NPR--many kinds of truth, unless you support Trump or are a conservative

Katherine Roberts Maher hasn't been CEO of NPR very long, but she's certainly a symptom of the rot there. She used to run Wikepedia, where everyone except conservatives get to provide their own "truth." Conservative media is now providing "mash ups" of her comments before she entered the elitist disinformation land of public supported radio. I'm not on X (Twitter), but I'd guess they are making mincemeat of her.

NPR CEO Katherine Maher Says She Coordinated With Government To Censor Misinformation As CEO Of Wikipedia | Video | RealClearPolitics

50 NPR employees demand CEO Katherine Maher, editor-in-chief publicly rebuke 'factual inaccuracies' (msn.com)

American Spectator, April 17, 2024:  "What is perhaps most notable about Maher’s radicalism is how utterly conventional it is. While her posts may be exceptionally risible, her views are par for the course in most of America’s elite institutions — in many cases, they are the price of entry. Maher herself sports impeccable elite credentials: Prior to NPR, she served as CEO and executive director of the Wikimedia Foundation, which runs Wikipedia. According to a 2021 biography, Maher was also “a fellow at the Truman National Security Project,” has written for outlets such as Foreign Policy, the Atlantic, and the Guardian,” and serves as “a member of the Advisory Council of the Open Technology Fund and the board of the Sunlight Foundation.”

These are the people who run our country. Maher’s only distinction is that she was marginally clumsier about concealing or soft-pedaling her ideas in the public eye.

This may come as a surprise to many elected Republicans, who have happily forked over government check after government check to institutions like NPR, but we are not actually obligated to fund people and organizations that hate us. https://spectator.org/its-bigger-than-nprs-katherine-maher/?

Update from City Journal: "Maher’s prolific history on social media, which she seems to have used as a private diary, narrating her every thought, emotion, meeting, and political opinion in real-time. This archive is a collection of her statements, but at a deeper level, it provides a window into the soul of a uniquely American archetype: the affluent, white, female liberal—many of whom now sit atop our elite institutions." https://www.city-journal.org/article/quotations-from-chairman-maher?

Memories

Many years ago, I read a short piece in a woman's magazine about clearing out the home of an elderly woman after her death. Among her belongings they found a large ball of string (frugal people used to save string, rubber bands, pieces of foil, bread bags, etc. for some need in the future). It was labelled, "Pieces of string too short to use." That's how I feel about my memories; I'm grateful I started a blog (web log, or diary on the internet) 20 years ago, because I remembered then details I can't recall now. I occasionally recall something from Alameda, CA during our time there in WWII, or an event at Faith Lutheran in Forreston, IL where we lived after Dad's time in the Marines. One piece of string I found today for which I have no story to write because I was trying to remember the pastor's name, is how cute my little brother looked in his Bumble Bee costume for the Mother's Day program at the church.
It's a piece of string too short to use.

Billy Collins wrote a poem called "Forgetfulness" in 1994. It's the only poem I have posted on my refrigerator. https://youtu.be/aj25B8JYumQ?si=M5m15Zd1J-cI5zvX You can hear the audience laugh, but you'll recognize every line. It's happened to you,

This 2011 blog entry includes both Alameda and Forreston at Christmas. Collecting My Thoughts: Monday Memories--Christmas in the 1940s

Collecting My Thoughts: Monday Memories of Kindergarten and Alameda

Visiting former coffee spots and coffee blogs

After I got Bob settled in this morning for his Zoom men's Bible Study I headed down the road a mile or so to Panera's at Five Points next to the Aldi's grocery where I could shop at 9 a.m. I rarely go there any more for my morning coffee, but at one time (pre-2015) I was a regular and had many friends I would see each morning while I read the Wall Street Journal.

I used to have a blog (Coffee Spills) devoted to my coffee habits--the places I enjoyed and the people I met--staff and customers. I continued it until December 2014 because I was parting ways with a habit begun in 1956 and saving the money for a trip to Spain (about $2, 5 times a week). I glanced at my final entry today before my closing--

November 10, 2014: "It happened in the parking lot. I was getting out of my car; one space away was a man on the passenger side of his car straightening his pant leg. He looked at me and said cheerily, "I change my socks 20 times a day; I guess I'm a little weird." "Uh, you betcha," I thought, but I said, "If it works for you." So I just had to Google it. I found 6.5% of Americans change their socks more than once a day. But 20 times seems a bit OCD."

November. 21, 2012: "I greeted a coffee shop friend today with a casual remark about "How are you celebrating Thanksgiving?" But she wasn't feeling thankful. It turns out a trusted employee, a woman she’s known and been friends with for 25 years, was embezzling from her. Now they both have lawyers, and the woman has admitted to stealing about $100,000, but my friend suspects it’s much more. And as you may guess, losing the money hurts, but not as much as her feeling of grief and backstabbing over this woman whom she considered a friend. She said, “She smiled at me every day, clucked over my children, we did things together. What sort of psychopath does this?” A very sad holiday."

January 7, 2005: "The clerk at the coffee shop told me today (Friday) she'd been late to work every day this week. She's supposed to start at 6 a.m. but didn't get to work until 6:10. I've supervised enough people in my work life to see a problem.

Bad work habits and excuses do not ever fool a supervisor. We've heard every story from alarm clocks to a tear in my slacks, to a sick baby to a traffic jam. Actually, I've heard some fairly imaginative ones, but didn't believe a word.

The solution is always the same for the employee who wants to move ahead to a better job, or keep the one she/he has. Whether a bakery clerk, an auto tech, or a library assistant, always plan to arrive early--15 minutes is good. That way you can handle the dog throwing up or the malfunctioning traffic light. And if you actually do arrive early, straighten up your clothes, comb your hair, wash your hands and turn on that smile. And don't ever kid yourself that coming in 15 minutes early on Thursday makes up for being 15 minutes late on Friday."

Reading my old blogs is like looking through someone else's diary. I often don't recall the occasion and had forgotten that one. That habit change did work--I think I saved about $500 for the trip and learned to make coffee (decaf) at home. Now if I go out for coffee with a friend, we go to McDonald's where it's $.60.

