those hot buttons every chance they got. I had, and still have, a younger brother, and older sister. When we all still lived at home we did plenty of button pushing which usually ended up in a fight of some sort.
But no one could get my goat like my very own father, who claimed he loved me. Here's the deal. Burr Oak had a group of guys that got together often and played checkers. I wished I knew who all played, but that's beside the point. My uncle Ivan Patnode and my dad were the only two I remember. Daddy would come home from town and talk about the checker games like as if it were a major sport. Undeniably, my father was a good checker player.
I too liked to play games, and my dad was always trying to get me to play checkers with him. I wouldn't play with him because I didn't know how to play. "Oh I'll teach you" said my father. One evening I gave in and sat down at the checkerboard and chose the red checkers. We began to play. I didn't know what to do. Daddy said to just move one of your checkers, except you can't go backwards unless you're a king. So I moved my checker. Daddy would say to me "MY! That was a poor move." I didn't like his tone of voice at all. And worse, he wouldn't tell me why it was a poor move. I don't know if it's possible, but it seemed like to me, he swept me off the board in just a few moves. And every, single time I moved, he'd say "MY! that was a poor move." I swore I'd never play with him again. But I did. The last game I every played him and he told me what a poor move I had made I was enraged. By the end of the game I was fit to be tied. I told him I was never, ever, ever, going to play checkers with him again. And I didn't,
My mother refused to play checkers with him too. I think I understand why. It was not in the best interest of family harmony.
But no one could get my goat like my very own father, who claimed he loved me. Here's the deal. Burr Oak had a group of guys that got together often and played checkers. I wished I knew who all played, but that's beside the point. My uncle Ivan Patnode and my dad were the only two I remember. Daddy would come home from town and talk about the checker games like as if it were a major sport. Undeniably, my father was a good checker player.
I too liked to play games, and my dad was always trying to get me to play checkers with him. I wouldn't play with him because I didn't know how to play. "Oh I'll teach you" said my father. One evening I gave in and sat down at the checkerboard and chose the red checkers. We began to play. I didn't know what to do. Daddy said to just move one of your checkers, except you can't go backwards unless you're a king. So I moved my checker. Daddy would say to me "MY! That was a poor move." I didn't like his tone of voice at all. And worse, he wouldn't tell me why it was a poor move. I don't know if it's possible, but it seemed like to me, he swept me off the board in just a few moves. And every, single time I moved, he'd say "MY! that was a poor move." I swore I'd never play with him again. But I did. The last game I every played him and he told me what a poor move I had made I was enraged. By the end of the game I was fit to be tied. I told him I was never, ever, ever, going to play checkers with him again. And I didn't,
My mother refused to play checkers with him too. I think I understand why. It was not in the best interest of family harmony.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The Mutation of Capitalism
Blogs are great aren't they? No one reads mine however, unless I shove it under their nose and insist they read it. Now I can export them to Facebook. That way it is more likely to catch some one's eye. Free expression is so liberating. I think it's fun to rouse some rabbles. I even tell my reader where they can send their hate mail sometimes.
Ahem (clearing throat). Today we shall discuss the mutation of capitalism and whatever else occurs to us (me) while writing this homily. It's not really a homily. I'm leaving religion out of it for the most part.
Politics has become really nasty. Maybe it is just because I am older and am actually interested in politics. Reviewing American history is very enlightening on nastiness in politics. Come to find out, nastiness is nothing new at all, we haven't changed one iota at the most basic level since our country first became a country. With that in mind I will return to my original topic, capitalism.
Capitalism is a good thing in theory. Our forefathers did the right thing to establish a free capitalistic government. I would have wanted it no other way. NOTE: I am not a tea bag or tea bagger by any sense of the word. I believe in freedom and equal treatment for all citizens, regardless of their color, national origin, religious belief, and any other trait that makes us different from another. I value my country as must as every soul who has given their very life to protect it. I love my family. I love my opportunity to choose my religious beliefs. I love the diversity of its people. If given the opportunity this diverse population has much to contribute to the greatness of this country.
But....I have a problem. Somewhere along the line, capitalism has become different things to different people. And those who trouble me the most are those who think capitalism has no boundaries. They believe anything goes in order to make a buck regardless of its affect on others. When, within any system, one percent of the population owns more than half the country's assets; when some are so rich they don't know what to do with their money and at the same time, there are hungry, homeless, jobless people suffering; something has gone awry, something is very wrong. Warren Buffet commented that his secretaries pay more taxes than he does. That doesn't even compute in my brain it is so horrible. My dear bags and baggers, it is truly shameful when government must intervene to keep the rich in check.
