Catch up Post on Recent Reads

I have boxes of  books to donate to the library this week for their book sale coming up in September and so I  need to update my reading list.  I've read all these the past weeks....but just posting here....

Maisie Dobbs by Jacqueline Winspear was new to me and the first in this mystery series set in England post World War I.  I loved it and will read more about Masie, who is introduced in this book as the young daughter  of a costermonger, the word intrigured me and means a green grocer.  Maisie is sent to work as a maid in a wealthy  London family when her mother  dies and her father can no longer hold the home together.  Masie is drawn to the library of the home where she is serving and is eventually discovered to have been reading books but Lady Rowan takes to her and  arranges for Dr. Maurice Blance to tutor her.  Masie is bright and  eventually studies at Cambridge, then interrupts her education to serve as a nurse  on the front lines of WWI where she meets and loses  her intended husband.  After returning to London and completing her studies, she opens her own agency for private investigations.  There are so many rich     unforgettable characters introduced through the book with a couple divergences back and forth to her service on the front lines and then her current investigation.  It is an easy to follow story line and kept me fully interested.  I do not want to give away the  mysteries, so will limit my comment.  I understand that this was selected  as a community read in Woodland, CA, which is how I first  heard of Masie.  It is simply a very good period detective series and having talked to some others who have read and enjoyed  the full series of Masie's adventures, I have more good reads ahead. 

When I ordered Masie from Barnes and Noble, my fingers must have hit a wrong button because along  in the delivery came, "The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox"  by Maggie O'Farrell, an author  who was born in Northern Ireland , grew up in Wales and Scotland and now lives in Edinburgh.  This was a strange book but  one I read quickly.  It is about two elderly sisters long separated.   Esme, is sent away  to an institution as a young child; her sister Kitty is the grandmother of the protagonist, Iris who learns suddenly about Esme as the institution is closing.   Iris is befuddled because she had been  taught her grandmother was an only child and Kitty now suffers dementia and is in a care home as well.  Well, again I can't give away  the plot line, but as Iris decides to take Esme in just until other care can be arranged, she learns more about family history than  she ever knew. I liked this line, on page 118, "Nothing is our own.  We begin in the world as anagrams of our antecedents."   It was an odd way to stumble upon a different read, but it held my interest through all 245 pages. I guess I could relate to how intrigued Iris would be as the history  of the family is revealed.  Not likely a book I would have seen browsing, but serendipity brought it to me.

Every summer I like to read another book by Elizabeth George working through the several I have acquired and added to my to read shelf.  I chose "A Suitable Vengeance" which has aired on Public Broadcasting as a  movie.  I must be on a British train lately as this is set in England too, maybe it's the influence and effect of  Sepia Saturday posts and all the Brits who are participating and involved or perhaps it's my current trend having recently visited with my Brit friend Pat, as she's easing back from her heat stroke episode.  This is one of Elizabeth George's earlier novels as  Inspector Thomas Lynley, forensic scientist Simon St. James and Lady Helen Clyde team up to solve crimes that get quite involved personally in the picturesque Cornwall village.  Lynely is torn as the solving the murders point to  someone in his own family.   But as always Elizabeth George weaves a mystery with many side lines full of richly developed  characters with modern twists of drugs, different sexual habits and more to vividly color the  mystery.

 Recently on his blog, Tony mentioned that  he was going to a "piss up," a term  I had never before heard.  That very evening, there it was in "Suitable" as Mrs. Swann, owner of the pub described such goings on.  Discovering what it meant, made me laugh and was worth the reading....I suspect I can use that term now and then to my advantage!    Page 254,  has this discussion about death, "The worst part of a death was always that moment of knowing beyond a doubt that  no matter how many people share it--be they family, friends, or even an entire nation--no two people can ever feel it the smae way.  So it always seems as if one experiences it alone."  Well, you knowq that struck me.  This is  one example of the good writing that Elizabeth George has in her books that keep me reading them.  I was introduced to her years back in CA and have yet to finish reading all her novels.  They are excellent though and a good place to lose self.  

And my last book for this post, which  I picked up in July for $1, hardback, first edition, at the Library book sale was the excellent "Kate Remembered" by A. Scott Berg, a Princeton graduate,  Pulitzer prize winner who devotes  years of intense research into his works and therefore has writtten few books.  He's not an author who cranks 'em out.  This is about Katherine Hepburn, one of my all time favorites. .  He begins his long time friendshop with her when she is 75 while he is working on the  biography about Samuel Goldwyn.  I laughed, coughed and  had a tear or two reading about Kate.  I learned that she was a  creature of habit in many ways, cocktails, very good scotch a six every evening and dinner at seven.  She lived to be 95.   I learned that she always liked to live in the moment.  She was an avid swimmer, even hitting the water outside in the New YOrk and Connecticut winter when others younger would shiver.  Of course there is a wealth of information about her movies, many of which I have never seen and  lots of information about her fabulous  career.  But this book is a very personal look at her,  her family and the lifetime relationships and  her friendship as it forms with the author over  20 years.  