And there was light, book club selection September 11

 For book club this month I'm reading Jon Meacham's "And there was light; Abraham Lincoln and the American Struggle." (Random House, 2022) By page 140 I was noticing a subtle hint of 21st century moral superiority and self- righteousness in the author's tone.  I grabbed a second Lincoln book from my personal library, Ronald White, Jr.'s "A. Lincoln; a biography." (Random House, 2009) They are both massive books (676 pp. and 796 pp.) The bibliographies/notes sections are so huge and so different, it's almost impossible to check one against the other. I'm supplementing my reading with Paul Johnson's "A History of the American People," pts 3 and 4, which covers 1815-1870, which emphasizes links to England's history and our country's religious beliefs and formation. I was a little fuzzy on the Mexican War and the Nebraska-Kansas problem.

The bibliographies are incredibly difficult, but here are some rough, ballpark stats: Meacham cites Steven Douglas 27 times, White 106 times; Meacham cites Frederick Douglass 58 times, White 30 times. Both men were important, but for telling the story of pre-Civil War America and what Americans thought and believed, Steven Douglas is a better example of the pro-slavery forces Lincoln was up against convincing Americans (many of whom had never seen a black man or a slave) to stop the expansion and then ending slavery.

I've come away from this reading experience with a suspicion that all great heroes of our history will never pass muster because of the 21st century's race problems. They won't survive the Obama presidency and the George Floyd riots which were far more damaging to our national fabric than January 6 riot. Statues will continue to be torn down and schools renamed. 

 In this era of abortion up to the day of birth, maiming children in sex change surgeries, border sex trafficking, and energy and welfare policies that hurt the poor some of our scholars, publishers and activists find 21st c. American morals and ethics superior to the 19th and 18th centuries!

Although White never hides Lincoln's failures, he faithfully follows through on an outstanding study of his growth, integrity, and complexity, as well as his evolution in religious values and struggles. Plus, he's readable. Meacham does say good things about Lincoln but always "balances" with what his detractors from 3 centuries had to say. Cherry pickers for CRT classes will love it. Does Lincoln's passion for saving the country and destroying slavery have to be explained through a (failed) 21st century racialist lens?

I noticed the similarities to what we are going through today. In passionate love for their country, Lincoln and Trump are pretty well matched, regardless of what you think of their causes. And I can't think of any president more vilified than Lincoln except Trump. Lincoln was ridiculed, damned, hated with a passion, lied about, and feared just like Trump is today. There was more than one assassination attempt. The Republican party was in its infancy in 1860, lively and eager, and in its dotage in 2016 and 2020, careless and timid. The Democrats were racists then and they are racists now. The stakes were different, but slavery was embedded in every aspect of American life, even for northerners. The danger from non-elected entities in the deep state are as stubbornly embedded in our way of life as slavery was then. The desire to control others' lives it still with us today. To challenge the deep state today is as dangerous as challenging slavery was then. And abortion, although not a cause for Trump, is OUR moral issue overshadowing all other events and decisions just as slavery was in 1830-1860.

Trinity Forum Conversations | Lincoln in Private: Leadership Behind Closed Doors with Ron C. White (transistor.fm)

Abraham Lincoln's Diary on Apple Podcasts

Two months ago

Where were you 2 months ago? Sept 8. Looking back at my diary, I see it was a quiet, peaceful Sunday, good church service and we were getting back into our fall routine after a great summer at Lakeside. Not a thought about brain cancer and how our lives would change forever in a few weeks.

And where were you 2 months before you were born? I was living a very quiet, peaceful life in my mother's womb, kicking and swimming, and so were you (different years and different mother, of course). Mom was 27 and chasing after my 2 older sisters. I don't know if we--all of us--were living at 203 E. Hitt St., not sure I ever asked when they bought the home I remember. The newspapers were full of the growing tension in Europe caused by Hitler who in a few weeks, about the time of my birth, would march into Poland, but the U.S., including FDR, was still planning to be neutral.

Two months before you and I were born we were the same persons we are today, just smaller. Yet there are women walking into "clinics" today, November 8, who have changed their minds and will kill their babies who could have survived outside the womb. “Oh, but that's rare,” you say—“It's a woman's right.” OK, name the figure, the number of babies, that is acceptable to you. 50? 100? Perhaps 1,000? Pick a number.

And remember, once you too were counting down 2 months to launch.

Thoughts on Mother and mothering

Sunday, August 25, was the 85th anniversary of my parents’ wedding. They died in 2000 and 2002, having celebrated together 65 years during the previous August wedding of my sister in 1999.  My dad wasn’t one to keep a diary, but he did jot things down in a little spiral bound notebook later in life, and he noted that on their anniversary in 2000 he took Mother’s ashes on a ride in the country on their 66th.  He never tired of driving the country roads even though he had done that most of his life to earn a living. After they’d both retired, he and Mom would sometimes take Sunday drives around Ogle and Lee counties just recalling the past, or enjoying the changes of seasons, or how the crops were doing, or which farms were being kept up. In fact, even when I was a child, Sunday afternoon “entertainment” might be driving to Iowa to look around. That certainly wouldn't have been my choice with 4 children in the car.

I’d also been thinking about Mom because a very old memory had popped to the surface during one of our Lakeside 2019 classes by Chef Stacy.  It was on home made pasta.  We didn’t eat a lot of pasta when I was growing up—our spaghetti came out of a can and would be for lunch--never dinner. I didn’t learn to appreciate pasta until meeting Bob’s mother, who made fabulous homemade spaghetti, with tossed salad and garlic bread.   But Mom was also trying out new things, and she must have seen an article on making noodles, because we went through a phase when we lived in Forreston of her testing out this new skill.  I remember watching her make it—the recipe is very simple, just flour, water and eggs.  She did her best, but the beef roast and noodles dish was usually a gooey mess.  Dad might have said something about it, and she dropped that experiment forever to disappear from her menus.  Stacy made it look so easy, I may try it, and dedicate the gooey mess to Mom’s memory.

In today’s meditation I read a letter from Concepcion Cabrera de Armida to her son Pancho (nickname for Francisco).  She died in 1937, and was a wife, mother, and writer in Mexico.  She apparently wrote about 65,000 of these little messages.  It reminds me a lot of what my mother would say to her children.

