In Place of What Used to be 'Tickle Me Tuesday'

I submit:

Tuesday Terrors

 Or maybe I'll just go tackle the laundry instead. 😱

Simple Woman Monday, Last Monday in August

For Today

Looking out my window... It's a relatively cool, partly cloudy day, with a chance of scattered thunderstorms later on. In other words, a day of promise! (Does that make me weird that I love changeable and interesting weather? Is everyone like that?)

I am thinking... as I'm still looking out the window, how much I love the play of light and shadow on the hills and trees beyond the cornfield over there. It's going to be a really fun year, watching the panorama change from the RV windows (where we can really see it all now), from the green of summer to the colors of autumn, to the snows of winter -- and back around again!

I am thankful... for Minnesota church friends who raise grass-fed beef. And a rump roast already in the pot this morning...

I am creating...  Not so much creating as figuring out how to hang what kind of curtains -- for both their thermal efficiency and attractiveness -- in the RV windows before the weather changes. I'm thinking a combination of thermal drapes and either thermal roller blinds or Roman blinds... Hoping I don't end up having to sew anything. (I'm a rotten seamstress. 😬)

I am wearing... my comfy ankle-length brown skirt with a pink tee-shirt that has a picture of a perky, brown and white giraffe on the front -- and a shawl around my shoulders because it's too hot without any a/c on, but chilly where I am sitting, right under a vent.

I am reading... a short story collection of Graham Greene's works called "The Last Word."  Recommended, the short story of the same name -- pertinent to Catholics of apocalyptical sensibilities, if you're in the mood for something apocalyptical. 😉Makes you wonder what Graham Greene's thoughts were regarding the Church. He was born in 1904, converted in 1926, and died in 1991 -- so he saw a lot of history play out -- and had to have had opinions -- that I believe this story hints at.

I am hoping... to get rid of this back-ache without having to go to the chiropractor... 

Yup.

One more picture thought for the day...

Found this rack at Goodwill the other day! One of those things I'd have love to have had when I was still home schooling -- but works very nicely for keeping books handy for the grandbabies! And it's the perfect place to display a selection of my vintage magazine collection. (See the Home Companion and Victorias in there?)

The Sangreal: Sangfroid

NB: Check out this beautiful encyclopedic dictionary that now has a place of honor in our tiny house!

Found the other day at the Missouri Valley Antique Mall -- while doing due diligence, supporting our local businesses! Highly recommended afternoon outing, especially if your favorite things are old things!

Five Minute Friday

A blogger's prompt! Back in the day, many bloggers provided link-back interactives with prompts of one kind or another. They were thee thing. Not only did they function like little pylons directing reader traffic toward our blogs, but they made friendships amongst fellow-bloggers -- and they were lots of fun! Sadly, very few still exist that I remember from the heyday of hobby blogging (roughly 2005-2015 when Facebook and other instant social media platforms took over). I still do Simple Woman Monday, but I don't use the link to the original site (though I think I could...? Maybe I should?), and I love to do Sepia Saturdays when I have time to do the research and put time into those. But I miss having the variety -- and, after thirteen years of blogging (with recent hiatuses), I was hoping to find something to wake me up shake things up around here, and went on a little key-word hunt.

This is what I found: Five Minute Friday. It's a Christian writer's resource that provides a prompt and link-up. I love that it's Christian: so, little worry about inappropriate links; though many denominations will likely be represented, we learn to live alongside one another in the real world by picking and choosing the depth of our involvements with one another, and I've found this to be likewise true in the blogosphere. If someone has a problem with the fact that I am Catholic, they can just scroll right on past; and if I have a similar problem, I do the same. But, I love the idea that these are 5-minute timed stream of consciousness exercises. I haven't done that sort of thing since college -- at least not officially... on purpose... 😉 My life is actually a bit of a stream-of-consciousness, in which I am constantly going back and editing-- or trying to. But, the rules of the prompt restrict participants to only editing typos and no research is allowed, just brain storming, and we have to stop at five minutes -- so this is an exercise that will not be a time drain. Only a brain drain. And not much of that! 

So, here we are; today, Friday, the 27th of August, 2021 and my first (midlife) attempt at stream of consciousness writing (look out, y'all). The prompt word this week is: desperate. Ready, set, go!

