Goodbye, Mr. Spock

I don't think that most people who know me would believe that I am a die-hard fan of the original Star Trek.  Isn't it amazing that a show that only broadcast for three years would have such a profound influence on our culture 50 years later?

My favorite character was Leonard Nimoy as the unflappable Mr. Spock.  I think I appreciated him so much because he always had control over his emotions.  I'm not always so good at that.

The Vulcan salute of "Live Long and Prosper" was Leonard Nimoy's idea.  He first saw it as a little boy in an Orthodox Jewish setting, as he saw watched Rabbis raising their hands over the congregation in blessing using that familiar gesture.

He talks about this here:

Live Long and Prosper

White As Snow

So sorry to those of you who hate snow, but I love it!  Here's the tree outside my front door, all frosted and beautiful. You can hardly see the old Shea Terrace Elementary School behind all the fluff.

All this lovely whiteness reminds me of the comforting words God share's with us in Isaiah 1:18:

"Come now, let us settle the matter," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.

War and Peace

Yesterday started off with a jolt. 

I spend a lot of time in my take-home police vehicle, for which I am very thankful.  The radio squawks all day long.  I don’t typically need to use it, unless I am going to see someone I don’t know well.  I then check in with the dispatchers notifying them of my location, so someone looks for me in case I don’t check back out. 

Some of what you hear can be shocking. I frequently view this as an opportunity to pray.

Yesterday morning, the radio traffic was nothing less than life or death.  A pursuit started not too long after 8 a.m. with a driver who doing 76 in a 45 mph zone and would not pull over.  Soon he was clocked at 106 mph with several troopers trying to catch up.

He purposely rammed one trooper twice. The second time he rammed into the trooper, the driver lost control of his car, drove it into a tree.  The car looks as if split in half on impact.  The next thing I heard was a trooper saying that the car was engulfed in flames. The driver died, obviously.  I’m not stating anything that hasn’t been on the news.

VSP Chase

One minute I was praying for the safety of the troopers and the next, I was praying for the driver’s family.  What has gotten into people?  What on earth was so important that he drove 30 mph over the speed limit to begin with?  What could the driver have done which was so terrible that he couldn’t just pull over to deal with it?  Some warrants?  A stolen car?

Now his body will have to be identified with dental records.  I was shaken. I can’t imagine how was for the troopers who were there.

It started snowing at 2:30 and by 3:15, it wasn’t safe to drive.  We don’t use snow tires here in southeastern Virginia.  I drove home, did some paperwork and started dinner.  I tried a new recipe for Genovese pasta I saw in the NY Times magazine on Sunday.   It was fabulous.  http://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1017238-pasta-alla-genovese

We walked in the snow after dinner.  We bundled up with hats, scarves, gloves and boots and put Lulu into her little orange coat.

All the city sounds were mostly muffled, with most people wisely inside and not driving.  It was so quiet that we could hear individual snowflakes hitting the snow already on the ground.  Peace washed over me as I finally let go of the tension from the morning.

We headed down to the partially-frozen Scotts Creek.  It is the prettiest spot in any season, with all kinds of wildlife; foxes, green herons, egrets, and Cooper’s Hawks.  The Creek didn’t disappoint tonight.  My pinkies were getting numb as we stamped our feet up the porch stairs and went inside.

My world is all peace tonight and another family’s world has fallen apart, as they surely must know by now that someone made a terrible decision.  And I pray that the God of all comfort will sustain the troopers and the family members this driver left behind.

Tiny House

I am entranced with tiny houses.  Every time I see one, I wonder if it was a perfect little spot for an aging mother-in-law. Or was it a workshop of some sort?  Here in the south, before air conditioning, folks had what were called "summer kitchens" which they used in the warm months.  The heat was kept away from the main home, although  the cook must have roasted along with the chicken and cornbread!

This particular little place has a fireplace and it looks as though there's some furniture inside. Yesterday, we stopped at a little Mom-and-Pop Italian place in Smithfield, VA and then noodled around north on Route 10.  We so enjoy the back roads, off the beaten path, which are so much more interesting than anything you might see on the highway.

We were somewhere between Surry and Hopewell when we turned around to take this shot.  There's a 1950's ranch house to the left, which doesn't fit the age or the style of this tiny house.  We were speculating that the house might have once belonged to the empty lot on the right, to a house that disappeared a long time ago.