• Avoid the least quarrel and do not stop at any sacrifice to have peace in your home.
• It is better to bend than to break.
• With prudence, education and certain common sense, many troubles can be avoided.
• Oh, my son! Never forget that everything you are, all that you have and the happiness you now enjoy, you owe to the good Jesus who has loved you with such tenderness! From how many dangers he has delivered you!
• Be grateful, my son: recognize with gratitude the fatherly tenderness of God over you and demonstrate your gratitude by your actions, and never be ashamed of being a good Christian.
• Be dignified with everyone but never haughty.
• Keep on being honest under every circumstance.
• Do not soil your soul with business deals that extort your fellowmen.
• May your soul be always clean—poverty does not soil or shame one—and you will be happy.
• May your home, dear Pancho, be a model of Christian homes where the Lord reigns and a worldly atmosphere does not enter; where the peace and happiness that are born from the accomplishment of one’s duty, be settled there.
• Never spend more than you have, not even all that you earn; thrift helps marriages avoid a lot of trouble.
• But do not be avaricious; aim for a happy medium maintaining a decent and fitting social standing, not living in luxury, even if you become rich.
• Let the poor be considered one of your ordinary expenses, and God will not fail you.
• Don’t limit your piety to exterior observance but rather practice the virtues, being patient in adversity, resigned to the adverse events of life, because if we receive from the Lord so many goods, why should we not also receive the sufferings he desires to send us? (Magnificat, vol. 21, no. 6 p. 387-388.)

The class reunion blog has ended

It was time.  It was supposed to be just our 50th reunion blog for the Mt. Morris High School class of 1957.  Now we’re past 60 years since we graduated!  I really appreciate those who contributed stories and photos—Mike Balluff the class president is a great story teller--but recently it was being referred to as “Norma’s blog.” I figured it was time to close the diary (which I actually did in 2010, but I kept updating it so often, I finally went back to occasional posting as there was news).  Before I closed it, I pulled out the updates from 2010 and made them separate entries, mostly obituaries, making them easier to find. 

Facebook really made blogs obsolete, and Twitter is eating Facebook’s lunch, that said, I think Mt. Morris has at least 4 FB pages plus a webpage. Not bad for a small town of less than 3,000 with no high school or elementary school.  At this blog I write on approximately 15 topics, of which Mt. Morris, education, business, medicine, retirement, church, books, films, fashion, food, family, health, etc. are in there with what’s going on in the world.  There’s really a lot of variety also in the 1957 class blog, some funny posts and some sad.  And all the women were beautiful and the men all had hair!

 

September 22, 2018 class breakfast

Yesterday I cleaned out several boxes of negatives from our collective photo albums and found a bunch from the 1950s.  If I find anything pertinent (and someone who still develops b & w), I’ll back date them and add to the class blog.

My summer of 1958, part 5

See Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4 for the story about why I was living on my grandparents’ farm in 1958, the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in college.  The diary also covers problems with the water, my menus and cooking, disagreements with my grandparents and my social life. Transcribed from my diary!

I’d forgotten so much of this, and yet, not much has changed in my personal interests and activities and Grandma and Grandpa been gone for over 55 years—1963 and 1968. The signs were there in 1958 for my future career as a librarian, I just didn’t know it then. Even the topics of my publications in the 1990s when I was a librarian at Ohio State university—the journals and books and their stories—I was holding the raw material in my hands in 1958. "A Bibliographic Field of Dreams," AB Bookman's Weekly for the Specialist Book World, in 1994;   "A Commitment to Women--The Ohio Cultivator and The Ohio Farmer of the 19th Century," Serials Librarian in 1998; research on home libraries , spanning two farm family collections for the years 1850-1930.

The diary begins on June 1, 1958 with Grandma and I having a long talk—some of which I probably knew before. I recorded other conversations too personal to repeat. Who but me would remember now she had a baby named Glenn Oliver who died at birth?   I wrote down that Grandma and Grandpa met in college in Mt. Morris, Illinois, in the 1890s when both belonged to the same boarding club.  She was raised on a farm near Ashton, Illinois, and graduated from Ashton High School;  he was raised on a farm near Dayton, Ohio. Both had a financially comfortable life, being younger than their siblings, and enjoyed travel, reading and hobbies—hers was painting, his was bicycles. I’ve often wondered if he’d ever met the Wright brothers whose home and bicycle shop were in Dayton.  They were members of the same small religious group (German Baptist Brethren, later called Church of the Brethren).  They had gone their separate ways after meeting in college—she returned to the farm to take care of her sick mother, and he and his brother had gone on an adventure west, teaching school in the Dakotas and working as lumberjacks in the northwest. Because her father was able to support her, she told me, the local school board would not hire her as a teacher, but she continued with art lessons and “did the books” for her father’s numerous farms.

 
The farm home near Englewood, Ohio where Grandpa grew up, one of 9 children.

The boarding club where my grandparents met at Mt. Morris College. She is back row far left, and he is front row far right

I loved learning family history, and Grandma and I talked a lot that summer.  By attrition, sixty years later I’m the only one left in the family who keeps track. I have a genealogy software program, I’ve written several family stories I distribute to my cousins and siblings, a family cookbook, and in my own house, I still have many books and clippings and even some clothing that belonged to these grandparents.  There will never be another home for them since there is no one to pass them on to.
June 5: “After supper dishes I straightened things and cut a fresh bouquet.  Then I looked at old books, clippings and pictures until 11.  I sure found some interesting things.” (Grandma had a parlor for clipping articles out of her journals, and a large walk-in closet with special shelving for her journals dating back to the 1890s.)

June 6: “Grandma and I talked after dishes.  She still worries about Clare (son who died in WWII), whether or not she had tied him down.”. . . “Browsing the tool shed I found agricultural books over 100 years old, also an English grammar from 1850.”

June 24: “Mom came down about 3 p.m. while I was straightening Grandmas’s  magazines.  I drove our car to town  . . . I had a letter from Lynne. . . The water is fixed so I took a bath and read some journals and went to bed.”

Also in my diary are a lot of visits with the neighbors in the evening, especially the Jaspers (both of whom died within the last two years in their 90s), and I learned from their stories about their pasts and families.

Another interest still strong 60 years later is all the letters I mentioned in the diary. Going to the post office each afternoon, then opening my mail at the drug store was a special treat noted often in the diary.  I had several letters a week from my boyfriend who was attending classes in Minnesota, letters from college friends, and even a few from friends living just 20 miles away.

June 11: “ I walked into town (Franklin Grove) to look at the library.  It is pretty nice for a small town.  I got the mail, had a wonderful letter and bought a coke.  Very nice afternoon.”

June 15: “After dishes I wrote letters, studied Spanish and read Good Housekeeping. . . After supper I wrote more letters and read to page 38 in Don Quixote, which I think is a very dull book.”

June 16: “I got a letter from [boyfriend] intended for his parents and one from [another boy I’d dated at Manchester].  I mailed 6 letters.”

June 23: “I walked into town and got 4 letters.  I read them in the Drug Store. . . wrote to Richard (son of Uncle Leslie and Aunt Bernice) after dishes and read and listened to the radio.”