Most business people I know are hard working, honest, struggling to keep their heads above water. But it is the greedy that have ruined capitalism. I do not understand why bags and baggers want to protect these thieves, unless they want a chance to be like them. Big government is just as bad. The fact is there is no answer to this problem because too many people are greedy, be it in the private sector or government sector.
I have lived under a form of socialism all my life. My family was a small farm family. Without Government programs, we would have not survived. Only once in my life have I seen a person turn down a Government check. She was a precious old Catholic soul who took great pride in relying on herself. She was not wealthy. But she certainly was not greedy.
Everytime I turn on the news, someone is demanding that the Government do something about something. Yet they complain about paying high taxes. The bags and baggers want their Government back. I'm scared to death what they'd do with it. Adam Nadelson, you da man. You are a pure capitalist that I suspect would be very generous in sharing your wealth with the less fortunate.
That's it. Hate mail may be sent to cherub1946@gmail.com. Have a lovely day.
Ahem (clearing throat). Today we shall discuss the mutation of capitalism and whatever else occurs to us (me) while writing this homily. It's not really a homily. I'm leaving religion out of it for the most part.
Politics has become really nasty. Maybe it is just because I am older and am actually interested in politics. Reviewing American history is very enlightening on nastiness in politics. Come to find out, nastiness is nothing new at all, we haven't changed one iota at the most basic level since our country first became a country. With that in mind I will return to my original topic, capitalism.
Capitalism is a good thing in theory. Our forefathers did the right thing to establish a free capitalistic government. I would have wanted it no other way. NOTE: I am not a tea bag or tea bagger by any sense of the word. I believe in freedom and equal treatment for all citizens, regardless of their color, national origin, religious belief, and any other trait that makes us different from another. I value my country as must as every soul who has given their very life to protect it. I love my family. I love my opportunity to choose my religious beliefs. I love the diversity of its people. If given the opportunity this diverse population has much to contribute to the greatness of this country.
But....I have a problem. Somewhere along the line, capitalism has become different things to different people. And those who trouble me the most are those who think capitalism has no boundaries. They believe anything goes in order to make a buck regardless of its affect on others. When, within any system, one percent of the population owns more than half the country's assets; when some are so rich they don't know what to do with their money and at the same time, there are hungry, homeless, jobless people suffering; something has gone awry, something is very wrong. Warren Buffet commented that his secretaries pay more taxes than he does. That doesn't even compute in my brain it is so horrible. My dear bags and baggers, it is truly shameful when government must intervene to keep the rich in check.
Most business people I know are hard working, honest, struggling to keep their heads above water. But it is the greedy that have ruined capitalism. I do not understand why bags and baggers want to protect these thieves, unless they want a chance to be like them. Big government is just as bad. The fact is there is no answer to this problem because too many people are greedy, be it in the private sector or government sector.
I have lived under a form of socialism all my life. My family was a small farm family. Without Government programs, we would have not survived. Only once in my life have I seen a person turn down a Government check. She was a precious old Catholic soul who took great pride in relying on herself. She was not wealthy. But she certainly was not greedy.
Everytime I turn on the news, someone is demanding that the Government do something about something. Yet they complain about paying high taxes. The bags and baggers want their Government back. I'm scared to death what they'd do with it. Adam Nadelson, you da man. You are a pure capitalist that I suspect would be very generous in sharing your wealth with the less fortunate.
That's it. Hate mail may be sent to cherub1946@gmail.com. Have a lovely day.
Monday, May 24, 2010
House cleaning 101
Anyone that lives in a dwelling, especially those of the feminine gender, know that house keeping is probably THEIR responsibility. I have been a domestic engineer for almost 39 years AM(after marriage). That qualifies me to give you a few pointers from the view of one whose housekeeping philosophy has deteriorated just a teensy bit over 39 years.
1. Rule number one: don't worry about it. If you can stand to live in it, don't worry about what other people think. And for heavens sake, don't make any excuses for it. That reminds me of the first time we visited the lady who bought a farmstead that once belonged to relatives on B's side of the family. The place was totally a mess. God bless her, she started making excuses for the mess. She was getting ready for a sale she said. Stuff was stacked everywhere. Neither of us cared why things were so stacked up and messy. Roll forward 10 years. We stopped in to visit this lady again. You guessed it. Those same stacks were right where they were 10 years ago the best I could tell. And yes, she was getting ready for a sale.