If I owned this charming little place, I'd paint the door bright red, put black shutters up,and hang some Goodwill lace curtains in the windows.   Then in the Spring, I'd put up two window boxes planted with red geraniums and trailing greenery, like ivy, perhaps.

We'll need a grapevine wreath, simple, just spray painted white with one silk geranium on the door. I'd put a big, vintage watering can to the left side of the door and a wooden chair with the bottom out of it to the right, fitted with an old red handled pail and planted with red, trailing petunias. I think a red or black vintage bike with no gears should be leaning up against the side.

It could be precious at Christmas with a fresh, evergreen wreath on the door and little white lights around the windows.  Two vintage wicker chairs are needed about April 1, pulled out to just where the snow is right now. A black cat should be snoozing in the sun nearby from time to time.

Wouldn't it be just swell?  It makes me think of a sentimental old adage that hung in my grandmother's breakfast nook, "Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man."

You know, I was just thinking that in My Father's House,there are many mansions.  I hope there are a few fixer uppers.  It may not be biblical, but I do so love expressing creativity this way.

McFarland, USA

We saw a wonderful movie yesterday:  McFarland, USA with Kevin Costner.  No foul language, no gratuitous sex or violence...just a straightforward, heartwarming story of a down-and-out coach who assembles a team of migrant workers and inspired them to become the top cross-country team in California.

At the same time, it is the story of how Coach White, in turn, was changed by his encounter with the team members, who work before and after school in California's fields, picking the food we eat.   He takes the grit and determination they use to survive every day and translates it into a hunger for success which allows each team member to do well, despite inferior uniforms, the pressures of having to work in the fields every day, and lack of funding to support their team.

It is also a lovely portrayal of the best of Hispanic culture, from the special birthday girls celebrate at age 15 (quinceanera), to the incredible work ethic these folks demonstrate, to their love for family and friends which is perhaps demonstrated more visibly than in many other cultures.

Finally, one scene depicts the runners getting on their knees to thank God after winning the big race. I can't remember the last time I saw that in a movie.

As I watched them picking cabbages, I couldn't help but think of my late sister-in-law, a migrant worker, who met Eric, my brother-in-law, when she was hoeing beets in Jim Shekal's fields close to his own family farm.

Margaret was stunning, as Bruce would say, she was a south-of-the-border Farrah Fawcett-Majors. Their daughter, Heather, is just as stunning and runs a business as a personal trainer. Margaret died, tragically, in a single car accident more than a dozen years ago.  Any stereotype you might have about migrant workers would be shattered if you had known Margaret, one of the most dignified women I ever met.

Go see this movie and support Hollywood when they produce righteous family films!  And the next time you make a salad, cook fresh spinach, or eat beets, please remember these extremely hardworking folks who picked that food, like my late sister-in-law and her family or the kids who ran for victory in McFarland, USA.

Muslims in Oslo Norway Protect Synagogue

 I haven't seen too much media coverage of a wonderful story from Oslo in Norway.

The Times of Israel reports that 30 Muslims plan to form a protective ring around a synagogue to show solidarity after the Copenhagen Islamo-facist attacks.

Muslims protect Jews at worship

They probably realize that ISIS and other Muslim extremist groups kill other Muslims in their terror attacks, as much as they kill Jews and Christians.

Isn't This Where Jane Eyre Lived with Mr. Rochester?

No, this is actually "Virginia House"in Richmond  owned by the Virginia Historical Society.  We love to explore off beaten paths and found this beauty after lunching in Richmond's Carytown section, the closest thing to New York's Greenwich Village that I can find in the area.

This building was purchased in England and shipped, in part, to Virginia to be re-assembled. Originally a priory which was dissolved when Henry VIII declared himself head of the Church of England.  Henry being, of course, the Christlike model of moral rectitude for which we all know him - NOT.  The priory was originally built in 1100.  Fancy that being here in the United States!
Virginia House

Financier J. P. Morgan did the same thing when he bought a medieval cloister and re-assembled it at the northern tip of New York City, establishing The Cloisters, part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  BTW I refer to him as "financier" because "noted rich guy" sounds common. The Cloisters is one of my favorite spots in the City.

The Cloisters

Kernels From the Cobb (County) - Occasional Quotes from my Sister

Anne, I'm totally listening to everything you are telling me, but I think Mom is burning down the house, so hold on, I need to check on something...

Marshmallow World

It's a marshmallow world in the winter,
When the snow comes to cover the ground,
It's the time for play, it's a whipped cream day,
I wait for it all year round.