I still do a lot of correspondence, now mostly by e-mail—some of the same people I visited with or wrote to that summer. In the 1990s, I compiled all the “real” letters I had from parents, siblings, cousins and friends and excerpted all the  items about the holidays from Halloween through the New Year and called it “Winters past, winters’ post.”  These letters recorded the ordinary events of our lives to the faint drumbeat of the cold war, the civil rights movement, space flight, the VietNam war, political campaigns, Watergate, economic growth and slowdown cycles, the rise of feminism, employment crises, career changes and family reconfigurations. On and on we wrote, from the conservatism of the Eisenhower years, on through the upheaval of the 60's, the stagnation of the 70's, then into the conservatism of Reagan/Bush in the 80s. National and international events are rarely discussed in these letters as though we were pulling the family close into the nest for a respite from the world's woes. When my children were about 35, I compiled from letters to my parents, all the cute, wonderful and strange things they’d done or said.

I also saved letters from others, and at various life events, bundled them up and returned to sender. Others did the same for me.  In 2004 four years after Mom's death I received a bundle of letters my mother had written to her cousin, Marianne in Iowa.  For about 30 years I saved all the Christmas/holiday letters we’d received from friends and family, and just this past year we said good-bye.

My summer of 1958, part 4

What does an 18 year old do for a social life while living on a farm with her grandparents?  Not much except spend time with adults.  See Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 for the story about why I was living on a farm the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in college. Transcribed from my diary!

Perhaps it was a good thing, but my boyfriend had to go to Minnesota for the summer of 1958 for civil engineer camp. According to my diary, he called about 11:30 on June 6 and said he would stop by before leaving, so I grabbed a pail of water to wash up, put on some clean clothes and we said good-bye before he left. Going after the mail, either walking or driving to Franklin Grove, was a favorite activity and I got my first letter from him on June 9. I would often stop at the local drug store to get a Coke and read my mail the diary says. I mentioned letters from college friends, some other boys I’d dated, and my great uncle Edwin who lived in Ohio.

On Saturday June 14 I was picked up by a relative so I could go to my uncle’s wedding, which was a lovely event and I sat with my other grandmother (groom’s mother). I spent the night at my parents’ home and my brother drove me back to the farm after church with them.  That Sunday afternoon Aunt Muriel and Uncle John came down with my cousin Gayle and we girls had a good visit.  By this time, Grandma and I were wearing on each others’ nerves, and I noted in the diary I started to read Norman Vincent Peale’s “Power of Positive Thinking.” I was probably acting like a normal, self-centered teen-ager, which I’m sure was difficult for her. I didn’t sympathize then, but for her age and declining health, the stresses in her life and still being in deep grief over the death of her sonin WWII, she was doing better than I realized then.

The big activity of June 16 was cleaning the house and ironing clothes and in the evening I walked in the bean field and watched the men making hay. I’m sure I wished I was at the skating rink or movie, although I didn’t write that. Finally, someone my own age showed up.  On the evening of June 17 friends from high school/college—Sylvia, Sharon and Lynne drove down from Mt. Morris to see me and I wrote we had a lot of fun talking.

Uncle Leslie and Aunt Bernice would come out from Chicago about once a week and all of 5 of us would go to Dixon to eat and shop for groceries, and Bernice and I would chat while Leslie talked to his parents.  She often brought cake or cookies with her.

One rather interesting “social” event was meeting a woman, Mrs. Sharkey, on Sunday morning June 22 when I drove to Dixon, and I attended a Catholic Mass with her at St. Patrick’s  (my first and only until 2017) and she loaned me her prayer book.  She was a widow and invited me to her apartment for coffee, and I note in my diary that her china was the same pattern as Grandma’s.  In late summer 1960 I went to Dixon to the store where she worked and bought my everyday china from her. A sweet memory of a dear Christian woman.

It’s not clear from my diary why I was in Dixon on a Sunday morning, probably looking for the Church of the Brethren thinking I'd see friends from college, but later that day I drove to Mt. Morris, had supper with my other grandparents because no one was home at my parents.  Perhaps I just wanted a bath (we still had no indoor plumbing at the farm).  I recorded that my Aunt Lois (who died this last December at 91) had a baby girl the day before (that would be cousin Rhonda) and that I drove my Dad’s new red Ford Ranchero.  Dad never removed the keys from his cars, so I suppose I just hopped in and went for a joy ride stopping to talk to people I knew!

On June 25 Grandma wanted to see Dr. Boyle in Mt. Morris so we drove there and I had a chance to visit with my girlfriend, Lynne.  On many days I wrote that I walked down the lane to the neighbors after supper. Often they would give me fresh produce from their garden which I would work into my menus  Addie and Dale were 38 and 39 (died in 2016 and 2017),  had four adorable children and were fun to be around.  I also went to church and their Sunday School class, really old folks like 30 or 40, and I don’t mention meeting anyone my age.  I also visited an immigrant couple, Dora and Zieg, down the other lane who were learning English by watching TV (my grandparents didn’t have a TV).  On June 30, two sisters-in-law of my boyfriend stopped to visit me at the farm.

On July 4 after baking a cherry pie, making a big dinner of meatloaf and baked beans and sprinkling the laundry (no permanent press then—wash, starch, dry, sprinkle, iron), I walked to the neighbors down the lane and Martha Brumbaugh came by and offered to take me to Mt. Morris, so we went after supper and I caught up with high school friends Nancy, Priscilla and Lynne to attend the July 4 talent show in Mt. Morris. Sylvia drove me back to Franklin Grove that evening. Rereading this, I am surprised at all the driving back and forth and I seemed rather casual about the transportation  arrangements.  If Sylvia hadn’t offered, how would I have gotten back to the farm? It’s about 19 miles, with hilly, winding roads, and a long lane off the high-way, or about 40 minutes. Did it ever occur to me at 18 how many people I inconvenienced?  If so, I didn’t mention it.

On July 5 I wrote I had a 4 page letter from my boyfriend and I was beginning to miss him!  How shallow is that? He’d been writing several times a week. Also I went to the garden and picked over a quart of raspberries and some rhubarb.  Then I made 2 pies.  Aunt Muriel, Uncle John, their daughter Dianne and my mother came down in the evening.  I hope I served them some pie, although I didn’t write that in the diary!

         

I don’t have a photo of my cousins and Aunt Muriel from 1958, but this is 1959 at Gayle’s wedding. Aren’t they lovely!

