What is it with Pennsylvania and spelling...

We went up to Harvey County again this weekend. We have a guest from New York with us, and we wanted to show him what the country looks like. We pointed out some of the interesting things about pennsyltucky. Like that there's a town called Jersey Shore - completely landlocked. That a lot of the towns borrowed names, like Bethlehem, York, Indiana, California, and even Mars. We didn't go into the whole Lancaster sitch, where you have Intercourse, somewhere between Blue Ball and Paradise. He's only 8. I hope he wouldn't understand.

As we were driving, we passed Keyser avenue. Keyser like geyser. Why didn't they spell it Kaiser? I don't know.

When we arrived at the ancestral seat, my mom showed me a book. The book was by a guy who used to write for the local paper - interest stories and silly stories - and lo and behold, he pointed out a sign to go to "Kaiserville". Except, he and all the people up in Harvey County know that it's spelled Keiserville. (but not Keyserville, of course not!!) Why on earth wouldn't the sign makers know that us NEPA folk would never have a town named after our old enemy, Kaiser Wilhelm!

So, I was completely confused. We spell kaiser every way, except the proper one. John noted my frustration and shook his head. Then he turned to me and said, "Let's talk."

I looked at him, even more confused. We never talk.

"about taxidermy!"

We gotta stop going up there so often. I tell ya, it's not good!

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Is it the age, or is it the time?

I recently assigned my third project to my kids. They had to keep a science journal for the marking period. Each week, they were to cut out or print out an article from a newspaper. They had to write three paragraphs: summarize the article, link it to science (and explain the science), and give an opinion about the article or the science.

Of course, it was "too much, miss!" If I had a dollar for every time... anyway.

One of my better students handed hers in. It was hand written, which makes the fact that it was grammatically correct and almost completely spelled correctly much more awesome. She had articles on a new FBI database (science: technology), unsolved shootings in the city (ballistics and forensics), the new soda and sweets tax (health), and many others. The thing that struck me was, every opinion of hers came down to this: there aren't enough laws or enough law enforcement. Every problem - including obesity - can and should be litigated.

I remembered back to an essay contest I was required to enter my sophomore year of high school. We had to write a letter to a world leader, letting them know how we could make the world more peaceful. I was angry - I hated writing essays. So I wrote my letter to "Joe", the average man in the streets. I asked him how he could expect his leader to make a difference when Joe did all sorts of mean things. Blah blah blah. Filled it with sentimental sap. My teacher was peeved, but whatever. He couldn't prove I had done it tongue in cheek.

I won second place. He laughed his butt off with me.

The first place essay, I think, was to Ronald Reagan - telling him to cool his jets. But it stuck to me, even then, that we all expected someone else to solve our problems for us.

So, my question: is it the age (teenager) who thinks that government can actually do something worthwhile, or is it the time (now, 21st century) where we put more faith in law than in humanity?

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He Loved the Ladies...

So Mom has been telling tales about her in-laws lately. Did you know that my grandparents wouldn't drive? My grandfather had been a trolley driver in Pittsburgh in the early part of the century - wow, 100 years ago or so - and he killed a little boy who jumped in front of his trolley. Or so goes the tale. So, though cars came and most got them, he didn't.

My grandmother eventually learned to drive - though never well - and she would drive all over. She was grandma "go-go" while my other grandma, who got struck by lightning twice, was grandma "rock-rock."

Back to Grandpa. He died when I was young - 7 I think. I don't remember him well, for he was old as the hills when I was a kid. He was born in 1889 and he died in the 70's. I remember him sitting on the couch, and Grandma imploring him to "eat his banana." But he was an interesting guy. He loved to tease my Grandma, who wouldn't say shit if her mouth was full of it, according to my mom. When my grandpa went to the doctor's office for a checkup, late in life, he came back and was telling my parents and Grandma about it. Apparently, when the doctor was complimenting his health, Grandpa asked if he could still be with his wife. The doctor said, if you do, do once for me! Of course, Grandpa said this in front of the whole family. Poor Grandma.