The river is frozen out past the docks, very unusual.

While I know that everyone north of the Mason Dixon line is thoroughly sick of snow at this point, I am so happy to see it here in Virginia.  No work for either of us today and no school for this bunch.

The pleasant little canals in the park are frozen.

Today was the perfect day to try Starbucks brand new Tiramisu Latte. Just as the song says,after all, its IS a whipped cream day!

Gabby Giffords - This is What Courage Looks Like

Mark Twain once joked that the "reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."   Gabby can say the same thing.  When a madman opened fire on her Arizona constituent meeting, NBC News sadly reported her death.  

But, you see, they didn't know much about about the heart and spirit of this truly valiant woman. Look at this face, because it is the face of true courage under fire.

Gabby continues to face recovery from a traumatic brain injury four years after that terrible day with courage, style, and a sense of humor.  Here she is with a music therapist.  Researchers have discovered that when speech is affected due to a stroke or other causes, the part of the brain that can sing or remember lyrics remains unaffected. As the Bible says, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/gabby-giffords-sings-annie-houston-music-therapist-article-1.2117827

The sun will come out tomorrow, Gabby, bet your bottom dollar.  May God constantly bless you, Jewish daughter of the King, apple of His eye.  Thou  o Lord, are a shield about her, You're her glory and the Lifter of her head.  You go, girl!

Truth Being Stranger Than Fiction...

Everyone should have a friend like my friend, Rebecca.  She is a lot of fun.  Rebecca is also a Proverbs 31 woman whose faith I really look up to.  My own sister, Kerry, is such a blessing that I can’t even adequately express it.  Rebecca is just a bonus sister, that’s all. The really wonderful thing is that her husband, Mark, and Bruce are just as friendly with each other as she and I are.  That, in my experience, is a rarity.

My friend, Barb New, first inspired me to research my genealogy.  Rebecca further spurred me on and gave me a lot of good tips on how to research and record information.  Rebecca is from a Virginia-based family.  Her research has been extensive, with many trips to the mountains to research documents, graves, or homesteads.  My family is from the North.

Years ago, my grandmother, Helen, told me that “Mrs. Galvin” (her mother-in-law) came from “old Connecticut Yankee stock.”  However, all of the family that I knew details about were Irish Catholics on both my mother and father’s sides.  Being Irish Catholic, in addition to being a religious background, also speaks to my heritage and culture.  It has been how I thought about myself until very recently, although I do not worship as a Catholic.

I’ve been looking into that old, Connecticut Yankee family of Mrs. Galvin’s, born Ella Bella McCullough.  On an aside, she is not the only member of my family with a rhyming name.  My mother has a cousin named Sally O’Mally.  Seriously?

Great Grandma Ella’s “old Connecticut Yankee” family were the Brainards, also spelled Brainerd as you research further and further back.  I have traced them to my 10th great grandfather back in Braintree, Essex in England in the 1580’s.

My family, at least the Brainerd/Brainard  branch, were Puritans not Catholics. They came to the United States to worship Jesus as THEY saw fit.  They settled in an area called 30-mile Plantation in Haddam, Connecticut in the 1600’s.  A note about them in a genealogy book at the Connecticut Historical Society states, “This family was known for its talents, wit, and piety.”   A wonderful legacy which I hope I can emulate.

One of my forebears was David Brainerd who ministered to the Native Americans in New Je
rsey in the early 1700’s.  He was part of the “Great Awakening” revival of that era.  The notes of his Indian ministry indicate that he bought land for them when their own ancient property was threatened and established a school and an infirmary.  He was my seventh great grand uncle.

David died of tuberculosis when he was 29 in the Massachusetts home of Jonathan Edwards.  Mr. Edwards was the most famous of the Great Awakening preachers.  David was in love with Jonathan’s daughter, Jerusha, and her father was his mentor.  They would have been married, but for David’s terminal illness.

David left diaries of his struggles and triumphs in the Christian life which Mr. Edwards thought would be of benefit to other Christians.  He published them in a book (still in print) called, “The Life and Diary of David Brainerd.”

http://www.revival-library.org/catalogues/1725ff/edwardsbrainerd.html

And this brings me back to my dear Rebecca…who is the great some odd great niece of, wait for it, Jonathan Edwards.

Christmas Craft

About 7 years ago or so, my church renovated and the workers threw an old Sunday School bulletin board on the trash heap.  It must have weighed 40 pounds at least, being solid wood with no cork board in the middle.  Across the top is some lovely carved molding.