The first thing I'm inclined to do, given a word to study is figure out its etymology -- which is pretty easy for the word desperate. The root word is despair. So I guess if one is desperate, one inclines toward being motivated toward some end because of feelings of despair. This is something I hope I wouldn't ever do -- in reality. Certainly we use the word flippantly. We say things like "I despair of of these boys ever actually hitting the clothes hamper with their dirty socks," for instance. Or "I'm desperate for new seat covers for my car" (which, incidentally, I am. If anyone knows of good seat covers that actually stay PUT on the seats, please tell me!) I think I have felt somewhat desperate in a mild way, out of fear for loved ones that seem to be heading in bad directions -- I felt a bit desperate, I think, when my husband couldn't get a job in our town -- when we lived on the western slope of Colorado -- and he had to commute all the way to Las Vegas to keep a roof over our heads at all... But, I can't say that the word "desperate" -- broken down to mean real "despair" -- was the real emotion. I'm so very grateful for our Faith - that I think it really does prevent true despair. With a true belief in the Kingship of Christ and His hands-on presence in our lives -- His true care for us, like the lilies of the field or the lowliest sparrow -- (but more so) how can we really think anything will go truly truly south for us? It's all in knowing our part of the bargain in Christianity -- and staying in the state of grace, praying for God's will and just soldiering on -- doing our best -- and God will catch us. He always has. When we lost our baby, Matthew, He was there. No despair. When four of our ten babies started out life in the NICU, He was there. No despair. When we needed a job to sustain the whole kit and kaboodle of us after Dan lost his job in the 2008 kaffoffle with the Public Schools, He was there. No despair. When Paul was deployed to Afghanistan, He was there. No despair. When our last four youngins suddenly flew the coop -- so to speak -- and our bustling busy homeschooling life came to an abrupt stop and I was left with hours and hours -- and the covid stupidity breathing down our necks, He was -- and is there. No despair. No need to be desperate. Just work. And pray. And trust. 

* OK -- like a half minute over.... But there's my stream of consciousness on the word "Desperate." I've got this desperate need now to go back and edit and fix and flip things around and delete other things -- but that's against the rules, so... have mercy. 😉

Run over to Five Minute Friday if you're curious to read more, or if you'd like to join in!

A Couple Pertinent C***d Links

 If you have had the vax and are now starting to see the information (they've tried to hide from

the general public) about its deleterious side-effects -- or if you've been exposed to the shedding of someone who has been recently vaxxed, there is a treatment that can inhibit the spike proteins from damaging your cells. As close as your own back yard, if you know how to make tinctures -- or from this very trusted source -- dandelion extract should be in everyone's medicine chest these days. It's not the best time of year to make your own tincture, but you can still have a go at it. Find instructions here. And you can always just add dandelion leaves to your salads (if you live in a relatively pesticide-free environment).

If you haven't heard about ivermectin, look here. And here. Where and how to get it information here. Make sure you have some in your cabinet! This medicine has been proven to prevent and treat the China virus.

Most importantly, though -- and I know I'm preaching to the choir here -- but it bears mentioning, I always think: the best "cure"  is prevention -- for the body and for the soul. To avoid infections of all kinds: eat well, avoiding sugar, empty carbs and chemicals; get plenty of exercise and sunshine; avoid overuse of social media and news channels, as the stress can so easily overcome any true benefit of feeling "informed"; be prudent about stocking up on needful things, but don't obsess about it; read uplifting books; listen more to beautiful music than you listen to anything else - outside the voices of your friends and loved ones; stay connected with your friends and loved ones; receive the sacraments often; start and end each day with prayer; recommend yourself to the Sacred and Immaculate Hearts, your Guardian Angel -- and St. Joseph -- and all will be well. I can pretty much guarantee it. As a favorite pastor used to say: It'll be alright in the end; if it's not alright, it's not the end.

 There ya go. For what it's worth, that's my Rx. My prayers go with it for the health and well-being in body, mind, and soul of all who pass by here! If you have any links or information that you have found helpful for these times in a practical way, please do share in the combox!

This is an ancient prayer, found in the 50th year of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, reportedly employed for the Battle of Lepanto, among other countless petitions through the centuries. It's known as The Unfailing Prayer to St. Joseph -- our Patron of the Universal Church, Patron of a Happy Death, and Patron of the End Times. It may be prayed as a novena.

O Saint Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong and so immediate before the throne of God, I entrust to you all my intentions and desires. (Name them.)