He used to sing a song, "I love the ladies," and, in his youth, he probably did. He didn't get married until he was in his 30's, and he was 13 years older than my grandma. But he loved my grandma, and what's more, he respected her. That much, I do remember. He was a good guy.

And he loved the ladies.

Now, anyone know that song? I think it's the one by Irving Kaufman, but I can't do real audio on this mac, so I can't play it for mom to confirm...

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Can you remember this rhyme...

"The Rhine and the Rhone rise in the Alps. The Rhine flows north and the Rhone flows south." Is there any more to it? The Mother wants to know.

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Remembering

I am thinking about Mrs. King today. I put on the Rose of Sharon necklace she gave me - I only wear it around Christmas. It's very pretty.

Mrs. King was such a gracious, wonderful person. She was the wife of a minister who had retired - and his reward was to serve at our little church in Lemon for a number of years. Dr. King was also a great guy. He had been in so many places - served in times of war and strife, peace and prosperity. And by his side the whole time was Dallas King.

Mrs. King was refined. She always sat, ramrod straight, in her pew in the front of the church. She had to have a special cushion because her back was bad. But she didn't complain. She always had a smile for everyone. She used to invite the choir to her home for tea at Christmastime. That was an experience for us - high tea for our little choir. We had a great time.

The beautiful necklace I wear should be adorning their daughter's neck. Or her daughter's. But, sadly, their daughter was taken from them by a drunk driver. They had much sadness in their lives, but they were such a positive force, both individually and as a couple.

I remember them with respect and fondness, and hope that I can honor their memory.

(*)>

Lab Accident!!

A few weeks ago, I had an incident in my lab. No radioactive spiders, unfortunately, or gamma rays. Just a jagged piece of glass covered with dust and rusty iron filings.

Bled like a stuck pig, it did.

So, I go down to the nurse. Stitches! she proclaims. So they take me to the hospital.

A little under 2 hours later, I'm done. Some saline, super glue (well, they call it derma bond, but whatever), a tetanus shot, and a hit of antibiotics with a paper for more, and I was outta there. Didn't even see a doc - just a physician's assistant.

The bill just came. $1318. 

No wonder people freak out over insurance!

(*)>

A Joke My Mom Made Up

So, we were sitting, talking about politics.

She says: "Poor Mr. Obama. He has such a bad economy. Why, the economy hasn't been this bad since George Washington threw the silver dollar across the Delaware! A dollar sure doesn't go that far these days..."

My sense of humor is inherited.

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Happy Birthday, Richard!

My oldest brother is 20 years older than I am. When I was a wee tyke, he went off to the navy and sailed around, playing trombone, while Vietnam was raging. He really rocks on trombone, apparently. I've not heard him play. Have heard him sing and play guitar, though, and boy, that dude has TALENT.

I have almost no memories of Richard from when I was a kid. The majority of my memories stem from when he married and brought his kids around - they used to camp out at the pond for the entire summer. Sandy and Timmy and Jackie were nominally my nieces and nephews, but were really my siblings.

But he was my brother before he became more like an uncle. I have exactly one memory of Richard from before the camping days. I remember sitting on his lap as he read me a spooky story called "The Ghost of Windy Hill." Isn't that a great memory to have?!

I didn't remember the story line, just the name and the cover. A few weeks ago, on a lark, I looked it up in my local library. What do you know? It was there. I got it out and have read it to Stinky, who has found he likes it pretty well. I like it, too. It's got brave kids who stand up for what is right and a nice little story line. Quite a good story to read to your bratty kid sister.



It's Richard's birthday this week. He's 39 of course :) I know he doesn't read the internet, but some of my other sibs do. If y'all see him, tell him I say happy birthday!

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Shoppin from A to Z

Every time my dear husband fixes eggplant, as he is doing today, this old Toni Basil song pops into my head.






Thank you, so much, Amy A, my best friend from middle school, for making sure that I had a complete 80's experience. I never would have known this song without her.