She was not one to sit around and  reminisce nor live in the past.  As Kate aged, few people surrounded her, the result of outliving everyone, but she did make friends carefully with chosen younger folks, and no mistake she chose them.  They all were devoted to this eccentric grand lady.  I found one story  about one of her longest friends humorous; they had lost touch over the years ad were not as close as they had been, although they would each ask other people about the other one.  Finally Kate decided to invite her for dinner to catch up.  They and a few others spent the evening talking about old times, through the cocktail and dinner hours...after the woman left, Kate remarked to Scott that it was no wonder they had grown apart, Kate was bored with talking about the past which is all they did!  She never invited the woman to dinner again! 

Entertaining Michael Jackson one evening is another interesting anecdote, especially when she discovers he is very childlike and incapable of good conversation, which Kate insisted on in her home.  She painted and sculpted some, two things I had not known about her.  A woman ahead of her times in many ways, confident and contentious.  She never thought of her self as a second class citizen just because she was a woman, nor did she see why women had to be.   

 I learned that she was an avid reader and saw that as an absolute personal attribute.  I feel the same way.  I laughed hearing of how she added and subtracted to her age, confusing folks.  Of course the grand relationship with Spencer Tracy is described.  This was something very different for that time but they worked it out, she caring for him especially when he  drank excessively, which was often.  More than once, she would say, "Life's  tough for everybody and that's why most people become its victims."  She had little tolerance for weakness and for those who might wallow about  their circumstances.  I suppose she  may have been thought of as hard, but I see her as strong beyond.   Scott  avows that Kate " lived most of her life as a contestant in that great struggle, always pushing herself hard, riding the wave and sometimes swimming ahead of it."     I relished all  370 pages.  As the author  states, this is a tribute to a woman who forbid any tributes at her funeral; that reminded me of my Aunt Jinx.  But Scott, explains he believes it is more than a tribute is is her fond remembrances shared with him from her heart.  She was one and only, there will never be another Hepburn.  I'll have to read her own memoir sometime as well as her writing about her experience making the African Queen, both books are mentioned in this one. 

Revealing the other half Sepia Saturday week 37 (click here to go to the Sepia website)

Grandmother Esther Behrndt, Jerry 1 year old,
and Mother, Florence. 

I spent some time on the genealogy of Jerry's (the other half) side this week, so thought I would share a photo or two introducing him and his peculiar side.  I have often said that if I had known  his family, in particular his mother when we first met that I would not have ever gotten involved with him and he says that is why he lived far away from his family.  Further he blames me because he said until we were married they did not bother  with him, after we married it seemed  they had a place to spend summer vacations and they did.  His mother, Florence,  is 93 today is still going kind of strong (but not in the mental area)  and lives here in La Crescent in a senior apartment, though she really belongs in an assisted living place.  But that's another story and she refuses so we get the duty of overseeing  and providing for her.  It's most unfair as Jerry says he has now provided  and cared for her longer than she ever cared  for him.  As the first  born and  oldest son, I think he is a saint, because  this woman , Florence whose life story rivals "Prince of Tides"   has become the bane of our existence. 

She was the baby of the family, the  youngest of  five sisters and nothing like any of them;  then her second husband kept her in a delayed state of adolescence and when he knew he would be  leaving this planet apologized to Jerry that he would have his hands full taking care of his mother who was then about 77 years old....Shudder and so true.  She had four children but the two youngest are really into the ME ME generation and have little to do with her, her daughter lives in CO and about every  two years makes a dutiful trip here for a couple days to visit her mother for a few  hours.

1950 California  bound

As I said, Jerry is a saint, because as this  photo taken in 1950  shows, Florence who never had a  full load of bricks as they say,  determined she would drive herself and her two children, Jerry age 13 and Diane age 12, cross country to California, leaving Minnesota two months after her mother, Esther  who had cared for the children died.  Florence had met  the man who would become her second husband and my father in law, when he rented a room from the family, but he left for work in California.  By this time she had really worn out her welcome in the tiny town of La Crescent with her antics and had built her reputation as a "loose woman."  Not a good thing in a small town, especially the day she took her Sunday School class to the local tavern to find out if her current hot date was there!  You get the picture, people were not willing to put up with that behavior, not in La Crescent.  She was divorced from the first husband, Morrison, who enlisted in the Navy in WWII to get away from her but who also had issues, another story.  Florence had spent time confined to a mental institution for a year, committed by her sister, Jerry's aunt Myrtle, who begged to adopt Jerry so that she and her husband Joe  could keep him in MN. There was no way that he wanted to leave Minnesota and especially the family and friends he knew.    No Florence would not have it, revealing a lifelong pattern where she thought of herself first.