Help me, Saint Joseph, with your powerful intercession, to obtain all the spiritual blessings through the intercession of your adopted Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, so that, entrusting me here on earth with your heavenly power, you tribute my thanks and homage.

O Saint Joseph, I never tire of contemplating You with Jesus asleep in your arms. I dare not draw near as He rests with your heart. Embrace Him in my name, kiss His tender face for me and ask Him to give me back this kiss when I breathe my last breath.

Saint Joseph, patron of departed souls, pray for me! Amen.

Throwback Thursday

Two recent photos of two of our lovely daughters-in-law that could be throwbacks to another era. 

The most beautiful things -- like Catholic Motherhood -- are timeless.

A view from my window: Dominic's wife, Monica, with our granddaughter,
Margaret Mary, hanging out laundry a couple days ago, right here in the Iowa hills.

Kevin's wife, Ina, with our little Sophia Philomena.
Rosary walk in Tuscany this week (usually in Bavaria).

Wordless Wednesday

(Ella Anastasia -- and friend)

 

Where the Devils Hang Out

Oh, ouch, right?  😬 The kids and I were having a chat the other day about this very point though. It's so easy to lay blame elsewhere for my own stupidity.  I'd like to think some mistakes were inevitable and unavoidable. This darn world we live in!  I want to say "the devil made me do it"... But, really.  Really?

Generally speaking, Beelzebub doesn't need to waste the effort.

One of the saints (I can't remember which one) illustrates this in the tale of a heaven-sent vision.  It seems he was permitted an aerial view of the countryside --  an especially unique perspective for medieval days -- but, more amazing, perhaps, was that as he flew over the hills and valleys, he was allowed to see how the forces of hell dispersed their legions.  And he was surprised at what he found.

Over a Benedictine abbey tucked away in the hillside, demons swarmed like bees around an upset hive.  The air was alive with the sound and smell of them.  Our saint was happy to keep his distance and quickly flew on, anticipating that he'd see much worse at the large and worldly city over the hill, but curious to see how many more fiends would inhabit such an evil place. But, as he approached, he found no cloud of  demons buzzing over the city. No odor of sulfur.  In fact, he couldn't see even one devil. Not one.

He flew in for a closer look.  Maybe the devils were more subtle in cities, he thought.  But, hard as he looked, hovering over the streets and houses and marketplaces, he couldn't catch sight of a single small imp!  He looked in windows, dove down through alleyways and searched the busy thoroughfares, but in the end, all he found was one lone devil lounging at the city gate, picking his teeth.

Our saint, puzzled, asked God, "What the heck?" (Or words to that effect.)  The explanation was simple:

 Most people, led by their own fallen natures and the lures of the world, make their own trouble.  The devils don't need to tempt them; they sin all on their own. It's at the Religious houses -- the convents and abbeys and seminaries -- where the devils need to do the most work to get men and women to fall -- and where they can expect the best return for their labors.

And this explains not only why we need to get our own acts together, but why we need to pray for our Religious: our Sisters, our priests, and our seminarians. Pray hard. Without failing. Every day.

Our Religious are vital to our salvation! We need them to help us not be stupid. And when we are stupid, we need them (and their powerful prayers!) to help us get back straight with God. Pray for our priests and seminarians. Pray for vocations!

Here's a good one for seminarians (We have at least fifteen seminarians, training toward the priesthood under the bishop's supervision now, here in Iowa and in Colorado, both saecular and CMRI, and nine minor seminarians, altogether, in Idaho, including our own two boys.)

Daily Prayer for a Seminarian

Until his Ordination to the Priesthood

O Jesus, Eternal High Priest,

I offer You through Your Immaculate Mother Mary,

Your own Precious Blood, in all the Masses throughout the world, as petition for graces for all seminarians, Your future priests, especially for....

Give them humility, meekness, prudence, and a burning zeal for souls. Fill their hearts with the gifts of the Holy Ghost.

Teach them to know and love the church, that they may always and everywhere speak, act, and think with her, the glorious spouse of Christ.

Teach them generosity and detachment from wordly goods; but above all, teach them to know You and to love the One and Only Eternal Priest. good Shepherd of Souls, hear this my prayer for saintly priests.

Amen.