The bulletin board was pitted and scarred from hundreds of staples and push pins holding announcements of the Youth Shrove Tuesday pancake and sausage dinner, Christmas pageants during the Second World War, Easter Egg hunts in the garden, and Lenten soup lunches during the Depression.

I couldn't bear to leave it in the dumpster, so I pulled it out.  The venerable bulletin board then sat in my detached garage for 7 years.  Then I had an idea.

First, I painted it bright red:

I wanted to do some type of stenciling or lettering on it and came up with the shortest number of letters to convey Christmas:  Noel.  I though simply "Joy" was just a little TOO economical on letters.

While at Lowes shopping for something else, I came across this cool nylon rope which reminded me of candy canes:

I got the quilt on the table from Goodwill for $3.00.  I love it.

I wrote out "Noel" in chalk and Bruce used the rope to trace the letters.  He had the lighter for our gas grill and melted the ends of the nylon rope so they wouldn't fray.

The letters are attached by these little nails which have white "hoops" on them.  Bruce found them in a drawer and tells me that they are designed to run cabling to the the TV along the baseboards.  We had EXACTLY enough to finish the project.

Bruce attached very sturdy hooks to the top and hung the bulletin board out front:

I bought that skinny little tree from a garage sale.  I used it inside last year, but thought it would be fun to put it out in the old tin pail with another Goodwill quilt around it.  It is decorated with red lights and vintage cookie cutters.  The gingerbread man cutter is the the topper, instead of a star.

That's my front hall you see leading to the living room on the left, stairs to the right, dining room to the left, then the bathroom to the right, and the kitchen straight ahead, where you can see the back door.

It took me quite some time to find the right setting for the old bulletin board, but I am so happy that it turned out like this.

Colors of the Season

My niece, Piper gave me the idea for photographing cranberries.  I think hers were a little better. This series of pics are all from Fresh Market, my favorite grocery store in the whole, wide world.  There's a new Fresh Market only 3.5 miles from my house, which I consider to be quite neighborly of them.

Happy Veteran's Day to the Best Generation!

Yesterday afternoon, I headed up to Portsmouth Naval Medical Center to clear up a mistake I had made with one of my prescriptions.  I detest bureaucracy in any form and have to mentally "gird my loins" so to speak to deal with it.  

I do believe that your attitude controls a good deal of your outcome, so I prayed for grace before I drove the short distance from home. I gathered my stuff and stopped off at the hospital's Subway for a diet Minute Maid lemonade,, my favorite.  

I settled down to wait with my Kindle after pulling number 668.  I was the next number called...go figure.  I am so grateful for my Navy benefits which include free prescriptions and fantastic medical care at a state-of-the-art facility a mile from my house. Even though I had made the mistake, pharmacy staff members were gracious, helpful, and polite, quickly resolving the situation.

In the short time I waited, I met this man, Chief James J. Gordon, who told me he served on three different WW 2 ships which sank. When I asked him how he survived he simply said, with a twinkle in his eyes, "backstroke."  Chief Gordon ended up on the USS Shangri-La, which survived the war.

It seemed fitting this morning to celebrate an American hero of the Best Generation.  Happy Veteran's Day Chief Gordon.

Thank you to all who have served, especially a dear 93-year-old in a wheelchair.

What's That Smell?

This is a little island I set up in my long, narrow kitchen.  I like to change it out seasonally.  Down below is a place for rolling pins and vintage bowls that I collect here and there when they are not ridiculously expensive.  This was a microwave cart in another life left out for garbage collection.  I love red spray paint, what can I say?

And there is my morning cup of Joe as is said in the Navy, in my dear Starbucks mug with the NY skyline and the yellow taxi in the lower left near the corn husks. One of the small luxuries of my life, which I'd find difficult to part with, is the cup of coffee, laced with cinnamon, which Bruce leaves for me every morning, in that cup.. On the weekends, we get all fancy and froth it up with a cool device my sister got me for my birthday.  It also froths eggs for amazingly fluffy omelets.

The last couple of mornings have been marred by THE SMELL (cue in the music from Jaws).  Ever have one of those phantom smells, unpleasant ones, of course, that waft from some unknown spot in your home?  You look in the fridge and the freezer.  Yesterday, we pulled out the stove and cleaned behind it.  Didn't help.