From July 7 through the 11th my entries are very short.  Sylvia and Dave came to visit, I went to the neighbors to help with a birthday party and got home at 1 .m., I cleaned a lot, baked a lot, took a pie to Dora and Zieg.

July 12 is my last entry in the diary of my summer at the farm. I baked a blueberry pie that day, Uncle Leslie and Aunt Bernice came and we went to Dixon where I bought a wedding gift for my high school friend, Tina, who had moved to Florida after our junior year.  And I mentioned no one would want this job. . . nothing I did was right, and there are no other entries.  I think my father picked me up the next day or within a few days, and I spent the rest of the summer in Mt. Morris.  And I was probably much more appreciative of my own home, my mother’s cooking, and just doing what teen-agers do.

My summer of 1958, part 3

What does an 18 year old do all day while living on a farm with her grandparents who aren’t thrilled to have her “help?” See Part 1 and Part 2 for the story about why I was there and what the farm was like.

The diary I kept that summer reveals a lot of cooking and cleaning, certainly more than I do now. Also some gardening—surprise—didn’t remember that at all!  Although I thought they were rather set in their ways and not too friendly then, 60 years later rereading the diary, I’m amazed and admiring at their flexibility and good humor at my housekeeping abilities.

June 1: “The food situation was bad.  Bacon and cold baloney are the only meats in the house. For some reason there are about 2 doz. lemons.  I fixed an orange and banana fruit dish and mixed some peas and potatoes for something hot—and also a meat sandwich.” Note:  when I was a child I thought eating baloney sandwiches at grandma's house was a wonderful treat since my mother never made them.

June 2: “We had scrambled eggs for breakfast, chicken a la king, biscuits, pineapple-cottage cheese salad and tapioca for dinner (noon) and “left-over loaf” and a mixture of green vegetables and fruit salad and tapioca-applesauce.”

June 3: “I mixed up some apricot-buttermilk  bread and put that in the oven at 7:30 a.m. I fixed grandpa and me soft boiled eggs and we all had mixed fruit.  They seem to enjoy fresh fruit in most any type of combination. . . For dinner I fixed hot dogs with bacon, corn and fruit with the fresh bread. . . I bought $10.84 worth of groceries—12 boxes of Jello and 2 puddings to make sure we wouldn’t run out for awhile.  For supper I fixed liver, boiled potatoes, orange-carrot-banana Jello salad and bread.” (My parents showed up around 8 p.m., I made coffee and Dad and I talked in the kitchen) “ and he sure liked that bread I made.”

June 4: I fixed pancakes for breakfast; they might have tasted better if the skillet were  not so rusty. I fixed minute steaks, beans, orange Jello salad and bread pudding for dinner (noon). . . for supper we had soup.

June 5: “The oatmeal I made for breakfast tasted like paste. . . macaroni and cheese for dinner—not much better than the oatmeal. . . soup for supper.

June 7: “I dusted some before breakfast—we had cereal, eggs and juice. . .[ate lunch in Dixon]  For supper I fixed liver, mashed potatoes, tossed salad, relish plate, and strawberry shortcake.  I used the good dishes and really had fun, but what a clean-up job..  After dishes were over I tried to make a strawberry cream pie, but it didn’t work!”

June 9: A reversal of meals--onion soup and baloney sandwiches for dinner and meat loaf, cabbage slaw and melon for supper.

June 10: Oatmeal for breakfast; hamburgers, corn creole and pear salad for dinner; fruit plate for supper with custard.

June 11: Ham, asparagus, cabbage salad and custard.  Soup, sandwiches and Jello for supper.

June 12:  Grandpa's birthday.  I baked a date cake for him, "a major project." Lima bean casserole. Took some cake to the neighbors in the evening.

June 13: Made out a menu and schedule for next week. Chicken pot pie for dinner; meat plate, potatoes & peas and tomatoes and banana bread for supper.

June 16: Hamburgers, mashed potatoes & gravy, tossed salad and blackberry pie for dinner.

June 20: Baked a coffee cake which didn't turn out, so I put it in Jello. Creamed ham and rice for dinner; hotdogs, corn and Jello for supper.  Decided to quit, but had a long talk with Grandma and we worked things out.

June 24: Baked a raisin pie; baked chicken for supper and salmon for dinner (noon) trying to use up food due to refrigerator repair.

June 26: I baked all morning (complained to diary they weren't appreciative). Home made rolls, strawberry parfait, deviled eggs, asparagus and tuna cakes.  Baked pinwheel cookies, ate 10, and sent the rest to my boyfriend in Minnesota. Supper was creamed dried beef and peas on hot rolls.

June 27: Baked rolls for breakfast and made cocoa. Macaroni and cheese for dinner, corn bread and creamed chicken for supper. 

June 30: Cleaned out the kitchen cupboards; washed plastic bags. Pork chops, baked potatoes, corn and apricot tarts for dinner

July 2: Hamburgers, tossed salad, fruit for dinner and potato salad, tomato slices, beets and rhubarb parfait for supper.

July 3: Cess pool backed up into the basement. Liver, asparagus, corn and fruit for dinner.

July 4: Baked a cherry pie, meat loaf, baked beans, fresh rolls.  Salad and soup for supper.

July 11: Fried chicken, lima beans, dressing, cranberry sauce, and crumb cake. Made Henny Penny muffins (uses left over chicken in batter) for supper, then baked a peach-butterscotch pie for the neighbors' anniversary.

I didn’t note in my diary if these menus were my choice or theirs, but reading them over in the following weeks I see a lot of hot dogs, liver and asparagus—which it seems I would go out and cut stalks along the lane. And they were a generation that loved Jello—one of the first convenience foods of the 20th century. Rereading the meals, it seems like a lot of food and they were probably not used to that.

The cleaning I mention makes me wonder how they felt about that—true, they couldn’t do a lot, and dust would blow in from the fields, but if someone came in my house and immediately started dusting everything would I be pleased or insulted?

June 3: “I took down the curtains in my room, washed them and the windows, dusted the halls and stairsteps and ran the sweeper.  Every time I pumped a pail of water I felt guilty—but it does my muscles good even if the water supply is low.” There wasn’t a washing machine so I assume I hand washed the curtains.  I always wrote about washing dishes right after a meal and what time I finished, because I think Mother warned me not to leave any dirty dishes around (not sure it was bugs, mice, or Grandma’s preference).