Simple Woman Monday, August 16th

 For Today

Looking out my window... The sun is rising on another beautiful day in the Iowa hills. And, hallelujah! It's beautifully cool so far this morning -- and not terribly humid. I was actually tempted to go out and weed the Mary garden while it's still bearable (because we know, don't we, that this oasis of morning coolness won't last?) --  but you'll be impressed to know I triumphed over the temptation to get my fingernails dirty and stayed in to blog instead. 😉

I am thinking... It's going to be a busy week, preparing for guests this weekend and packing up the boys flotsam and jetsam to send them back to school in Idaho on Saturday. I'm also getting up early tomorrow morning to take Gabriel to the oral surgeon to have his wisdom teeth pulled... I'm hoping we can squeeze some fun things in this week, too, before we lose Things #9 and#10 (Gabe and William).  At least we'll have to squeeze in one last trip to our local ice cream hangout. Gabe ought to be able to handle that after having his teeth pulled...

I am thankful... to get to see the threads of our family culture that find their way into the family cultures of our children's families, tying us together with invisible bonds of tradition and memory and expectations. And of all those legacies carried forward, my very favorite is seeing our grandchildren enjoying the celebration the feast days of family patrons. Melts my heart.

Over at Michelle's house last week (August 11th) celebrating the feast of
St. Philomena -- with Greek foods and good company. Love Ben and Shell's
gorgeous statue of St. Philomena 💓 and the beautiful shrine they prepared.
But I most especially love these three precious granddaughters (Claudia,
Ella, and Daria Philomena) -- and their brother Quinn -- and all their
cousins!).

One of my favorite things... The big walnut tree behind our house is always as eager as I am for the change of seasons. This morning I watched out the kitchen window at the big house as hundreds of little yellow leaves swirled down from the treetops onto the lawn. The remote signs of autumn for impatient Fall-watchers can be found in walnut trees! Next will be the sugar maple tree, then the cottonwoods...  

I am creating... a bit of a renovation of our RV. If you're familiar with the typical RV/Motorhome design, you know they have a tendency to look dated very quickly. Ours is circa 2009 -- and the swirly beige pattern on the couch and valances and wallpaper trim were, no doubt, all the thing at that time... But, well... 😬 Ugh. Sorry, 2009, it's gotta go. Besides the uncomfortable swirly-patterned couch (with a really terrible pull-out bed), the RV came furnished with a wrecked-up side chair and a small black 'tall table' with matching stools -- which were in pretty good shape, but they didn't function well for us. And the "waffle-weave" beige carpet, though it's pretty, uh, neutral... is worn, and we're not in position right now to replace it, so we've had to come up with other solutions -- economical solutions -- that require haunting outlet stores, thrift shops and antique malls. (Darn! 😜 Don't you know what a sacrifice that was!) 

What we found:  in place of the ugly old pull-out sofa, a black klick-klack couch (opens up for a comfy twin bed) on FB Marketplace ($100);  to replace the 'tall table,' a black, antique, solid wood table to use for a desk (MoValley Antique4s $37);  to go with the table/desk a rolly desk chair (thrift store $9.99) in place opf the one wrecked up chair, two mid-century, black and white slipper chairs in amazingly good condition (MoValley $75 for the pair); to go with the slipper chairs, a small, glass-top, lamp table (W-mart  $30); to make up for the lost storage drawer under the old ugly couch, a neat little cubby cabinet with rattan basket drawers (Hobby Lobby $109 -- a bit pricey, but worth it for the much-needed storage!); and three area rugs to cover the ugly beige carpeting (AtHome app $150 all together). The stools from the old 'tall table' work perfectly repurposed as side tables next to the klick-klack couch -- with black bins, tucked under for a little extra storage. ==happy sigh== Satisfying to find stuff we liked at decent prices, especially now that the supply chain problems are making new furniture so expensi! So, anyway -- that's the creative fun from last week.

This week I'm planning to paint the little school chair and the desk I use as a coffee table (and, incidentally, where I almost always work) -- and possibly I'll take out the rest of the swirly-pattern valances (I already removed the bottom halves of them) and make new valances (probably black) and find or sew thermal curtains (probably a light gray tweed) for all the windows -- but I'm not sure yet... or I'll wait until after the boys are back in school to do that and our company has departed -- and just concentrate on weeding this week... Time will tell.

See there? That's the old school desk in front of the couch.
I'll leave the wood top, which matches the nice woodwork
of the RV -- something we really like -- and won't paint over!
But the base of the desk and the little matching chair to the
left of the desk (with a folded blanket on it), we'll paint black.