We are doing well in birdland. We have become a soccer family, much to my horror. I spent two friggin hours of my life that I will never get back this morning watching the Moth flutter in the wrong direction half the time. They're cute... for 45 minutes. After that? I have laundry waiting.



My school continues to be randomly weird. I have a FANTASTIC room this year - it's an actual lab with sinks, gas jets, lots of electric outlets, and storage. Drawers and drawers of lockable storage. So, I put my stuff in the drawers. I came in last Thursday morning to find that maintenance had screwed 2 drawers - not even the top two or right most two, just two random drawers - shut. I had to unscrew them to get to my rulers and paper. Why, you ask? No one seems to know. So, with a big shrug, I go on to make my lesson plans about JJ Thompson and the plum pudding.



My concerns about Spaceley's have started to come to fruition. They had surprise layoffs a few weeks ago, and there are strong possibilities of worse to come. I'm glad I'm out of there, for sure, though I do miss the guys I worked with.

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Freedom in the City

We were all walking downtown on Friday - John had a day off and we just decided to do a little touristy thing and share a cheesesteak. So, John's holding Stinky's hand, I'm holding on to the Moth. Not for their protection, mind you, but for the unsuspecting folks around our crazy family.

These two gents walked in front of me and Tim. They were handsome, well presented men - mid 40's or older, I'd say. Anyway, it seemed to me, from the way they walked, looked at me holding Tim's hand, and the way their own hands bumped, that they wanted to hold hands, too.

I was sad that they didn't feel comfortable enough to do so.

For a city of brotherly love, Philly can be a backward place sometimes.

Sigh.


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Close Your Iddy Biddy Eyes, Yakky

Funny how memory changes things. I finally found Yakky Doodle Duck on Youtube (with his buddy Chopper the Dog).




Seems the quote was "close your big brown eyes, yakky." Ah well.



This post is only for the most juvenile and purile amongst you. If you are mature, please go elsewhere.



John and I were talking the other day (we do that sometimes), and I said the line "keep the tip!" Can't remember why I said it, but it took us both back to a joke we first heard somewhere along the lines of middle school. So, then, it led us to other, non-pc, "dirty" jokes that could be remembered by the punchline.



It's kicked off what I call the Punchline Project. Here are the gems we remembered:

• I don't know, but my @ss sure hurts!


• move, Spot, before he poops on you!


• Grumpy f'ed a penguin!


• Why do you ask, Two Dogs F'ing?

There are, of course, others. I'm wondering how many of my transient readers remembers any of these jokes. Or is it only my crazy husband and I that still giggle at these tawdry things?

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Finally found the answer, but still more questions

So it's a few weeks late, but things as they are, I'm surprised I'm posting this year. On this D-Day, I say thanks to all the vets who fought and fight for our freedom.


It's been my habit the last few years to take my mom to the cemeteries on memorial day. I think I'm the only one of my sibs who knows where they all are and who's where. I suppose when she's gone, I'll still do it.

Though the graveyards are starting to fail... I couldn't find Walter Harvey and his wife Orcinda (gggg-grandparents, b ~ 1780), though I have pics from their gravestones a few years back. I couldn't find John and Polly Harvey (ggg-grandparents b ~ 1805), either, though I also have pics of them. (Delraine, the gg and his son Stephen, the g, are still accounted for.) On the flip side, I did a little walking around and totally stumbled onto Stephen's in-laws - the stodgy Harris family. Didn't take a picture, though. I'll have to go back this summer.

I've blogged before about my fixations with cemeteries in general and my family genealogy in specific. My grandma's mom's family is one of the few dead ends (pardon the pun), and it bothers me. So, every once in a while, I try to track something down.




This year, I decided to track down Thomas Crompton's grave. I thought maybe his family would be buried near him, lending more clues to the family in general. It ends up that my sister-in-law's father is buried in the same cemetery, so she knew where it was. I dragged her with me (I usually drag some unsuspecting poor soul on my treks, usually my mom) since she could navigate. I didn't think I'd easily find the grave. But, believe it or not, I did.