Jerry in Korea, Air Force  1956

 So there they are, Florence with Dianne, Jerry's full sister and himself in front of the home, ready to head to California.  Jerry is 13 and would live in Californian with his mother and step father only  less than a year before he would hitchhike  cross country back to Minnesota and live with his grandfather..and the aunts until he could enlist in the Air Force, photos to the left....  Raised mainly by his grandparents and then off on his own, I told you she was not a mother to him. This trip to  California would culminate in Las Vegas  where Jerry ended up driving them after Florence nearly killed the three of them in a head on crash as she passed a car  going up a hill into oncoming traffic.  Jerry took over driving, to Las Vegas.  Florence called Lyman from there and he  came to Las Vegas where they married and took them to California.  Florence never drove again, never got a dirver's license, sinking into being "cared for" and taken wherever she went...Her oldest daughter, Dianne, (Jerry's full sister) died in 2005 in California but she had lived a hard tragic life of multiple marriages, many children most of whom did time in jails and prisons, on drugs, alcoholism, etc. and on and on.... Well you get the picture,   I told you it's like Prince of Tides......really lots of dysfunction and more....

Home in La Crescent

This was the old family homestead in town in La Crescent where she and the kids lived with her parents and Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Joe.  Today it is an empty lot and Jerry says buried under ground somewhere when they tore down the house and pitched everything into the cistern is his original pair of skis.   Uncle Joe was always Jerry's hero, taught  him to ski and would have been an excellent surrogate father.  This is the last photo of today,  Jerry's Aunt Myrtle, (a sister of Florence) and Uncle Joe a World War II hero and all around interesting person....this is their  wedding photo where the handsome soldier from North Carolina found, courted and married a beautiful girl from Minnesota.   With the purple hearts and Bronze stars Uncle Joe had earned he was entitled to send a son to West Point.  They had no children and he wanted to adopt Jerry and send him there, it was not to be.  Makes you wonder how  very different  life would have been. 

Wedding photo Myrtle and
Joe Whitfield

I did not realize I would  write so much about  mother in law when I started this, but more to come in weeks ahead.  I think my husband  did a dandy job of  becoming a good adult.... showing that people can overcome their circumstances with will....As always, click on the title to  go to the Sepia Saturday website where you can read and see others' photos and posts.

Betty our Police Lady Story tellers Week 5 and Sepia Saturday Week 36 (click here to get to others' photos)

Miss Betty Hoover our Police Lady

I am rerunning Betty here for the Story tellers; If you have been to Southern Belle, you know there is a tale to tell and many of my previous posts onto Sepia Saturday are tales to share.  So out of time to create something new today I offer you Betty and my frustrated attempts to be a resident Nancy Drew!

Sorting and sifting photos continues here where this week I found this old snapshot of Betty Hoover who was perhaps one of the first if not the first police woman in our town.  We called her, " Miss Betty Our Police Lady" and she was employed as a crossing guard, today's term,  at our elementary school, Third Ward.  This photo is from  about  1954, notice her spiffy uniform, high heels and white gloves.  She would step out into the street to direct traffic and allow us to cross.  Now that I think about it, I suppose this must have been invented employment, because we did not have that much traffic and when Miss Betty was not on her job, we walked and crossed streets quite nicely without any assistance.

My friends and I were fascinated with Miss Betty who lived with her friend, Wanda, in an apartment on the 3rd floor,  the remodeled attic of our neighbor's the Ropers.  They were the only single career women in our neighborhood.  Since the yard of the Ropers' backed up to  our back yard, I thought I could make myself quite available to her, by just  yelling, "Miss Betty" from our back yard.  My mother thought differently and the first time she heard me standing outside yelling, she scooted me onto the porch for a lecture.  I was not to bother Miss Betty and just because she rented from our neighbors did not mean that I could  bother her to satisfy my curiosity.  She was employed as  a Police woman and when she was not at work, she did not need the likes of me pestering her.

Not one to easily give up, I tried to engage Dayna, my  neighbor friend who lived on the other side of the Ropers to help in my efforts at learning more about Miss Betty but she was not as curious as me and besides, her mother felt the same, "You girls do not need to bother her."  I had a plan, Dayna's upstairs bedroom was closer to the Roper house, so if we could lean out Dayna's window and call, surely Miss Betty would hear us and if Dayna was calling and not me, my mother couldn't say anything.  But Dayna was no where near as interested and so much more the good girl than myself that it didn't happen.