How it looks now. Those valances are not destined to survive.
But isn't the cubby cabinet in the foreground pretty neat?

I am wearing... my favorite old grey middy skirt, grey flipflops, teal blue polo shirt, red glasses on the top of my head.

I am reading... Gosh... Nothing right now! Not really, anyway. I've been dipping a little bit into the Georgette Heyer short stories, which are fun fluff, but I've been a little busy to really sink my teeth into anything. I have just started work on the next literature project for the Sisters, though, making a study guide for the book Snow Treasure (by Marie McSwigan). 

I am hoping... The thermometer stays below 90 degrees this week! And that Dan and Dominic can figure out how to fix the leak in the RV bathroom -- and the broken dryer over at the house without too much trouble... And before company comes! 

One more picture thought for the day...

I had to share -- because the pieces of this came together so nicely, and I'm so pleased with it; it makes me smile every time I look at it. 😊 I had seen the little statue of Our Lady of Lourdes (a.k.a., Our Lady, the Immaculate Conception, my Marian devotion under St. Louis de Montfort's Total Consecration) at an antiques store, but by-passed it, because it was rather small and I couldn't justify the expense, then later in my wanderings this past week, I ran across the beautiful, faux-antique, glass case at Hobby Lobby. I had earlier gotten a couple sprays of flowers for another project and already had some fairy lights in my crafts-stash. When I saw the glass case, all these things, as if drawn together by magnets, found each other in the cluttered craft closet of my brain. I could totally envision this finished project -- and so I laid my case before my dear husband -- who hasn't got the same visual imagination, but trusts mine -- and is very good at balancing the books (Deo gratias!) and he gave me the thumbs up! So now we have a unique little shrine in our RV home. My Dan. He's so good to me! But how could he refuse, right? I mean: it's the Blessed Mother! See, there's the mark of a truly good husband: a man who knows the value of being good to his wife and to the Blessed Mother in one fell swoop.

 

Captain in Charge of a Vital Army

 On the Feast of St. John Berchmans, Patron Saint of Altar Boys

One of those young men blessed from the beginning, it seems, with the disposition to become a Religious, John Berchmans was born in 1599 to the family of a shoemaker in Diest, Belgium. The oldest of five children, he learned service and sacrifice at a young age at the bedside of his chronically ill mother, caring for her and keeping her company with cheerful tenderness, while also helping tend to his siblings. His challenging home life was not his only school of character, though; Catholics of the Flemish low country were struggling through the confusion and discord of the ongoing Protestant revolt at this time, as well, but young John remained close to his faith and family, and with the prudence of a pious child with good Catholic counsel, sought his first job as a servant in the house of Canon John Froymont. Happily, this position was not only in a wonderfully edifying environment, but it also enabled him to continue his studies -- something unusual for boys of his age and social standing in the early 17th century.  

When John was sixteen years old, the Jesuits opened a college in the town of Mechelen, about sixty miles away - and John, with the blessing of the canon and his parents, became one of its first students. Strongly influenced by his Jesuit teachers, he quickly developed the aspiration to follow them into the Society of Jesus, but, as often seems to be the case in many saints' lives, his path to his vocation was not made easy. His parents, for some reason, and one of his closest advisors counseled him away from the Jesuits, and his father, most indisposed to the order, threatened to remove any financial backing if he persisted in his plan to join. But, of course, our saint followed the calling of Christ, and joined the Society of Jesus, receiving his first vows in 1618. Afterward, he studied philosophy in Antwerp, then traveled to Rome for two years of study at the Roman college. He had begun his third year of philosophy studies in 1621 when he was pleased to participate in a philosophical roundtable at the Greek College there at the university. It was later noted how well and impressively he comported himself, entering into the discussions with clarity and wisdom, but no sooner had he left the Greek College than he was seized with a fever, dying shortly thereafter, on August 13th, 1621, at only twenty-two years and five months of age.