Unfortunately, it just opens more questions. Grandpa Crompton is buried alone. The nearest grave is another soldier from the GAR who has no family buried around him. I'm guessing that the Vet's Association (the same people that put the new flags on the soldiers graves every year, bless them) paid for Thomas Crompton's burial. But there was no such dignity for his family.





I planted him some flowers and yelled at him for leaving his family to cope without him. Suicide when you have a family dependent on you is just wrong. But he is, they all are, remembered... even if it's only by me.

Kid Games

So, I was playing with Mothman today. He has the coolest hands with long, fine fingers. I picked up his hand and pulled on each finger in turn, coming out of the dregs of my memory was... "Tom Thumberland, John Gogland, Long Jericho, Edica Williams, and Piccowolicky..." (the p word is repeated a few times and the belly of the kid is tickled.) Did anyone else ever do something like that? I searched the net and didn't see anything close.

How about Trot Trot? "Trot trot to Boston to buy a loaf of bread. Trot trot home again, the old horsie's dead." (we bounce the kid on our knee, then when the horsie "dies" we drop him to the floor). There's a trot trot to boston thing out there, but it doesn't go the same way. Well, we were a morbid bunch up in Lemon, weren't we?!

For my brothers and sisters, did I miss any others? I already taught Stinky (mostly to the tune of Old Gray Mare) "great big gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts, mutilated monkey's meat, little dirty birdy feet, bloody eyeballs rolling down the dusty street, that's what I had for lunch... and me without my spoon".

For the rest of you, what were your kid games?

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One More, from Grandma

Do you know why firetrucks are red?

Firetrucks are red
Newspapers are read
Newspapers cost 2 cents
2x6 is 12
There are 12 inches in a ruler
Queen Mary was a ruler
Queen Mary was also a ship that sailed the high seas
Fishes are in the seas
Fishes have fins
Fins hate Russians
Russians are Red
Firetrucks are always rushin', that's why firetrucks are red...


I have further proof. Russians are not red anymore. They're capitalist green. Bryn Mawr firetrucks are green. QED.

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In Time For Halloween

Depending on your scare level, or tolerance for fake scary stuff, this will make you shiver, laugh, or bored out of your mind.








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Views from the Dusty Aviary

So, I had to stop for petrol the other morning. As I’m dutifully holding the nozzle at low speed (to minimize fumes and maximize liquid throughput), I note an addition to the pump.

They’ve put in TELEVISION screens on top of the pump. Like I need to be inundated with more television the 5 minutes I’m there getting gas. But whatever.

As you can imagine, it was mostly ads. But interspersed were a weather forecast, traffic report, and some news items. One news item particularly caught my eye. It seems that airports are looking to different technology to screen passengers and their carry-on luggage. According to the news report, they’re going to use electromagnetic waves instead of radiation to search for bad objects.

(if you don’t get the absurdity of this, please go here.)

~~~~~

Speaking of commercials and gas pumps, though, I saw a new ad (to me, and it’s not on youtube yet, sorry). It was for the Saturn hybrid SUV. Very clever ad, for the most part. It starts out saying how we all like to indulge – showing people in a Sam’s Club type place; a kid putting too much ketchup on his burger; a person who bought a flat screen tv bigger than his wall. Then it shows someone filling up her SUV at the pump and looking miserable. The camera pans to a couple in a hybrid Saturn Vue looking at that poor, suffering woman with a smile. Then, the voice-over talks about how the Vue gives you good gas mileage and the size vehicle you want.

It’s a brilliant commercial, until the closing line, which was something like this: “Instead of super-sizing, try super-right-sizing.”

I don’t know about most of you, but to me, and to most who have been tinged with the auto industry, right-sizing is the latest fancy word for downsizing which was the 5-minutes-ago word for layoffs. You’d think a GM company would be more sensitive than that.