2. Don't deliberately make things hard for yourself. Example. I thought the bed had to be just so. It had to have the ruffle at the bottom. It had to have nice matching sheets and pillow cases, and it had to have a comforter with five decorative pillows, plus the pillows we actually used. But there came a day when I said to self, "Self, these pillows are a pain in the gluteus maximus. So I just dumped them all on the floor and that is where they are to this very day. Today I changed my flannel sheets to summer sheets. That stupid bottom ruffle has been a thorn in my flesh ever since I put it on. It would get lopsided. It would hang down in the front. I'd have to wrestle the mattress to get it even. Well today, I said, "NO MORE". I pulled that thing off so fast it was like I had just done a magic trick. Liberated! In fact I saw on TV where you are less likely to get bed vermin if you leave the bed unmade. I took their advice.
3. At any time during the last 39 years if you had asked me what household chore do you hate the most I would say, dusting. Well I want to make a testimonial here and now, my life has been turned around. I discovered the Swiffer Duster. I just love to carry it around with me and dust places that haven't been dusted since we've lived here. I actually am having fun dusting. It took me a while to figure out how to assemble it properly, but once I got going there's no stopping me now. Trouble is, in some of those high places, this fine, fine dirt comes down on me and onto the floor and I'm going to have to get out the vacuum cleaner to pick it up. My little swiffer just cannot hold all my dirt. I must buy some more duster refills. I refuse to go back to rags.
4. Go do what you want to do and don't give the house a second thought. If anyone gripes about it, there certainly is nothing stopping them from helping out a little.
1. Rule number one: don't worry about it. If you can stand to live in it, don't worry about what other people think. And for heavens sake, don't make any excuses for it. That reminds me of the first time we visited the lady who bought a farmstead that once belonged to relatives on B's side of the family. The place was totally a mess. God bless her, she started making excuses for the mess. She was getting ready for a sale she said. Stuff was stacked everywhere. Neither of us cared why things were so stacked up and messy. Roll forward 10 years. We stopped in to visit this lady again. You guessed it. Those same stacks were right where they were 10 years ago the best I could tell. And yes, she was getting ready for a sale.
2. Don't deliberately make things hard for yourself. Example. I thought the bed had to be just so. It had to have the ruffle at the bottom. It had to have nice matching sheets and pillow cases, and it had to have a comforter with five decorative pillows, plus the pillows we actually used. But there came a day when I said to self, "Self, these pillows are a pain in the gluteus maximus. So I just dumped them all on the floor and that is where they are to this very day. Today I changed my flannel sheets to summer sheets. That stupid bottom ruffle has been a thorn in my flesh ever since I put it on. It would get lopsided. It would hang down in the front. I'd have to wrestle the mattress to get it even. Well today, I said, "NO MORE". I pulled that thing off so fast it was like I had just done a magic trick. Liberated! In fact I saw on TV where you are less likely to get bed vermin if you leave the bed unmade. I took their advice.
3. At any time during the last 39 years if you had asked me what household chore do you hate the most I would say, dusting. Well I want to make a testimonial here and now, my life has been turned around. I discovered the Swiffer Duster. I just love to carry it around with me and dust places that haven't been dusted since we've lived here. I actually am having fun dusting. It took me a while to figure out how to assemble it properly, but once I got going there's no stopping me now. Trouble is, in some of those high places, this fine, fine dirt comes down on me and onto the floor and I'm going to have to get out the vacuum cleaner to pick it up. My little swiffer just cannot hold all my dirt. I must buy some more duster refills. I refuse to go back to rags.
4. Go do what you want to do and don't give the house a second thought. If anyone gripes about it, there certainly is nothing stopping them from helping out a little.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
How To Keep Illegals Out Of Our Country (click to see all)
The peoples of the world have been on the move since mankind came into being. Countries, cities, and people have come and gone for millennia. As long as we humans survive, this trend to migrate is going to keep right on happening.
Nearly every day I read of illegals pouring over our southern border. Violence, drugs, murder, mob wars, you name it, it's happening at and near the border. Today I read of another border story. But instead of keeping the illegal Latinos of Mexico, Central, and South America from crossing the USA border, the problem was "Sandramblers" and "Wilderness Wanderers". These are nicknames the Egyptians gave to the nomads who wandered throughout the eastern and north eastern regions including tribes in Canaan and Syria. As far back as 2650 BC (BCE) there is solid evidence of walls being built by Pharaohs to keep the Asiatics from forcing their way into Egypt.