June 4: “I cleaned out the bread cupboard before breakfast and then had my coffee while I listened to the radio.  **This “revolution” in France seems a long way off from the tranquility of the farm.” . . . in the shed “I found the clippers and decided to try my hand at sharpening them on the old wheel.  I’m not much of a bush clipper, but I attacked the job with unusual pep and concern.  Well, at least we can see the bird bath now from the dining room. . . After dishes I ran the dust mop around and swept a few rugs with the broom.” It seems Grandma wouldn’t let me run the vacuum cleaner which was the whole house kind with tubes built into the walls. I mentioned it several times in the diary, with no explanation why.

June 5:  “I spent most of the morning sewing up the hem in Grandma’s navy blue slip and mending a pillow.   . . In the afternoon we all went to Ashton to look at some cattle Dale wanted to buy, and they finally decided on 89 head. . . After cleaning up the supper dishes I cut a fresh bouquet.”

June 6: I put on an old shirt “and a pair of peddle pushers and went out to the garden for lovely 2 hours of sweat and dirt.  I took my good old time about spading the garden—mixed it with a little tool shed browsing and knife sharpening. . . When I finished my “garden” looked like a fresh grave, but I was happy.”

June 9: “After supper I planted tomatoes and wrote letters."

June 10: "started in on the filthy stove.  The mouse dirt was really thick and there were old nests behind the stove.  I put clean paper in the drawers and put the pans and stuff in them."

June 11: Scrubbed the bathroom floors. Dusted 4 rooms, mopped the kitchen floor and washed the two porch doors. Scraped the paint off the dog door stop.

June 17: Cleaned the silverware and dusted my room and the two west bedrooms. I wrote that I was an intrusion on their privacy and they never said thank you.

June 19: Walked to town after supper, but the lane was like quicksand so it took longer.  On the way back I spoke Spanish and sang hymns. (This sounds sort of pious, but I think it was boredom.) I had also walked in on the 18th after supper to the Ives Drug store, and because it was getting dark by 9 I cut through a freshly cultivated bean field and snagged my dress on barbed wire, was wearing sandals, so was a mess when I got back, but "saved 10 minutes."

June 20: Cleaned dining and living rooms, swept the pantry, clipped the grass on the west fence--was still pumping water.

June 27: Cleaned the dining room and 2 living rooms and mopped the porch; caught a ride with a neighbor to Ashton to shop for groceries. 

**I have no recollection of a revolution in France in the summer of 1958, so I had to look that one up.  And sure enough, there was one due to the Algerian War of Independence (1954–62) which led to collapse of the Fourth Republic and its replacement by the Fifth Republic led by Charles de Gaulle who returned to power after a twelve-year absence (Wikipedia). So there I was sipping coffee and clipping bushes in Illinois and not paying attention while deGaulle was forming a new cabinet in France.  Without TV and the Internet we just had no idea. . . 

My summer of 1958, part 2

In the summer of 1958 I lived on my grandparents’ farm near Franklin Grove, IL when they were in their 80s and I was 18.  (See Part 1)  They were lured back to Illinois with their young son Leslie in 1908 from Wichita, Kansas, where they had lived since 1901 with  the promise of this farm home to help her ill father, then in his 80s. They took care of him until he died in 1912.  My grandmother was the only survivor of his four adult children, her oldest brother Ira having recently died of blood poisoning from an injury on his farm near Ashton and the home place. (Diphtheria and childbirth having taken the other two, Will and Martha, in the 19th century.)  Ira was the one who was helping her father manage the farms.

What our family knew as the farm house had been put together using a small house ca. 1850s, and a larger, early 1900's style, an unspectacular, 8 room, boxy farm house. Grandma had it remodeled adding a huge gracious dining room, with a bedroom and balcony above it where she had hanging plants and flowers and a second staircase, a big airy kitchen with "modern" features like a built in corn cob storage for the blue and black cookstove, manual dishwasher, a metal topped table with flour bins, a walk-in pantry/storage room, an upstairs servant's bedroom, plus two bathrooms, a dumbwaiter, a generator in the basement and a utility sink at the back door for washing up before entering the house. The dining room and the bedroom above it were the new part that joined the 19th c. and 20th c. houses together.

Some updates had been done by 1958, but the house was in poor repair.  Grandpa was not “handy” and Grandma was not a fastidious housekeeper, being much more interested in the business end of farming. And they were old—his hearing had failed, and she’d had several small strokes and falls. So, according to my steno pad diary the well wasn’t working and I was hand pumping the water I used for cleaning, cooking and dishes.  I don’t mention our drinking water in the diary, but it does give me pause to think we were probably drinking unsafe water.

I didn’t understand it then, but do now—Grandma fretted to the point of tears that she wasn’t there when Martin came to fix the well the first time.  According to my diary, Martin didn’t return until June 6.  I can’t recall how the laundry was done, but mentioned in the diary  (June 3) that Grandma had worn herself out and was out of breath gathering up laundry and we had to rush to get her to the hair dresser.  On June 6 I noted I drove to town, mailed some letters and picked up the laundry—it was $8.10.  That day after working in the garden I wrote that I washed my hair and tennis shoes—and I used only one bucket of water to do both jobs!

I wrote that the well drillers came on June 18th, and by the 20th were finished after 105 feet of drilling and finding 41 feet of water although I was still pumping pails of water for household use. A plumber had to reconnect the house to the well source.   Usually, taking a bath wouldn’t be  an event for a teen diary, but I mentioned it on June 27, and washed my hair on the 28th so maybe it was awhile before we got water in the house.

My summer of 1958, part 1

If you had said to me, “Remember the time you lived at the farm and the well was dry?” I would have responded, “I remember the farm, but don’t recall a problem with the water.”

That’s why it’s nice to have a diary, that retro pen and paper version of a blog, which stands for [world wide] web log. While searching for another notebook, I unpacked a box and found my diary from 1958, a stenographer’s notebook with green tint pages and perfect handwriting in real ink, telling about my days with my grandparents on their farm between Franklin Grove and Ashton, Illinois.  I was there from June 1 to July 12, 1958, and indeed, the water problems were a focus of the first few weeks. I’d totally forgotten that part about pumping water, using a bucket, and driving to my parents’ home to take a bath.

To back up a bit, you need to understand my mother.  Just the sweetest and dearest soul, and always had a solution to anyone’s problem, especially anyone in her family. After my freshman year at Manchester College I wasn’t happy, and wanted to transfer, but I also needed a job for the summer.  My Oakwood dorm friends had all secured something interesting or exciting, and I was faced with going back to Mt. Morris and perhaps working at the drug store where I worked in high school, if it had reopened by then (had been a fire), or fill in at the town library (yawn) where I’d also worked in high school.