~~~~~

Speaking of right-sized companies :), for those who have been following the saga, my days at Spaceley’s are finally finitely numbered. I’ve been offered a job in my new profession of choice and will be saying sayonara 12/15. I’ve managed to reclaim some sanity recently, not that I had much to begin with. But bitterness is completely gone. And after going through the right sizing we had (we cut our workforce, but not our work load, and definitely not our upper management, in half), that’s saying something.

~~~~~

In other news, it seems that Philadelphia has started a feud with Baltimore over who gets Poe’s body (or what’s left of it). It’s getting dirty. I never knew Baltimore was the syphilis capital of the world!

(*)>

No Left Turns

Sorry for the continued light posting. What can I say? Not much to say! However, someone sent me this lovely piece of journalism today, and I thought I'd share. Consider it my "must read of the day":

My father never drove a car...


Now, as far as lovely advice goes, my husband sent me this. I have one comment: this advice-seeker has never noticed why the plain-Janes get what she wants. Perhaps, just perhaps, they bring more than beauty to the mix? Ah, well, whoever gets her probably deserves her.

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Views From My World - Part Whatever

Spaceley’s is trudging along as it has for the last two years. I continue to have nightmares about the place, especially now that we have a new cowboy on staff that counters every decision I make. I’m beginning to feel like the guy in office space that has 8 different bosses. But time is running down now, and I’ll have all new frustrations soon. Yipee!

One of the guys that used to work for me often comes to me for advice. Today, he brought over an email he had received. It seems he is one of 2500 random winners of an International Lottery – prize of 1000000 pounds. He had to have his financial advisor in London contact the lottery people – overseas phone numbers provided – in order to begin his claim.

He asked me if it was real. I guess there really is one born every minute.

~~~~~

Sunday, at my husband’s suggestion, the family flocked to the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. If you’ve never been – it’s a big area (a few fields of a farm) that has been laid out like a renaissance market. Well, not really, but that’s the idea. This one has about a dozen different stages where there are acrobats, magicians, musicians, bards, fighters, sword-swallowers, trained animals, and loads of other exhibitions. Between stages, there are lots of vendors – food and wares – and some more permanent things like games, rides (not electrical), a big jousting field, and other spectacles (like a fully equipped and documented dungeon and a castle). Meanwhile, there are all sorts of folks ambling about – some work for the faire, some have paid admission just like you – who are dressed in full costume and greet others with “God save thee…” etc

My husband, being a fan of both Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Garden State, has quite a cynical outlook on people in costume. He just could not turn it off. He rolled his eyes as I cheered on our jouster (who went by the appropriate nickname: Bull!). He refused to get excited when we saw the Queen (just a glimpse, actually). He barely tolerated the really funny magician. He totally blew my experience.

What’s worse is that my impressionable boys look to him for how to act. So when Sean started to get into the joust, when he saw Daddy roll his eyes and ask if we could leave, he decided to act the same. We didn’t even stay for the main event:

It was totally unfaire.

~~~~~

Finally, two pieces of info for some of my fellow bloggers.

Cube had posted something about sending stuff to Mars, and I asked if Mars Attacks! was sent. I commented that Slim Whitman saves the world in Mars Attacks! She was not impressed.

Well, Cube, when I was a kid, there was this telemercial for Slim Whitman’s Greatest Hits. My brother Ron was in college at the time (I’m too young to really remember). Apparently, my father and other brother (John) went out to pick up elder son from uni, and they were chatting on the way back. Ron asked if John and Dad had seen the really annoying infomercial on telly – this awful man who yodeled. Who on earth, he concluded, would spend hard-earned cash on such crap?

My father, of course, had purchased the album, and it was one of his favorites. (and, apparently, he was not alone. Wikipedia has “All My Best” as the best selling TV-marketed record in music history. Take that, Christy Lane!*)






For Minka, someone sent me this trivia tic-tac-toe that reminds me of your Thursday special. It’s quite addictive!


(*Just for you, Mary. Your very own blast-from-the-past earworm.)


Cheers!
(*)>

A Two-fer

Months of barely posting, and here I am, 2 in one day! Well, this is a meme, so it mightn't count.

My aussie friend Craig over at Outside The Breadbox has tagged me for a meme. Damn his eyes!
The gist is this: I’m supposed to list 8 things about myself that other people wouldn’t know. Then I’m supposed to share the fun with eight others.

The problem is, I’m a person without secrets. In fact, when I went to the bank the other day, these two guys were sitting there, and one asked me for a secret. I frowned, and stated that I had none. I’m so BORING!

So, I’ve been thinking about this since then, and since I saw Craig tagged me last week. I’ll try.

1. I have an extra fold in my first finger. No, it’s true! It’s like I have another joint, but I don’t.
2. I still talk to myself, and thank god for the invention of hands free devices for cell phones, because now people aren’t as likely to think I’m crazy. (They’d be wrong, of course.)


3. I write fanfic. Lots of it. Have for years – since seventh grade, in fact. Back then, it was Scarecrow and Mrs. King. Most recently, I’ve been writing/reading Jane Austen fanfic. I’ve even written some short, original fiction. It has led to me understanding just how hard it is to write at all, let alone well, and has given me WAY more respect for published writers.


4. I’m the youngest of eight children. My mom was the youngest of eight children. Though I’m only in my thirties, my uncle fought in WWI. My sibs and I (and all of our spouses) all get along – I can’t remember a feud among us even though we are ALL very different. I think about my family a lot, to this day quoting MASH or Bugs Bunny or something like that and thinking that John or Ron would understand when everyone else just looks at me like I’m nuts.


5. I am a jack of many trades and a master of none. I can play guitar… a little. Piano… even less. I can sing, but who can’t? I can program, but I’m not great at it. I can knit, cross stitch, cook, and all sorts of other things to a mediocre level. I have passion for nothing. Sometimes it makes me feel half dead inside.


6. I love pens. I keep a box of all different color pens. I don’t use them, I just have them.


7. I like people on an individual level, but abhor crowds. If I have to be in crowds, I want to be alone (i.e. shopping) – I have no fear of getting lost, but I do have a fear of separation, probably left from when I was a child and my older sister purposefully left me behind in stores. Hey, gotta blame someone for my neuroses.


8. There used to be a really big, ugly mole on my chin. The first thing I did when we had some money was get that stupid thing removed. I have a scar now, and find it infinitely preferable.


9. Chain letters are evil, and so are memes. I don’t forward or tag. It’s against my religion. Along with fornication.
   

That’s it. See? Boring as a blade of grass in Toledo, Ohio.

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Happy Sunday!

I’m sitting here, reading blogs instead of going to choir. Bad me. John said, “Do you want to skip church entirely?” (When I was a kid, there used to be a local program on the T.V. – Skip Church on Sunday Morning at 11!) The Moth was sitting on my lap, and Stinky was playing war (his army fighting the kissy kissy army – they kiss him if they capture him, eeeeewwww).

I said to Tim, “Do you want to go to Sunday School or stay home?”

“Go to Sunnay Skoo,” he rasped.

“Stay home!” Sean shouted.

It reminds me of Sunday school when I was a kid. We sang lots of songs (often with accompanying hand signals) like:

Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, heavenly breezes blow
Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, faces all aglow
Turn, turn from sin and doubting, look to God on high
Climb, Climb up Sunshine Mountain, you and I
(*GAK*)

Which my brothers, sarcastic lot that they are, changed into:
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, don’t you be so dumb
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, you’ll turn into scum
Turn, turn from Sunday School and church because it’s yuck
Don’t climb up Sunshine Mountain, you’ll get stuck!
(that’s more like it!)

This post is in honour of my own, sweet (heh) mudder, who raised all of us cherubic pups.

Poor Mom. Even if she does have hands. (That’s a Ron story. For those who think Ron is so innocent, and John is the mischievous one. When Ron didn’t get cookies sent to him at college, he told his roommates that it was because his mother didn’t have hands, and they believed him, expressing their surprise when the met Mom and her hands…)

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