Amazingly enough, the piety of this young man had already become widespread knowledge in Rome, and a crowd formed nera his rooms shortly after his death, with the faithful wishing to view his remains -- already as if they were holy relics -- and pray for his intercession. And he did intercede.  His miracles were boutiful. Unsurprisingly, the process for his canonization began almost immediately. The miracle that cinched his canonization occurred at the Academy of the Sacred Heart in Coteau, Louisiana, in 1866. A young novice, named Mary Wilson, ill to the point of death, and unable to consume food for 40 days prayed for the intercession of  St. John: "Being unable to speak," she later wrote, "I said in my heart: 'Lord, Thou Who seest how I suffer, if it be for your honor and glory and the salvation of my soul, I ask through the intercession of Blessed Berchmans, a little relief and health. Otherwise give me patience to the end." She went on to describe how St. John Berchmans  then appeared to her, the moment at which she was instantly healed. The precise documentation of this miracle entered into the cause for St. John filled the requirements for his entry into the canon of saints.

* Interestingly, in honor of this miracle, the academy in Louisiana named its boys' school (opened in 2006) after St. John Berchmans -- making it the only shrine in America where a shrine exists at the exact location of a confirmed miracle.

Fr. Philip (then Frater Philip c.2015) teaching
his two youngest brothers how to serve at the altar.

Like St. Therese of Lisieux, St. John Berchmans is known for being a "saint of the little way," attentive to striving for perfection in the small simple things. He is described as having been  charming and outgoing with a particular tender kindness that endeared him to all who met him.  He had one "grand hope" for his life: he wished, after his ordination, to become an army chaplain, in the hope that he might be martyred on the battlefield. Such a holy and manly desire, not just to die for God, but to die for God while assisting others in the faith! It was not to be, however. God chose to take St. John Berchmans to Himself before he could try for this possibility, before he could even be ordained. As always, God's plan was bigger and better: instead of an army chaplain, St. John was put in charge of the army of young men who would assist in all future generation at the great battle for souls: his soldiers are the altar boys who serve daily at Holy Mass. 

* Other Notes of Interest *

* St. John Berchmans was declared Blessed in 1865 and canonized in 1888. In his iconography, he is most often seen with his hands clasped, his crucifix, rosary and book of rule held near to his heart.

We are blessed to have been gifted with a 
relic of St. John Berchmans. A wondrous 
thing, as we have six altar boys in the family.

* Considering that he had a particular devotion to St. Aloysius Gonzaga, it is no accident, to be
sure, that St.  John Berchmans' chief relics are entombed in the left transept of San Ignazio Church in Rome, while St. Aloysius is entombed just across the aisle in the right transept (with St. Robert Bellarmine!). At the time of his death, however, his heart was returned to the church at Louvain, his home town in Belgium. It can be venerated to this day where it rests on a side altar in the church in a silver reliquary.

* You are not likely to find the Feast of St. John Berchmans on many calendars, as his feast day has never been entered into the official General Roman Calendar, but it was added into the Missae pro aliquibus locis (prior to John XXIII)of the Roman Missal as a provision for its being celebrated on either August 13th or November 26th. Since it marks the day of his entrance into heaven (dies natale), the day of St. John's death, August 13th, is most usually recognized as his feast day, but the Society of Jesus apparently observes the November date. (Not sure why or for how long this has been a practice.)

St. John Berchmans, pray for us! Bless and help all our altar servers to crave the nearness to Our Lord throughout their lives that they experience while assisting their priests at the altar. Amen.

Not to be Confused with "V For Vendetta"

Sepia Saturday: R for Renetta

Renetta Elizabeth
Looking the part.

My grandmother -- my Dad's Mom -- was a force to be reckoned with. One of three children born to second generation German immigrants in the second decade of the twentieth century, Renetta Elizabeth Metz never met a challenge she couldn't stare down with her big ole' cow-brown eyes. Precocious and headstrong, she made a difficult start for her life by running away with my grandfather to be married when she was only 15 years old -- not much older than she was in the picture on the right. (Can you imagine!) But she charged forward, anyway. Disowned (temporarily) by her parents for her poor decision, she and my grandfather, Arthur (commonly known as "Ott") moved in with his big Catholic family (he was one of 15, if I remember correctly) for a short time before striking out on their own. My Uncle Art was born shortly thereafter, then my Dad, Charles, in 1932. 

The little family struggled through the Great Depression, making it out on the other side with three children by the time World War II began. My grandfather, who was a plumber by trade, received a medical pass from the military (4F) and spent the war years in Baltimore Maryland, barely scraping by as he was a non-union worker. He believed that the unions were immoral -- a man ahead of his time, my grandfather, unafraid to take a stand and suffer the consequences, even if his wasn't the popular opinion. Ott cared for his family the best he could, but they were never well off and life was not easy.