I spent some time mulling about this and trying to overcome my Mother's admonishments without being absolutely disobedient. I suddenly became very interested in Harry Roper, their son, who was several years older than me (I was 9 and he was likely 13) and tried all sorts of ways to entice him into inviting me into their home; once inside I figured it would be easy enough to scoot up the staircase and knock on Miss Betty's door. That did not work, because Harry as I said was older than me and besides that totally uninterested in my antics. I think he secretly knew I was the one who would pelt him with crab apples, but he never could  prove that.  I could get onto our porch roof  near the crab apple tree outside my bedroom window, toss crab apples and whack him on the head, then duck back into my bedroom window, innocent as you please. 

My curiosity was not waning, so one day after school, I hung around the corner and confessed to Miss Betty that I would like to see their apartment but my mother said I was not to bother her, but I had this big tale about needing to interview her for a Girl Scout project. She and I walked the  few blocks back to  our homes together and Miss Betty said that she would speak to my Mom and if it was alright with her she would invite me in  for a soda.  It never happened and I suspect that my mother nixed it or maybe Miss Betty was not that interested.  I don't know  what ever happened but Miss Betty and Wanda moved away after several months and I was out of luck.  Maybe they really didn't want to live in a neighborhood of families either.

I had not thought of her for  many years, but  talking to  some of my friends  from those days, we all remember Miss Betty.  I however have the only photo. I don't know why we had a police woman because it was a lovely 'hood and you can see from her uniform she was nicely dressed and not set  to pursue or do much but direct traffic. 

As always, click on the title to get to the Sepia home page and find others who share their photos and or collections in this international community.  This now becomes a Story Tellers Tale for Week 5 as well.  Click here to get to the Story tellers site.

So I have won a chicken!

Today's the day of reckoning, this afternoon when  I go to our farmer's market to get my winning prize.  Evidently last week, when it was steamy hot and I was enjoying a cold bottle of water with a piece of delicious carrot cake in celebration of the first anniversary of our market, I filled out a ticket for the drawing for prizes donated by  the vendors.  Martha called me late Saturday to tell me that I was the lucky winner of a chicken, donated by a vendor who sells meat and poultry, and that I could pick it up today.  I really hope it is frozen or packaged in some way, not alive in its cage with feathers and all.

That call left me thinking it might just be my lucky day or month,and maybe the corner of life was turning.  I seldom have had anything good happen in August; my first marriage, the biggest mistake of my life when I was too young and thought I knew something was in August; my Mom died in August; the inlaws always invaded, and over stayed their welcome spending  their summer vacation at our home in August;  Jerry's mother always creates havoc in August like  two years ago during a family visit when she turned loudly ranting at me witnessed by my  DIL and grand daughter, resulting in my avoiding her for the remainder of the year.  I could list other August negative experiences, but you get the idea, I want to see the month pass quickly even though it means the end of summer.  Following my momentary musement that maybe August won't be all that bad, Jerry's mother was on the  phone with another nasty blast which brought me to the reality that, "it's August!"

Chickens and me have a less than cordial relationship; maybe I was a fox in a previous life, but as long as I can remember anytime I have been near a live  chicken it has not been a good experience. The first negative encounter I recall was at my  Grandma Anna Ball's chicken coop in Harwick, PA when I was maybe five or six years old.  I went to the coop to get eggs or maybe just to satisfy my non-stop curiosity and the next thing I remember there was Anna shooing the chickens away from me as they clucked and carried on and she responded loudly gathering eggs from their nests into her skirt/apron and telling me to leave the coop!   I never went near it again during any of my infrequent visits to her, I considered the coop off limits.

Steve with his first chicken 1976

Flash forward to 1976 when we were living in Newcastle, CA on acreage where Steve and Jerry decided we would have chickens and enjoy fresh eggs.  Actually someone had given Steve a chick for Easter when we were still moving from Fair Oaks and we brought it up to Newcastle from Fair Oaks, before our move, Steve wanted to keep it for a pet and then decided raising chickens would be better. This photo shows him at 12 years old with that dumb chicken on his shoulder, he thought his was funny and I fretted.   To say I had reservations about this effort is an understatement below ground, but Steve assured me it would be his project, "Mom we will eat the eggs" and Jerry thought it an ok idea too, taking him back to his childhood days on the farm.  We started out with several dozen chicks many of which didn't survive, as daily the count went down; something was invading the chicken coop at night and making off with the chicks; Jerry and Steve decided it was a weasel and so they carefully fixed the wire around the coop and solved the problem of diminishing chickens.  I admit the eggs were good, but they harvested the eggs and as the coop was down the hill from our house, I had no need to go there.

We always had dogs and one morning we were awakened to the squawking clucking protests of chickens flying outside  our bedroom window as Hermit, our first Great Dane went to round up some that had flown from the coop up through the tree that grew in the midst of the chicken yard.  Hermit was just being dutiful the way he saw it, protecting his chickens and bringing them up to the house to let us know they were safe.  What a sound, followed by Jerry getting up and yelling at the dog through the  window, "dammit (*&^) Hermit, let that chicken go!"  Hermit would catch them in his mouth, drool all over them, and toss them up into the air in the front yard,  where our bedroom window faced.  The chickens flew and squawked and when they hit the ground, Hermit was right after them.     I don't recall the details but Jerry and Steve went out and herded the escapees back into the coop.