Lulu, a former stray who used to survive from garbage cans and road, kill now literally turns her nose up at plain ole kibble.  We rig up all manner of human food to put on top of the dreaded Kibbles and Bits to entice her.  Lately, her snack de jour has been stinky canned salmon.  She loves it...the stinkier, the better.  The smell first thing in the morning makes me want to barf.

I pulled everything off the counter and cleaned with diluted bleach.  I thought I might have spilled some stinky salmon juice on the curtains I have under my sink.  Nope, but they might have needed a wash and an iron, though, so I did that.  

I boiled an apple and put cinnamon and vanilla extract in the water,  The downstairs was suffused with cinnamony goodness, but that smell about mid-kitchen was still there, getting grosser and grosser.

That smell was starting to take on epic proportions for me. Ugh...was it a dead mouse?  We don't have mice, but it is an old house and it was possible that one could have happened in during this cold snap.

See that cleverly eclectic Indian corn and all on the kitchen island?  I used to have a cool glass pumpkin filled with little gourds.  Gourds, which were liquidizing and rotting inside.  Not too cleverly eclectic.  The word ooze comes to mind.  Actually, if you get right down to it, it was a totally disgusting science experiment.

I really wonder about myself when I realize how many times I walked past it but didn't actually see it.

New Late Fall Marble Top

Whenever I get to feeling a little "down" (like this week, when I got bitten by a dog) about something, I first count my blessings - out loud, up to 20. If that doesn't work, I try to make something better.

I get enormous satisfaction from making things better.  Such things include ironing and mowing the lawn. Both tasks are similar in that you simply push either an iron or the mower (I don't do riding mowers) and toute voila! all is well.

Spray some starch or squirt some water from a spray bottle, back first, front, front, sleeve, sleeve, and collar...all is well. Start up the mower up and down the back yard, around that bumpy place where the pine tree once stood too close to the foundation, and things look swell once again.

When all else fails and all the ironing is done, I change out the mantel or a dining room tablescape or my Grandmother Helen's old marble top chest.

Here is the new late Autumn arrangement.  I'm not too sure how my Nana (my other grandmother) would feel about being under glass beneath a cloche with an old wooden shoe form.

Since she was a little difficult, I think the rest of us feel better with her constrained in this way.

Who Let the Dogs Out?

We went to Cracker Barrel last night.  You see, I got bitten by a female dog this week…TWICE.  Bruce says that the term “crazy bitch” is applicable and correct right here for this skittish female cattle dog.

I had to have IV antibiotics in the ER and was discharged with anti-nausea pills and an antibiotic prescribed for a week, a “cure” which has left me feeling as though someone has scrubbed out my stomach with Fels Naptha soap and a wire brush.  I wanted something bland and comforting like chicken and dumplings for dinner, hence Cracker Barrel.

The only other thing which has actually “cured” this condition is a carbonated drink which Starbucks makes, with fresh ginger syrup.  If you ever wondered if that old adage about ginger soothing the stomach works, I am here to say “Amen” and “Tell it, Sister.” (And no, this is not a sponsored post!)

I was helping out a neighbor who is in a chaplain’s residency at the local Catholic hospital.  Her dogs needed to be let out.  She moved in next door to the house my beloved Lauren used to live in. 

Lauren, shown here above at graduation with her Dad and Sis,  moved on to Coast Guard Sector Baltimore and lives in the weirdest and yet the coolest studio apartment EVER with the back wall of the apartment all exposed old brick. She is the first female Coast Guard firefighter to serve there.  We are so proud of her.

The apartment is “bagel shaped,” as my family calls every oddly shaped space. She lives near the Orioles' Camden Yards, so guess where we all will be going to see the Yankees play baseball next year?  I miss her terribly.  I might add that Lauren has an ENORMOUS French Mastiff who would never dream of biting anyone.

My new neighbor has to work some long overnight shifts, so I offered to let the two dogs out so she didn’t have to race home on a half hour break.  File this under (as my curmudgeonly grandfather used to say) “No good deed shall remain unpunished.”

The first time, all went smoothly.  The second time, the weather was so beautiful that I let them stay in the fenced backyard for a few hours, rather than just let them out briefly.

When I turned to leave, with no provocation she jumped and tried to bite me in the face.  I raised my arm to deflect her and got a little bite there.  She proceeded on to bite me to the right of my knee where I got four little puncture wounds from her needle-sharp teeth.