My grandfather -- why Renetta
ran away from home. (He was
a handsome man...)

By the end of the war, my grandmother had lost one baby boy to meningitis (my Uncle Grover), and had brought their last child into the world, my Uncle Wayne, the last of the four boys still alive today.  

Weakened by a case of scarlet fever she'd had as a child, Renetta suffered from heart problems most of her adult life. In all, I believe she had seven heart attacks before the final one took her life when she was in her mid seventies. But, holy cow, was she a trooper! No shrinking violet, Renetta. To the end she was witty and outspoken, found fun in the simplest things, and expected a lot  from others because she expected a lot from herself. No matter how tough times were -- even after her husband died a decade before her own death -- she never missed paying a bill and never took welfare of any kind. She was a giver though. Often the one through the years that folks called to nurse their family members through their last days, she provided an informal kind of hospice care for those who could not afford hospice. In addition, our oldest uncle was handicapped, and she cared for him her whole life.

Renetta with her oldest three and
three cousins, plus one of the Pixies.
She's where our curly hair came from.
Lookit my Dad's! (That's him 
petting Pixie's ears.)

She was a faithful correspondent, my grandmother, Renetta. My never failing pen pal during my teenage years (my sister's, too) -- even when I was slow returning mail -- she always took a keen interest in my love life, which was a sore disappointment to her. (Alas, I'm sure she probably wanted to trade gossip with her sister, Ada, and her girlfriends at the hair salon.)  But, in point of fact, my grandmother took a keen interest in everyone -- and everyone's love life. My goodness, was she a gossip! And she could talk the hind leg off a mule -- but, we kids easily forgave her for talking about us to her cronies; she was one of those wonderful adults -- probably the only one in our young lives -- that actually talked to us kids; she listened, remembered what we'd said, and responded to us as equals. (Many may remember the days of "being seen and not heard" -- these were those days, my childhood.)

 But our grandmother, Renetta, was a rare adult friend to me and my siblings. She laughed with us.

Renetta with the three youngest babies at the time,
my sister, Linda, and our cousins, Bridget and Bonnie,
circa 1967 

Teased us. Played games with us. She loved Scrabble and Boggle, in particular -- and was accomplished at both. She was a "wordy" -- like her son, my Dad, and me. She read voraciously. An animal lover, too, my grandmother always had a small short-haired dog of a beagle variety -- and he/she was always named Pixie (though there were several of them all through her life). Another quirky thing, my grandmother raised budgies when we were little -- and taught them tricks. She made TV dates with Liberace and Jack Klugman in Quincy, MD. (She had crushes on both of those guys and never missed them when they were on TV. We still laugh at that!) She made us watch The Lawrence Welk show with her -- and she sang along with every song she knew -- even though she could not carry a tune in a bucket. Renetta was not a great cook, either, but she made a great meatloaf and always had the most wonderful deli cheeses and meats and unusual breads, like pumpernickel and rye, that we never got at home. We drank out of colorful aluminum cups at her house and ate ice cream out of tiny little bowls. And she made coffee that you could stand a spoon in, so dark roasted and rich you had to put a half cup of cream in it to make it a mahogany brown. At Christmas our grandmother had every possible shape of sugar cookie, from star to camel -- and those shiny hard candies that looked like looped up ribbon and cut your tongue if you bit into them wrong. (She always warned us about that.)

Our Grandmother on the porch steps.

Though she lived in a couple other houses before her death, our earliest childhood memories are of our grandmother and our grandfather's rowhouse. It was in the middle of Baltimore, Maryland, a couple blocks from the Pimlico Race Track, a busy bustling neighborhood, full of friends my grandparents had known for decades. No one every passed on the street who did not stop to greet our grandparents. Sometimes the passersby would sit on the stoop to chat or come right on up and park on the glider and my grandmother would bring out iced tea. We'd sit and listen, respectfully eavesdropping while we continued on with our game of jacks or Chinese jump rope or cards.  We learned to play War and Gin Rummy on that porch, my brothers and I, and how to make long long chains out of the rubber bands my grandfather threw down between the rowhouse porches when he got

My brothers, Greg and Steve, and me and my
little sis, Linda, rocking the pigtails -- on the
pavement just down from our grandparents' porch.

his paper every morning. (People used to do that: read papers every day -- and they trusted what they read. Imagine.) There was a firehouse a block or two from the rowhouse that provided never-ending
entertainment. Whenever they heard a siren, night or day, my grandmother and my Uncle Art would run out on the porch to see which way they were going and whether or not they could spot smoke on the horizon. We kids, of course, ran right out there with them -- day or night. Picture it -- three or four of us little kids, our middle-aged uncle, and our grandma in our pajamas out there before sun-up speculating on whose house was burning down and is that smoke or just a cloud?  But how I remember that porch. Painted battleship gray, it ran the length of the row house and was deep enough for a table and four chairs and a squeaky metal glider. We pretty much lived out on that porch when we visited, and in happy memory of those days, I have retro metal chairs on my porch now just like my grandparents'.  