The chicken population dwindled till we had only a few including one proud rooster who immediately disliked me and flapped his wings in protest whenever I ventured past the coop.  No kidding that rooster would almost hiss and lose it when he saw me.  Steve really thought that was funny and would ask me to walk down by the rooster to show his friends how the rooster wanted to get Mom, a request to which I was not very obliging!

My ultimate chicken encounter happened one summer Saturday afternoon in Newcastle  and still makes Jerry laugh when the event is discussed.  I was home alone, Jerry was off with friends helping the local veterinarian move & I don't know where Steve was.  I was in the front yard puttering when alongside a rosebush, came that big rooster that had escaped the  coop. One look at me and it began to almost crow.  I ignored it and went about my business, thinking where is the local hawk when I need it.  But here came another chicken.  So I decided that I had better herd the flock back to their coop and I had no idea how to do this when I got the idea of getting the hoe, ala old MacDonald on his farm. In the garage where the hoe was hanging I eyed one of my laundry baskets and decided that I could use it to capture the escapees, throwing it over them and keeping them moving though staying a hoe handle length away and that way they would be herded back to the coop.  Quit laughing, you know I was/am a city girl! 

Needless to say this was an idea that did not work; I would toss the basket and the birds would scatter.  Once the rooster even jumped  atop the  basket which I'd tossed as though I had offered him a perch.  He eyed me and I cautiously approached with the hoe.  I don't know where the dogs were during this escapade, but I suppose that was a benefit as at least I did not have to defend the birds from the canines.  This exercise lasted about 20 minutes when I gave up because I never  captured even one of the escapees; I sat down, red faced and sweaty in the shade of the  bank on the lawn telling the rooster who did stay away from this wild woman and her basket that I didn't care where he went.  About this time Jerry returned home with one of the neighbors, both of whom thought it an odd sight to see me with a hoe and the clothes basket, sitting in the grass.  When Jerry heard my strategy, he bust out laughing, to which the rooster appeared and put in his two cents worth!  Jerry absolutely doubled over holding his sides, laughing so hard that he could not stand it and asking, Patricia, what in the world did you think!" Our neighbor, Bob was not much better,  laughing so hard that he had to take off his glasses!  I found this not at all comical, announced to both what they could do with these chickens  and retreated to the house and a cold drink.  Jerry was  still laughing when I shortly saw him walking along, toward the coop  with rooster and chicken following.  He'd gotten chicken feed and sprinkled it along, which attracted them and then he opened the gate and in they went.  Pat's encounter provided a humorous tale for a long time around the hillside.  I can still feel the frustration although this happened in about 1979!  Eventually we went out of the chicken business and bought our fresh eggs from Doc Santini locally.

As I have said, I am/was a city girl and though I enjoy gardening, I miss not a thing about  poultry agriculture.  I do enjoy eating chicken though!  So hopefully my winnings are ready to be cooked.

Moustache Mugs

Over the past weeks on Sepia posts,  there's been comment on moustaches in men's photos and the current interest in sporting  a moustache.  I mentioned that in our hutch are two fine china mugs, inherited from the Irwin family that are Moustache mugs.  These were used to serve men only, I presume, and had  a protective lip to protect  keep the moustache, preventing it from getting  wet with tea or coffee.  

 I have been interested in these but have done no research until now.  I have never spotted any at estate sales or auctions, making them all the more curious to me.  We don't  know anyone who has been to  our home for dinner with moustache, so have never used these.  Actually when friend Tom visited last year, I did not think about them or would have gotten them out for his use as he does have a moustache.  Sorry Tom, next time.   

 I believe they are mugs, different for their era because no saucers came with them and they are much larger than the  normal china cups with saucers. I remember my Uncle John Irwin would use them from time to time and said they came from his grandfather, the wealthy J.R. Irwin. 

Moustache mug

Moustache mug

Lip of the moustache mug

There is little information on the 'net about these, instead many that are shown and sold as collectibles  are shaving mugs, a heavier porcelain type.  But I did find the following,

"The moustache cup is a drinking cup with a semi-circular ledge inside. The ledge has a semi-circular opening to allow the passage of liquids and serves as a guard to keep moustaches dry. It is generally acknowledged to have been invented by British potter Harvey Adams (born 1835), but the invention did not occur till the 1860s.



During the recording of The Beatles' album, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, John Lennon drank his tea from a moustache cup."

