Rowdy and Ruckus

Today is my sister's birthday. She is my only sister, and I wouldn't trade her in for anything in the world. Here's a little story about when we were much younger and not even looking ahead to realize we could be this ancient. Though, I bet my sis can still belt them out!

Rowdy and Ruckus

My sister and I were hanging around by ourselves. This was when the family lived in the house at Ft. Niagara beach.  It was a sunny Saturday, and we were under strict instructions to get that room cleaned up once and for all, or else! Or else, what? Probably nothing, really. Just more annoyed Mom. Oh, how we put her out sometimes. But we knew we needed to get the job done. It would have been a drudge, had anyone stayed home with us to look over our shoulder, but thankfully, we had been deserted by the rest of the family. With the dust roiling up in the air as we as we shoveled our piles of junk into the middle of the floor, we threw open the windows and doors so we could breathe.

WKBW, our favorite radio station blared on full volume. We had to shout over it to hear one another. Aretha Franklin belted out: R-E-S-P-E-C-T!  FIND OUT WHAT IT MEANS TO ME! as we accompanied her at the top of our lungs. There was something a little evil in our glee, knowing we must be bugging the heck out of our neighbors. Once the radio began replaying the re-plays of the re-plays, we shut it off and kept on singing as we separated the dirty clothes from the clean ones, carefully refolding the one’s Mom had just piled on our beds a few days before. Funny, how everything always landed on the floor, with everything else. Well, we couldn’t help it we were teenage girls, or rather, my sister was the teenage girl. I was the newly divorced mother of two, who wished she were a teenager again. Being with my sister automatically made me a teenager in my heart. She was full of energy and enthusiasm that I had thought deserted me, until I was around her.

We got a good rendition of “Amen” going, while traipsing around, clapping our hands and swinging our bodies as though we were in a hot revival meeting. (I had never been to one before, but now, I know that is what we were doing). Sorting out all the papers and trash was the easiest part. Anything that looked like schoolwork got trashed by wadding it up and giving a quick overhand heave-ho into the wastebasket. It didn’t take long to have it overflowing. We both would have been great on a girl’s basketball team!

In the midst of our enthusiasm, we got carried away by the Four Tops, as we hauled the dirty clothes into the laundry room to wash. No longer isolated to our room, we decided to surprise Mom and clean up the whole house. So, we began cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. Then, singing louder over the vacuum with Diana Ross and The Supremes, we cleaned and straightened up the living room. Our voices getting hoarse, we changed to the Polish radio station that Mom’s friend, Annie listened to. The rollicking polka music of the sixties OOM-PAH-PAHed as we grabbed each other and polkaed around the house until we grew dizzy, tripped over furniture and landed on the floor, laughing; still completely aware of how rowdy we were being and how it must be really annoying the hell out of old Mrs. Steffan next door.

What would she put into her spy report this week?

RESPECT
Aretha Franklin




AMEN
Sidney Poiter



Polka Dancing

Photo Friday: Thanksgiving (photo that shows what it means to you)

I had a very difficult time coming up with a photo representing what Thanksgiving means to me. I've spent days asking myself the question. I know what it used to mean to me, and I have written about that in the past two days.

The other day I watched a program giving the history of Thanksgiving.... very very different than what schoolchildren are taught it is meant to be, and I presume not many adults know the real story behind it, either.

I like the idea of people gathering together to share their gratitude for the abundance in their lives. But, I also don't like the idea much that it should be held just one day a year. Perhaps life just passes us by so quickly that the moment arrives and leaves before we can say, thank you for that, friend.

I'm so full of gratitude that I am even alive that every breath is a blessing, and everything after that is like, WOW! including the bad stuff. For without the bad stuff, how easily we would forget to enjoy the ordinary. It's not like I go around life smiling from ear to ear. My mind knows this stuff the way I know how to spell my name. But, do I go around "feeling" my name as something to appreciate all the time? No. So even though I know how lucky I am, I am still much like anyone else when it comes to having feelings that are not always filled with thankfulness and joy.

I thought and thought about what does Thanksgiving mean to me. I wondered what picture I might have to represent it. Nothing would come to mind. I examined why. I rolled it around in my head. Thanksgiving means nothing to me at the moment. But why?  All the things it meant to me in the past, no longer apply.

And then, it dawned on me. This has been a very painful year. People I love have died.

Am I thankful they are dead? NO!
Am I filled with gratitude that they've gone on to heaven? NO!
Because they are not here with me.
No, I'm not glad they've gone on to heaven.
GOD! GIVE THEM BACK!

I ain't got no gratitude.

I can feel my Sunday school teacher waggling her finger at me right now, "Shame, shame for talking to God like that."

Yes, I am grateful they are no longer suffering. But, I am not thankful that it was only this one way that stopped their suffering.

Okay, so this isn't a cheerful posting. A thoughtful one maybe. A truthful one because these are my exact feelings.

But, definitely a hopeful one.

I am thankful that my son-in-law was accidentally diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer.
I am thankful that it is one of the "easy" kinds of Thyroid Cancer. The kind that has the very highest survival rate. Where have I heard that before? Okay, I'm not all that thankful. I'm thankful with an underlying uneasiness.
I am thankful for my daughter's knowledge and education which caused her to withdraw her husband from the scheduled surgical procedure to be done at their local well-meaning doctor and hospital.
I am thankful that she has the chutzpah to contact City of Hope, a prestigious cancer hospital, of finagle an appointment right away for her husband. He was scheduled to have his thyroid removed yesterday.