Remains of an Egyptian wall dating back to the 19th century BCE were found. The wall was built of boulders as large as 6 feet thick and fortified with small turret type structures, and further strengthened by a dirt wall. And high enough that a ladder would do no good. Did it work? I don't know. It may have for a while.
I will always feel badly about what our ancestors did to the American Indians. The Indians tried to defend their land and way of life. Unfortunately for them, they were no match for the tidal wave of immigrants from many countries. Foreigners started showing up on the shores of America and moved across the country, rounding up the Indians like cattle and driving them onto reservations. The black people migrated, against their will, to the U.S. to be sold into slavery.
Some things cannot be stopped. The demographics of our country is rapidly changing and will continue to change. The middle east turbulence will not change, even with our intervention. So with that in mind, let's bring our boys home from war. Place them on our southern border until which time we can get a wall built. That's the way to keep the illegals out.
Nearly every day I read of illegals pouring over our southern border. Violence, drugs, murder, mob wars, you name it, it's happening at and near the border. Today I read of another border story. But instead of keeping the illegal Latinos of Mexico, Central, and South America from crossing the USA border, the problem was "Sandramblers" and "Wilderness Wanderers". These are nicknames the Egyptians gave to the nomads who wandered throughout the eastern and north eastern regions including tribes in Canaan and Syria. As far back as 2650 BC (BCE) there is solid evidence of walls being built by Pharaohs to keep the Asiatics from forcing their way into Egypt.
Remains of an Egyptian wall dating back to the 19th century BCE were found. The wall was built of boulders as large as 6 feet thick and fortified with small turret type structures, and further strengthened by a dirt wall. And high enough that a ladder would do no good. Did it work? I don't know. It may have for a while.
I will always feel badly about what our ancestors did to the American Indians. The Indians tried to defend their land and way of life. Unfortunately for them, they were no match for the tidal wave of immigrants from many countries. Foreigners started showing up on the shores of America and moved across the country, rounding up the Indians like cattle and driving them onto reservations. The black people migrated, against their will, to the U.S. to be sold into slavery.
Some things cannot be stopped. The demographics of our country is rapidly changing and will continue to change. The middle east turbulence will not change, even with our intervention. So with that in mind, let's bring our boys home from war. Place them on our southern border until which time we can get a wall built. That's the way to keep the illegals out.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Glasses vs Skirt vs Survival
I just now tossed a top of mine in the washer. It's about as old as my marriage. That will be 39 years in July. I still wear the top and I look like a hippy with bad taste when I wear it. But it's still good and I can not bear to throw it away. It is something a free spirit would wear. It flies freely in the breeze and makes me feel like a wind nymph. But that's not the story. The top just reminded me of something totally unrelated.
I was an early teen. I know because I was wearing my first pair of "cat eye" glasses. When we went places, I didn't wear jeans. I wore skirts and blouses mostly. I remember I was wearing this beautiful, super full skirt. It was flowered with beautiful purple and blue shades of color. It must have been the bluish color of my hippy top that reminded me of that beautiful, beautiful, homemade skirt.
We went to an amusement park. It must have been "Joy Land" in Wichita, because "Worlds of Fun" didn't open until 1973. The ride I chose to ride was the "Big Dipper". If it wasn't named that, it should have been. It used the same principle as a skateboard bowl, only the ride had a track with a cart on it wherein you sat. There were no seat belts. The dipper was fastened to a mechanism that tipped back and forth causing the cart to dip down and fly up the other side just in time for the thing to tip again, and down and up we went to the other side. Back and forth we went. I was screaming and laughing and spit went flying out my mouth. I don't know what law of physics I was battling, but every time we dipped down going forward, my glasses would fly off if I didn't hang on to them, plus my skirt would fly over my head. So there I was trying to hold on to my glasses, hang on for dear life, and hold my skirt down. I had to have my glasses to see, and I couldn't let go of whatever I was holding on to because I might go flying out of my seat. The skirt, she would just have to fly. Well at least it was over my head and no one could see who I was. Ride over, I was exhausted. All that laughing, and holding on, and trying to maintain some degree of modesty by holding my skirt down nearly did me in. We rode lots of things, but that's the only one that sticks in my mind. I hadn't thought of this in years. Well, back to the laundry.
I was an early teen. I know because I was wearing my first pair of "cat eye" glasses. When we went places, I didn't wear jeans. I wore skirts and blouses mostly. I remember I was wearing this beautiful, super full skirt. It was flowered with beautiful purple and blue shades of color. It must have been the bluish color of my hippy top that reminded me of that beautiful, beautiful, homemade skirt.