At least that tells these could not be earlier than 1860's.  JR was the millionaire of the Irwin family, when a million was unimaginable to most people, including my direct ancestors of miners.  He made his fortune hauling iron ore on the Great Lakes  and working at construction and design of the Railroads.  He was a contemporary of Carnegie and acquainted with President McKinley who visited the Irwins;  after McKinley was assassinated, Mr. Irwin purchased one of his carriages.  My uncle told  of being a small boy at his grandfather's home and seeing the magnificent  carriage drawn by  shiny black horses  decked out in silver.  But I am drifting away from these mugs.  

If anyone knows more about these, please let me know.  Perhaps there will be a resurrection of interest with men sporting moustache's.  Now I doubt that, now a days, there is not the interest in fine china, more apt to grab those stainless steel or plastic long tall mugs, covered from the local coffee shop on the way to be consumed in the traffic in the car!  A far cry from sitting with fine china mugs!

My Unknown Bathing Beauties for Sepia Saturday Week 35 (Click Here)

Our heat wave has ended and I have spent many days at the pool, water aerobics and  swimming laps, always  having been  attracted to the water to cool off.  Others have shared great marvelous photos of the bathing beauties from times past.  I did not think I had any, so proceeded on my way with my other anecdotes.  This week while making some progress through sorting photos, I got to another box from my Grandma Rose and  found two tattered photos marked only by year, without any names to identify the people.    I do not  think they are my grandmother nor her sisters but likely cousins within that extended  Ostrowski clan.  My grandmother  was never a swimmer nor a water person and could not understand my absolute fascination with water, swimming and all such things. 

I recalled my grandmother talking about a ferry boat that used to transport them across the river  between our town of New Kensington and Tarentum on the other side before bridges.  This beach was on the New Kensington side. 

1920 Renouf Beach Allegheny River  New Kensington

The two children in the 1920 photo might be girls too with the get ups on their heads, I suppose it was to protect the hair. To their left there is  someone in the water and there is quite a crowd in the 1920 photo, maybe it was during a big holiday event or weekend. It looks like they are leaning on some type of floating raft.

To me  it appears that there are different folks in each photo.  In the  1917 photo, below  the people are close to the shore, it appears, but look at those dresses; I doubt they would have ventured very far into the water, surely that would hav weighted them down.. . The woman to the right appears to even be wearing some type of stockingn if that is a woman, I think they both are with children.

1917 Allegheny River Renoul Beach

When I was growing up in the 50's and  60's we would not have dreamed of entering the Allegheny river as the industries and mills had polluted the waters and the towns dumped sewage in there as well.  Today there is a total change with the lack of industry and there is even a marina in New Kensington.  Boats abound on the river, quite a different sight.  Someone even told me that they get mussels to eat form the Allegheny, so there has been  an entire about face of cleaning up. 

The only other river picture I have handy is this one of my mother, Helen,  taken in 1942, posed in the wind.  She never was a swimmer so I don't expect this was a bathing photo, more  like just walking along the river .  This is one of my favorites of her.

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Bambi's relatives = Devastation

I am still pouting and plotting revenge on the 4 legged  marauders who ravaged my rose garden last night.  Bambi's relatives have struck again. I know Bambi didn't do it because the tracks are too big, so I think this is the work of Bambi's relatives, the dad or brother as men have such little respect for finery and  there have  been multiple sightings  in our 'hood of a large buck!  One afternoon I was backing out of our driveway and noticed a big buck across the street standing in the neighbor's pines.  I stopped and waited not wanting to encounter it in my car just in case he decided to come across the street.  He did not.  Likely he was eyeing the rose garden guaging just when he might come for a treat. 

Bush trimmed

 I have been anticipating the blooms of 3 buds about 3 inches each on the Melody Parfumee rosebush. This is quite a big deal for this time of the year and for this area when we have had a hotter summer than normal.  Besides the MN  rose blooms just don't match CA size but I thought that this triplet just might.  I will never know now.   Such a devastating sight, 3 buds gone, trimmed before they ever had a chance to bloom, cut down before their prime. Maybe there is a poem somewhere in these words but the words I had this morning were not poetic.

Overnight, the marauders came and nipped all  the buds, chomping them like candy and further adding insult to injury by leaving their calling card, piles of skat in the lawn where I have  walked barefooted!  Fortunately this morning I had on flip flops and was not indulging my tootsies in the  morning lawn dew.  If you haven't seen it, here is just one deposit, I mean how rude,  they could at least have left this as fertilizer in the rose garden, don't you think?  Dine and dump has to be their motto.  When Jerry and his friends  deer hunted in the mountains on horseback in CA, I would stay at home and hope they didn't bag any.  When I was a little girl, and my uncle and others shot deer I would think it so mean and had to be reassured that it was not Bambi nor Rudolph.   So I have been a deer advocate but with the experiences here in MN, I have changed my attitude. 