The steno pad’s first 10 pages were filled with notes comparing Manchester with Murray--the history, religion connections, majors, costs (Manchester’s tuition and fees were higher, but room and board lower—and all laughable by today’s standards, ca. $1,000/year).  Also in the steno pad were notes about the University of Chicago in a fine arts curriculum and vocational guidance with a minor in Spanish. Expenses were higher—about $1,755, but student jobs looked plentiful.  And then notes about the University of Illinois, what would transfer, a major in Spanish and a minor in Russian.  The notes end there, but I did transfer to Illinois and just by coincidence, that’s where my boyfriend was.

So back to Mother.  I got a little sidetracked.  She knew I was unhappy and that I didn’t have a job;  she knew her parents who were 82 and 84 (b. 1876 and 1874) shouldn’t be alone in their big old farm house in very poor condition. Although Mother and her siblings Muriel and Leslie, and the neighbors checked in often, it wasn’t the same as someone in residence. Neither one of them would consider moving, although they did spend their winters in an apartment in Orlando, Florida. Somehow, Mother convinced me I’d be doing her a favor if I worked as a housekeeper for Grandma, and she also convinced Grandma that Norma needed a summer job. Perfect.  She was a master at this! My grandparents didn’t really want me there (weren’t convinced they needed any help) and I couldn’t have imagined a less inviting or a more lonely place to be (I had spent the summer of 1957 in California at a church mission in Fresno and a year at college with many friends), but my mother appealed to my “missionary” spirit which was still rather strong in those days. I was the 50’s version of the SJW—social justice warrior.

I arrived at the farm about 4:15 on June 1, 1958.  My brother drove me there and helped unload all my clothes. . . .Stay tuned for the next installment of the Summer of 1958 down on the farm.

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

World War I, an American soldier’s diary

At the end of this Library of Congress blog  https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2018/03/world-war-i-an-american-soldiers-journey-home/?loclr=ealocb  is a link to the amazing performance by Douglas Taurel based on the diary of a WWI soldier, Irving Greenwald.  It’s very moving and quite vivid.  You almost feel like you’re on the battle field with him.  We’re in the midst of remembering the centennial of WWI—and this is a worthy project.  At Lakeside last summer we had a week devoted to WWI.

This website explains how the author/actor Taurel prepared his script from the diary, which he says was extremely well-written. http://www.theamericansoldiersoloshow.com/a-soldier-life-in-word-war-i-irving-greenwald/

“Reading a soldier’s diary requires a tremendous amount of patience. For the soldiers of the First World War, the actual fighting took up a very small amount of their time. In reality, the life of a soldier in war is filled with a tremendous amount of minutia.  Reading a soldier’s diary requires time to digest all of that soldier’s life while in service, from his day-to-day life in training, through what it means to endure life in the trenches, to mustering heroic courage in combat.

For the Library of Congress’s commemoration of the centennial of the First World War, I was invited to write a new play based on the life of Irving Greenwald, a soldier from WWI. Greenwald was part of the Lost Battalion, and his diary is preserved by the Library’s Veterans History Project. I will perform a one-man play on Veteran’s Day.

Irving Greenwald left 465 days of his diary’s entries, and I set out in May to read all of them, with a goal to read ten days’ worth of his diary entries each day. I aimed to complete the entire diary in a little over a month. Some days I read more, and some days I read less. “

Because of my age, I did know veterans of WWI, although my earliest memories are of WWII. When I came across this blog, I thought about some of them that I knew, then pulled “War Record of Mount Morris” (1947) from my shelf, and although it covers about 500 soldiers that had a WWII connection to Mt. Morris, it includes a list from WWI, The Civil War, and Spanish American War.  Frank Aufderbeck lived next door to us on Hitt St. Don Clark was the grandfather of my nieces and nephews. Harold Knodle was the husband of one of my teachers. Many names on the list are familiar, although I didn’t know them personally.

Are you still blogging?

Have blogs (a diary kept on the internet—web log) died?  Interesting to discover a research article that finds some merit in what I’ve been doing for 14 years. At one time I had 9 blogs, or was it 11? There was my general, catch-all that became increasingly political.  I had a sewing blog, art blog, retirement blog, immigration blog, church blog, health blog, a book blog, a first issue blog.  Many people dropped blogging for the micro-blog of Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, etc. Everyone is in a hurry, no time to write or to read.   I do both—sometimes Facebook my blog, or the other way around, but those short twits are too confining.

I still read a lot of blogs—political or craft or religious, usually. I love the quilting how-to blogs and the theology blogs.  As more and more became corporate or sponsored or cluttered with ads, they became less interesting.  But I’m still going—with no ads. That would be like work, and I’m retired.

http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/8065/6539

Clinton campaigner learns about values of Trump voters

Diane left her job as a CEO and was hired by the Clinton campaign to stay in touch with the "undecided" voters.  She was baffled.  How could anyone not see that Hillary Clinton was superior to Donald Trump?  She got to know George well, and soon his story sounded like the others.  He'd once had a good life, but now no one cared about him. . . he said he'd worked hard, but now can't afford health insurance and everyone was being taken care of except him.  He wanted his country back.

"Over the summer, I  found and interviewed over 300 undecided voters, and 250 of them agreed to stay in touch, to send me weekly diary entries about their emotions, what they were thinking about both Clinton and Trump, and how they were leaning when it came to their vote. I had no responsibility to change their views; instead, I synthesized the data that I was collecting, and reported in to the campaign. I also added the insights that I had and made regular suggestions about how the campaign might better articulate its positions and modify its strategies. . .

There was one moment when I saw more undecided voters shift to Trump than any other, when it all changed, when voters began to speak differently about their choice. It wasn’t FBI Director James Comey, Part One or Part Two; it wasn’t Benghazi or the e-mails or Bill Clinton’s visit with Attorney General Loretta Lynch on the tarmac. No, the conversation shifted the most during the weekend of Sept. 9, after Clinton said, “You can put half of Trump supporters into what I call the basket of deplorables.”. . .

If you had asked me to describe a Trump voter last spring, I would have been largely wrong about their motivations, dreams, and even their values. Sure, there are extremists among them, but it was eye-opening to realize how legitimate the concerns of many are, and to realize that, if I just listened hard, I would find that I have more in common with the Georges of the world that I could ever have imagined."