My grandfather, great grandfather (the carpenter)
and a friend, with a chair my great grandpa built.

Indoors my grandparent's house was as eclectic as my grandmother. Her furniture mostly dated back to

the 1950s and '60s, except for a few pieces made by her own Dad who was a carpenter, and an Edwardian era buffet, dresser set, and bedstead. (I have one of her dressers!) Everything else was pretty much bright red and white, 1950s kitsch. Loud and corny and totally her. 

We had another dear grandmother, Mamie -- my Mom's Mom, -- who was sweet and quiet and calm and gentle, who talked very little, but who could cook like nobody's business. We loved her dearly. She was the image of a Norman Rockwell grandmother -- one that a "green" grandma of only a few years (moi)  might want to emulate. But, you know what? I can try, but it's not me. My sister and I were just saying how doggone it if we're not both more Renetta than Mamie. Or maybe more like shadows of Renetta. We've not been forged in the fire of hard times like Renetta, and while my sister might be just about as kitschy and colorful, I fall short. But we're the talkers, my sister and I, and unafraid to speak our minds when necessary. And we both like Scrabble -- and iced tea -- and when we hear sirens, I don't know about my sis, but I go running out to look. I would be exceedingly pleased to know I had left the same kinds of lasting memories for my grandchildren that Renetta did for us. 

Sepia Saturday spurred these reminiscences with their

  Letter R prompt this week. Though I enjoy catching up

with the other posts on Sepia Saturday and it's fun to

join their link-up over there where memories are shared,

I posted this chiefly so that these things won't be forgotten 

in our own family.

Of the seven of us grandchildren from Renetta's son, Charles'

family, only five are left, and many of these memories,

especially of the early days in Pimlico would only be 

recalled by me, as the younger siblings were either not

born or were too small to remember those days.

If you like these kinds of things, be sure to run over to Sepia Saturday to see 

what creative entries they'll get for the letter R. It's always lots of fun! 

 So much wonderful history over there, and I'm grateful as their other participants must be

 for the chance to set things down on the record for posterity!

Throwback Thursday

Just Remembering...

Five-year-old Anna --

Now Sr. Evangeline Marie.

Still and always our precious, crazy, little songbird.

 

I miss her face! But our angels are always right by our sides, and
Sister's angel sees God and my angel sees God, so Sr. E is pretty much
 right next to me right now. 😉 Even closer when we pray for one another
or when we both receive Holy Communion. Think of that! How close
we are to our loved ones when we are all in the state of grace! We
are all resting together in the palm of God's hand -- or better: in His
Sacred Heart. 💓

* The original Tweety Song.

* The Tweety Song in French!

Why Their Angels Get Overtime

In lieu of scaffolding or harnessing... Make do. 😬

Yikes.

                (Need I mention that they waited until neither Monica nor I were around to do this?)

 

Or... Well -- Sometimes they have a good reason, don't they?

The finished product looks fabulous -- and was very much needed!

God bless these hard working young men.

God be praised for their hard working Guardian Angels!

One Word Wednesday -- For our Newest One-Year-Old

SMASHCAKE!

Clara Bernadette, Dominic and Monica's 2nd little girl
(And plague-ridden Minnie Mouse. 😳)

 

Lit in My Garden

lit /'lit/  past tense/past participle of  the verb light 

lit /'lit/ regional slang; past tense of alight

lit /'lit/ urban slang, modern; adjective: excellent

lilt /'lit/ slang shortening of literature*

All apply. 

Grandchild #7, Dominic and Monica's first child, Margaret Mary -- finding Mommom and Dandad in the garden to show us the fairy dress she found. 

Having grandchildren on-sight: full of precious moments like this. Wish we could see them all every day!

* Cicely Mary Barker's Flower Fairies 💓