In all our years in Newcastle, CA where we grew over 400 roses on 7+ acres, in the country we had no deer problem. But here in MN we live in the city limits no less and have wildlife issues! Deer are the bane of the existence of my rose gardens.

Chomped to the middle

 

I  did buy some a spray, Tree Guard developed at the University of Iowa  that local farmers use and that does seem to  turn them away, but I used the last of it around the bottoms of the bushes because we have been over run by  bunnies this year and the bunnies  chomped on all the bottom leaves.     This is our  2nd year  without the foxes in the hillside, they went to Florida during a harsh winter and never returned.  We enjoyed the fox and we had no problem with rabbit population but they have left us to battle the bunnies alone.    

 Meantime, I  did find a way to extend my  decor with wine bottles into the rose garden, shielding the bottoms from the bunnies.  It seemed to work, but nothing stops the deer who seem not to look down but prefer the eye  level tall buds and blooms.  

Wine bottle Bunny repellent

Melody is not the only rose bush they have enjoyed, Kiss Me along the drive was devastated a week ago, nipped in the bud too.  I will now wait for several more weeks for this bloom. 

Kiss Me in recovery

So with this start to my day followed by a good work out at Curves, I went  on about my errands in the heat and decided to seek solace in the Aldi's European dark chocolate bar.  While there I discovered a new cookie line they have added, Benton's which includes various flavors but one of which is  chocolate mint, which reminded me of my all time favorite Girl Scout cookie, thin mints.  I have never yet found an Aldi's product that I did not like, so I added both these to my cart and brought them home.  One more errand involved a trip to Woodman's to replenish my wine racks and browse their massive alcohol offerings.  A new mojito mix looked inviting so it  made it's way home  with me.  Colonel Wally, my laptop and kitchen TV bear welcomed the set up for my own little afternoon party. 

Wally welcomes the party

A trip to the local farmers' market, would take up the rest of my afternoon but  I did have  time for some refreshment, a  tall mojito and a few mint cookies.  Ummmm, delicious, my mood is now better.   

Afternoon break time

Tomorrow I will post my trip to the farmer's market, because my blog writer is acting up and I am beginning to get annoyed with the spastics of trying to post and add the photos.  Besides, it is evening and time for a nibble of the Aldi's chocolate bar!  G'night.

My Aunt Fran continued Week 34 Sepia Saturday (Click here to see other posts)

I continue with my Aunt Fran Amerine, her married name from last week.  Most of the older photos I found of her  I sent on to my cousin, Paula, her daughter in CA; we are in touch and often comment on how we are the last of the old family.  Here is the last one I have  of Francie from earlier days,  1947 and I do not know where this was taken but this is prior to her marriage and she is still Frances Konesky (Americanized version of Kochanowski.)  I have sent all the other photos off to Paula, her daughter so that the grandson and  grand daughter can enjoy them.  I hope they do.  Wherever this photo was taken,  there was snow and by this time she was wearing eyeglasses.  Last week I mentioned how she changed her age to suit whatever was facing her. 

She married a younger man, Paul Amerine who was a career Air Force chief master sergeant, the highest rank without becoming an officer, Strategic Air Command and that accounted for their living in different parts of the country and world.  He was very handsome and very likeable. I may have mentioned that Francie could be haughty and a bit snobbish.  That did not go over at all with her  father, Teofil, who once told Paul, her husband to come visit as much as he wanted but  to leave his wife at home!  Now that is a walk on the wild side for a Polish father to say about his daughter, but it gives you a taste of how beloved Uncle Paul was and how Aunt Fran could be different.   Uncle Paul was really a prince of a man and I never heard anyone in the family ever say a negative word about him, except for his wife, my Aunt Fran.  Seems she could pick at anything. He died young in about 1968, tragically suddenly of a massive heart attack.

Easter  Paulie Fran and Paula Jean

 I suppose negativity  was a family trait among her and her sisters but  for a long time I  thought it was just my mother.  However, her daughter, my cousin,  Paula, and I have talked a lot about our family experiences because I know more about  our grandparents than she does.  I learned that Paula had some similar experiences with Fran, her mother, as I did with mine, Helen so, who  knows??  I don't know how genetic that would have been because my grandma Rose was the sweetest woman who ever lived, so her daughters did not get that from her!

 Paul and my Aunt Fran married, I am guessing appx. 1949-50 and they had  two children, a daughter and a son.   The photo to the right shows Fran  with her son, Paulie and daughter, Paula Jean in 1956 for an Easter pose.  I am not sure if this was in Atwater, CA or Nebraska. She always called her son, Paulie Wallie Doodle.  I don't  think he enjoyed that as he got older!    