Boston Globe

Probably not potato chips and ice cream

“The Mediterranean-style diet (MedDiet) involves substantial intake of fruits, vegetables, and fish, and a lower consumption of dairy, red meat, and sugars. Over the past 15 years, much empirical evidence supports the suggestion that a MedDiet may be beneficial with respect to reducing the incidence of cardiovascular disease, cancer, metabolic syndrome, and dementia. A number of cross-sectional studies that have examined the impact of MedDiet on cognition have yielded largely positive results. The objective of this review is to evaluate longitudinal and prospective trials to gain an understanding of how a MedDiet may impact cognitive processes over time. The included studies were aimed at improving cognition or minimizing of cognitive decline. Studies reviewed included assessments of dietary status using either a food frequency questionnaire or a food diary assessment. Eighteen articles meeting our inclusion criteria were subjected to systematic review. These revealed that higher adherence to a MedDiet is associated with slower rates of cognitive decline, reduced conversion to Alzheimer’s disease, and improvements in cognitive function. The specific cognitive domains that were found to benefit with improved Mediterranean Diet Score were memory (delayed recognition, long-term, and working memory), executive function, and visual constructs. The current review has also considered a number of methodological issues in making recommendations for future research. The utilization of a dietary pattern, such as the MedDiet, will be essential as part of the armamentarium to maintain quality of life and reduce the potential social and economic burden of dementia.”

Adherence to a Mediterranean-Style Diet and Effects on Cognition in Adults: A Qualitative Evaluation and Systematic Review of Longitudinal and Prospective Trials. Roy J. Hardman, Greg Kennedy, Helen Macpherson, Andrew B. Scholey and Andrew Pipingas. Frontiers in Nutrition, vol. 3, page 22 -, 2016. DOI 10.3389/fnut.2016.00022

Sending chills--horn arrangements for hymns

James K. Taylor, a retired band director and composer in Texas. He is arranging public domain hymn tunes for four horns. You can find these for listening on YouTube by searching for the name, James K. Taylor.

These arrangements can also be accessed at http://www.diary.cadenza.org/james-taylor/ along with other types of hymn arrangements and experimental sound files. Permission is granted for the use of audio recordings. Sheet music for these arrangements may be purchased for $20 from sheetmusicplus.com

I listened to a few of these.  Wonderful. Thrill your congregation now!

Photo not related to story--this is Quadre,

BMI calculator from Mayo Clinic

Adult BMI calculator based on 2013 AHA/ACC/TOS Guideline for the Management of Overweight and Obesity in Adults: A Report of the American College of Cardiology/American Heart Association Task Force on Practice Guidelines and The Obesity Society. BMI classification. World Health Organization. http://apps.who.int/bmi/index.jsp?introPage=intro_3.html.
 http://www.mayoclinic.org/bmi-calculator/itt-20084938

In addition to healthy eating, the site recommends 

• Exercise. Aim for 30 to 60 minutes of moderately intense activity daily.


• Set action goals focused on specific healthy activities such as improving muscle tone through strength training or starting a daily food and activity diary.

The BMI doesn’t tell the whole story, but . . .

I took the test. Much better than last summer at this time.

“Congratulations! Your healthy weight is well worth the effort. It reduces your risk of serious health conditions such as high blood pressure, heart disease, stroke and diabetes. To maintain a healthy weight:

•Embrace healthy eating by choosing a variety of nutrient-rich foods, including fruits, vegetables and whole grains and small amounts of energy-dense foods like olive oil, nuts and dried fruits.

•Exercise. Aim for 30 to 60 minutes of moderately intense activity daily.

•Set action goals focused on specific healthy activities such as improving muscle tone through strength training or starting a daily food and activity diary.”

http://www.mayoclinic.org/bmi-calculator/itt-20084938

A high amount of body fat can lead to weight-related diseases and other health issues and being underweight can also put one at risk for health issues. BMI and waist circumference are two measures that can be used as screening tools to estimate weight status in relation to potential disease risk. However, BMI and waist circumference are not diagnostic tools for disease risks. A trained healthcare provider should perform other health assessments in order to evaluate disease risk and diagnose disease status.

Another way to estimate your potential disease risk is to measure your waist circumference. Excessive abdominal fat may be serious because it places you at greater risk for developing obesity-related conditions, such as Type 2 Diabetes, high blood pressure, and coronary artery disease. Your waistline may be telling you that you have a higher risk of developing obesity-related conditions if you are¹:

• A man whose waist circumference is more than 40 inches
• A non-pregnant woman whose waist circumference is more than 35 inches

http://www.cdc.gov/healthyweight/assessing/index.html

Happy July 1 from Lakeside, Ohio

I had a 2 mile walk this morning, east on Third and then back west along the lake. Now sitting on a ice pack.  Right leg bursa not too bad, but thought I’d nip any inflammation in the bud—or in the bursa. I’ve now walked or cycled 1038 miles since Dec. 26.  Coolish today, but they are predicting a nice day, zero rain. Big storm last night about 10 p.m. but it seems to have moved over the lake.  Is there anything as useless as a diary/blog that discusses weather?  I have a calendar/garden diary of my mother’s from the 1970s.  It’s almost funny.

The Lakeside grounds crew is here cutting up the limbs from storm damage Friday and Saturday.  Our tree is on the easement, which means they clean it up.  Our neighbors’ Hackberry which fell over is on their property, so they have to pay.  If it had damaged their cottage, insurance would cover it, but it didn’t.  It actually looks like it’s on their neighbor’s property, except back in the day when people weren’t too sure, that driveway is 4’ over the line.

I bought a new microwave (smaller) in May, but it doesn’t seem to be heating all that great, which was the problem with the 20 year old it replaced.  The old one has been given away, and I don’t think I have the receipt here because everything seemed fine a month ago.

I left after the first 2 numbers of last night’s program, Hey Mavis.  It was sort of jazz, sort of blue grass, and mostly original material.  I usually wait until intermission.  It wasn’t bad, but just not what I felt like listening to, so I walked home and stopped to chat with a neighbor.  We had a nice chat with the young couple sitting in front of us at Hoover, but they left before I did.  They were staying in a B&B which must be tough with small children (one a baby), but she had fallen in love with Lakeside.

This year my husband joined “The guy’s club.”  I think it was originally a spoof on The Women’s Club which has been around for about 90 years, and they had no agenda and no programs. Their dues support various Lakeside projects. But they do march with their drill team (carry power drills and wear matching t-shirts) in the July 4 parade, and go to lunch.  So today he’s going to lunch with them.  He knows most of them from sailing, but has never joined.