We went to an amusement park. It must have been "Joy Land" in Wichita, because "Worlds of Fun" didn't open until 1973. The ride I chose to ride was the "Big Dipper". If it wasn't named that, it should have been. It used the same principle as a skateboard bowl, only the ride had a track with a cart on it wherein you sat. There were no seat belts. The dipper was fastened to a mechanism that tipped back and forth causing the cart to dip down and fly up the other side just in time for the thing to tip again, and down and up we went to the other side. Back and forth we went. I was screaming and laughing and spit went flying out my mouth. I don't know what law of physics I was battling, but every time we dipped down going forward, my glasses would fly off if I didn't hang on to them, plus my skirt would fly over my head. So there I was trying to hold on to my glasses, hang on for dear life, and hold my skirt down. I had to have my glasses to see, and I couldn't let go of whatever I was holding on to because I might go flying out of my seat. The skirt, she would just have to fly. Well at least it was over my head and no one could see who I was. Ride over, I was exhausted. All that laughing, and holding on, and trying to maintain some degree of modesty by holding my skirt down nearly did me in. We rode lots of things, but that's the only one that sticks in my mind. I hadn't thought of this in years. Well, back to the laundry.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Pumpkin Pie Story
Grandma (Bessie) Burton was a wonderful cook. I loved going to Burr Oak to see Grandpa and Grandma, and enjoy one of Grandma's gourmet meals. Grandma's house was the only place I ever was served duck. She grew and preserved most of the vegetables they ate. She made jellies and jams and pickled anything that could be pickled. She made good pies, especially pumpkin pies. Sometimes they were sweet potato pies, but I couldn't tell the difference.
When a good cook made something I really liked, I hated it when they messed with it by trying a different version of the recipe. Being the adventurous cook she was, Grandma was not immune to these need to find something different to eat.
Grandma hosted this one particular Thanksgiving dinner. I was looking forward to her usual fare, especially the dessert, pumpkin pie. After the main meal was finished, she proudly carried from the kitchen her specialty pie. Then to my horror, she announced she had make a chiffon pumpkin pie. I'd never heard of chiffon pumpkin pie. I was desperately hoping it would be as good as her old standard pumpkin pie. I anxiously awaited for my piece of pie to be set before me. When all were served, I picked up my fork and took a bite of the pie. I hated it. It was fluffy and it just didn't taste right. Grandma was looking around the table making sure everyone loved the pie. No one said much, so I, being the polite little girl that I was, told her it was delicious. I told her I really liked it, overdoing it a bit in order to hide my real opinion. Oh boy! Was that ever a mistake. From that day forth Grandma made especially for me, a chiffon pumpkin pie every Thanksgiving.
Well, there just is no way to correct a situation like this, especially after me not saying anything for years and years. She made regular pies for everyone else, but I was obligated to eat chiffon pumpkin pie. They were made especially for me. That is the only good thing that made them bearable. She thought I was worth making a pie especially for me.
I have remembered the pumpkin pie story endearingly. But you can be assured, I have never made a chiffon pumpkin pie and I never will.
When a good cook made something I really liked, I hated it when they messed with it by trying a different version of the recipe. Being the adventurous cook she was, Grandma was not immune to these need to find something different to eat.
Grandma hosted this one particular Thanksgiving dinner. I was looking forward to her usual fare, especially the dessert, pumpkin pie. After the main meal was finished, she proudly carried from the kitchen her specialty pie. Then to my horror, she announced she had make a chiffon pumpkin pie. I'd never heard of chiffon pumpkin pie. I was desperately hoping it would be as good as her old standard pumpkin pie. I anxiously awaited for my piece of pie to be set before me. When all were served, I picked up my fork and took a bite of the pie. I hated it. It was fluffy and it just didn't taste right. Grandma was looking around the table making sure everyone loved the pie. No one said much, so I, being the polite little girl that I was, told her it was delicious. I told her I really liked it, overdoing it a bit in order to hide my real opinion. Oh boy! Was that ever a mistake. From that day forth Grandma made especially for me, a chiffon pumpkin pie every Thanksgiving.
Well, there just is no way to correct a situation like this, especially after me not saying anything for years and years. She made regular pies for everyone else, but I was obligated to eat chiffon pumpkin pie. They were made especially for me. That is the only good thing that made them bearable. She thought I was worth making a pie especially for me.
I have remembered the pumpkin pie story endearingly. But you can be assured, I have never made a chiffon pumpkin pie and I never will.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