1957

I said last week, Aunt Fran visited home in PA often and the following photo 1957 shows her in PA with her mom, (Grandma Rose), Paulie, Paula Jean, Aunt Fran and Aunt Marge (Uncle Carl's wife and yours truly squatted in front, as I was the big girl when the little cousins came to visit.
 Oh I remember this visit because Aunt Fran wanted to buy me a new pair of shoes to start the school year. Maybe it was because growing up  she never was sure to have new  anythings for school, but everyone, my Grandma, my aunt Jinx, my Mom told her that I would certainly have a new pair of shoes to start school, but for some reason she was set to do that. This was in August I believe and so one afternoon she and I went downtown to the shoe stores. My Grandma Rose had warned her, "Francie, Patty has her own ideas and when she makes up her mind that's it.  You told her when she was as a baby to have Big Ideas and she does." (Remember last weeks' picture of her holding me as a baby.)    Francie was soon to learn that I already was extremely opinionated about what I would and would not wear! We had 3 shoe stores in our town then and I had determined that the shoe I would have was a fancy flat while Aunt Fran had some oxford in mind. Grandma Rose tried to warn her," Francie, maybe you better not take her because Patty is used to getting what she wants now, so don't argue with her."  Francie  thought to herself, "sure, how much trouble can a  12 year old be? " Well she  soon learned.  When she tried to explain to me that the oxford would be good for school, I was not having it!  I turned up my nose and promptly  put my own shoes back on explaining that I already knew  the shoe I wanted and it was in the store across the street!  I don't know what else I might have said nor what faces I might have made, but we went across the street where I pointed out my desired shoe, which engaged her to explain to me that it was not the right school shoe.  I  said something like, I didn't care, it was my feet and it would be that shoe or none, that she did not have to buy these because I could wait, since school was not starting and my Grandma would see that I had what I wanted!   I think Aunt Fran was really astonished.  She did buy me the flat I wanted, but I remember Fran telling my Mom later, "She embarrasses you, the poor saleslady didn't know what to think.  Here's this girl with her big opinions."  My Mom only shrugged her shoulders and said, "Francie, we tried to tell you.  She is used to having things her way, Mom and Jinx always see to that."   After they returned to CA or Nebraska or wherever they were living, that  fall, Aunt Francie sent a package of slippers for me on my birthday.  I  thought they were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, flats with a gold crocheted  thread of sorts that stretched.  I suppose she meant it to tease me, but I loved them and wore them for as long as I could.  I learned to sing a Gospel Spiritual song "OH Dem Golden Slippers" from Daisy, a black lady who was a friend of my Grandma, and when I put on my slippers I danced around and sang that!  She always remembered sending me those slippers and we laughed for a long time about those!

Here she is with her family when they  lived in Spain about 1965; Uncle Paul, Paulie, Paula Jean and Fran.

I may have mentioned that she was my inspiration for wanting to go to CA which I did and where we lived for 40+ years.  When we lived in Fair Oaks, another of my dreams was to have  a swimming pool, which we had.  We had  many gatherings and  in 1973  when Aunt Fran came to our home to meet up with her Aunt Francie (my great Aunt Francie Mroz) for whom she was named. All the Mroz's came to stay  for a long weekend with us and it was a great reunion.

 Uncle  Paul was long gone, but Aunt Fran carried on quite well as a widow.  She always said that there was no substitute for having good friends.  She knew that because she never had family living close to her and neither did I.   Her independent streak rubbed off on me and has helped me  through many life events.  However in her later years she suffered many health problems, surprisingly.  She always took the best care of herself, as I  shared last week, but ended up with heart conditions and diabetes!

1980 Paula Jean with her mother Fran

When my Mom and aunt Virginia  (Jinx) visited me in CA in 1996 for their last trip, we went to see Francie who was living in Vacaville.  We knew then that things were not right; she gave us the wrong directions to the home where she had moved and the wrong address.  I had to go to a pay phone and call ,  to get the correct address (this was before cell phones).  But here is one of the last photos of the three sisters in CA 1996.  Right after this Fran would suffer another heart attack, be hospitalized and moved into assisted living.  The  good thing was it was close to where  we lived and I could go to visit her.  At the end with dementia she  thought I was her girlfriend Mary Jo from her WAC years,.  Right to left, my Mom, Helen, Fran, Aunt Jinx.

1996 last visit of the three sisters 

This may be one of the last photos taken of Fran with her grand daughter, Caitlin, Paula's daughter. Fran died at age 83 in 1999. As I visited with my cousins, Paula & her brother Paul who is the spitting image of his father, Paul,  I laughed that they were unsure of their mother's age; the adventuresome Kochanowski girl who changed her name to suit her circumstances, getting older to join the WACs in 1942, getting younger to marry a man younger than herself and all around keeping her age a mystery was one of a kind.

This has been a Sepia Saturday post, click on the title to link to others in our international community to see their photos and read their stories.