I received two little notes under my windshield, one cute and sincere as can be.  The first said how sorry she was.  The second told me how our mutual neighbor, Carol, would now be letting out the dogs on those long days.  Seriously?

Call me madcap, but if your dog ever viciously bites your next door neighbor (a woman who has owned two pit bulls and one wolf/malamute hybrid and emerged unscathed) you might want to consider that it could be the dog and not the person who let the dog out.  Just a thought from those of us in the know.   

I thought about that statement, “Carol will let out the dog” and at first I fumed.  Then it started cracking me up.  Common sense isn’t too common.

I was rereading this and wondering if I’d digressed too much.  You see, this entry was supposed to be about aging and Glen Campbell.  That’s okay, you already know how I am and the Wichita Lineman is still on the line…

White Picket Fence and JenEvans

I love white picket fences, don't you?  I especially love this kind, along my walk route in Port Norfolk The graduated pickets in the fencing give an almost ruffle effect.  Notice the wrought-iron latch for the gate.  I thought about saying how the graduated pickets "undulate" along the property and then thought better of sounding like a little poindexter smart aleck, which I am, but still...why advertise?

This morning with the sunshine warm on my face, I reflected again how Autumn is my favorite season.  It is all bright colors, the smell of burning leaves, and gathering in of the harvest.  I am grateful for the very late and long Fall we enjoy in Southern Virginia.  Leaf-wise we are 5 weeks behind my NY/New England friends.

Speaking of NY Friends, via a Stony Brook (Long Island) New York website, my high school friend Jennifer Evans got in touch with my sister, Kerry. She and I visited briefly via Facebook this week. What a pleasure.

I hadn't purposely lost touch with her,but since I hated high school with a loathing I can hardly put into words, and since I moved to NY City prior to graduation, and since I even skipped graduation because I couldn't and still can't care less about such things, I can see how we lost touch.

I should clarify here...contrary to Dr. McKrell's concerns, I did, in fact, graduate high school with a Regent's Diploma and currently have a Master's Degree in Criminal Justice...I just didn't attend the CEREMONY.  Which has nothing to do with liking my friend.

She reminded me in a posting about how we and several other friends went to the NY Yankees ticker tape (truth be told there was as many flying toilet paper rolls as confetti and ticker tape.  And speaking of confetti, we had a rather dim high school friend who looked up that day and referred to all the "graffiti" the crowd was throwing.  But I digress.) parade in 1978.

Now I don't know about all her other friends, but it occurs to me that for some odd reason, I always thought of her in my mind as one word, JenEvans.

When my mother called me about Kerry finding her (she always loved her the best of my high school friends) she was doing the same thing; not Jennifer or Jenny or just Jen, but "JenEvans."  JenEvans was (and I'm sure still is) a GOOD EGG.  A girl you could depend upon to watch your back at a ticker tape parade and a good listener.

In my work as an officer in the sex offender investigative unit for a state police agency, I can see how much damage social media can do when kids are targeted by predators.  But isn't making contact with someone like JenEvans just the best thing EVER?

Great Drying Day

As my grandmother, Helen, used to say:  It's a great drying day!

It is in the 70's, rare in August in VA and there's a nice breeze blowing.  I love my bedding dried outside.

I have to stretch to get the wooden spring clothespins in place.  While I hang clothes, I think about all the other women who hung clothes here, back near the detached garage with the ivy nearly enveloping the side. I have to pull some of that down.

The first women who hung laundry here were surnamed Shea and they had no choice but to hang laundry. The first Mrs. Shea must have used a big tub and a mangle. A later Mrs. Shea used an old wringer washer set on the back porch.  We enclosed the back porch, making it part of the kitchen,

The 1960's Mrs. Shea eventually had a more modern washer inside. Eventually, she also had a dryer.   Then the house went to one of the Foster's from Foster's Funeral Home and was broken up into apartments.

Patty and Chuck used the old clothesline and returned 256 to a one-family home.Then Chuck died and Patty moved away. She owned the mother-in-law house for 256 for a long time after she sold 256.  Then Kate, an excellent writer who has interviewed President Obama, moved in.   She dated Aaron, also a reporter, who lived down the street.  They got married and started renting out the house next door.

We had to re-string the clothesline when we got here, but it is still in the old backyard where the camellia bushes are now 15 feet high.

There's a short story by Tillie Olson called "I Stand Here Ironing."  My thoughts today are called "I Stand Here Hanging Wash."

Our Cottage Garden

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.

Cicero