This year my daughter will not have thanksgiving
My grandkids will not have thanksgiving.
My great grandkids will not have thanksgiving.
Who would cook the turkey? Not me, I'm a seven hour drive from where they live and even if I got there, I wouldn't have the ability to put together a splendid meal. And who would eat it, anyways? Not my son-in-law, not my daughter, not my five grandkids. Of the four great grandkids, perhaps two are young enough that they would be able to enjoy it. Scott's mother is going to be by his side, along with his brothers and step-mother. They wont be cooking, nor eating much but a sandwich or whatever they can grab it at the hospital.

Thanksgiving has been put on hold this year. I think we will all be holding our collective breath until next year when he has recovered from surgery and had his radioactive iodine isotope treatments.

Still I am thankful that my daughter has such a wonderful man for a husband, that my grandkids have a great daddy and my great grandkids have a wonderful grandpa!

Mom Cooks

I look through several old photographs of my mother. All dressed up and wearing a fancy apron, she is cooking . The small, apartment size, electric stove tucked away in the corner of the narrow kitchen is nearly inaccessible for her use. Whoever designed that kitchen put it in as an afterthought. This was the “modern” post-war house. The left rear burner was a deep cooker. A tall aluminum pot fit down into a well, and once the lid was on, it would lie flush. Today’s equivalent, I suppose, would be the crock pot.

In the photo, my mother is kneeling down and sliding a perfectly roasted turkey out of the oven. I remember the Thanksgiving turkey’s of my childhood. The closer they weighed to thirty pounds, the more delicious they were! My mother’s ability to maneuver anything in or out of that narrow kitchen was nothing short of a miracle, and she frequently pulled off these miracles on a regular basis; not just for the six of us, but while entertaining guests, too.

Being raised in Pennsylvania farm country, my mother had learned a lot of her culinary talents from her mother, Orilla, who once worked, cooking for 50 hungry lumberjacks in the Lumber Camps around the Pennsylvania, New York border. Later, in the town of Port Allegany, Orilla worked in a diner and was famous throughout Porter county for her Homemade Custard Pie. In researching my mother’s family tree, I have only found Connecticut Yankees. It is a mystery that my grandmother mostly cooked in Pennsylvania Dutch style (really German). But, I recently learned from a cousin that Orilla was directly descended from the original Dutch settlers of New Amsterdam. Could it be that their cooking style was the same?

My mother could bake any kind of pie, mincemeat and chocolate cream being my favorite. I remember one time when we spent a whole year tending to a grape arbor in the side yard. When the grapes were ripe, we carefully plucked them and took them into the kitchen where my mother spent the rest of the day making grape pie. It was the most delicious pie I ever had in my life. I don’t recall her ever making it again, and I have never seen it offered anywhere else, either. It certainly was a lot of work to grow those grapes!

My mother’s biscuits were never matched by anyone, except maybe, by my Cousin Eva Mae, who was so thin, you would never think she ate any of what she cooked. Gravy: my mother made the best giblet gravy. It took nearly as long to make it as the turkey took to cook. The gravy pan sat simmering on the stove all day, tantalizing our taste buds. Spice cake with peanut butter icing: I have never been able to duplicate it, and long ago gave up trying. She also made chocolate cake with Marshmallow Icing. Yummy!

She knew how to make a big country breakfast, too. It is probably too rich for today’s tastes, but when a whole passle of relatives spent the night, my mother made bacon basted fried eggs that were curly crispy around the edges and the yolk cooked to order. She could roast any kind of meat, do up any kind of potatoes, even Scalloped or Au Gratin. Some other favorites I remember are recipes I seldom cook: Goulash, Pigs in Blankets, Yankee Pot Roast, Boston Baked Beans (cooked in the oven overnight). The list goes on!

Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving Memories

I remember back when I was young what Thanksgiving was like at home, all the family gathered together. Everyone sat around the table, mismatched chairs and all. Relatives came from miles, sometimes driving through snowy weather. Beginning, days before, Mom prepared the meal. Mom was a really great cook! She made a huge turkey for us with sage dressing and all the trimmings. The house filled with the smell of turkey, roasting in the oven with frequent bastings. Giblet gravy simmered on the back of the stove a whole day, a huge pot of potatoes boiled up and mashed by hand, sweet potatoes with brown sugar and butter baked in. Fancier folks called them "candied yams". Then there were fresh light-as-a-feather biscuits, pickles, olives and relish dishes, celery sticks and deviled eggs, corn and peas, and cranberry sauce cut in slices from the can. I never could figure out how it was called a sauce with it being so solid, like that.

Each year it seemed to be a contest to get a bigger turkey than the year before. I remember that one of the turkeys was so large, Mom had to thaw it out in the bathtub!


After the turkey is cooked, and eaten down to the last shred of meat the family ritual included carefully removing the wish bone which was saved, tucked up above a door, I always thought for good luck where it dried. Later, my  brother and I pulled it apart to make a wish on. There's a certain art to breaking a wishbone in half. only one side will get the wish. "The wishbone, known in anatomy as the furcula, is a fused clavicle bone found in birds which is shaped like the letter Y." according to wikipedia.





Mom worked hard preparing thanksgiving dinner often without any help. Back in those days, it was pretty much considered "woman's work", and I was not much a kitchen helpful daughter. I much more wanted to run and play. (Sorry, Mom.) If cousin Eva Mae was there, she helped Mom if she and Don arrived early enough. Cousin Velva did not. The smell of fresh baked pies wafting through the house smelled like heaven.

The table was overloaded with food, plate pressed up to plate. More food sat in the kitchen waiting to be asked for. “Can I have seconds?” was never refused. Pies cooled out on the front porch, that is, until one of our cats walked through one.

Mincemeat was my favorite. Nobody eats that anymore. I couldn't even find it lately at the grocery store, or the restaurant that specializes in pie desserts! I shall miss it! And Mom’s great cooking. They don't make thanksgivings like that anymore!

Bunny Dreams

Does the caged white rabbit dream?

With his pink eyes closed
and REM sleep overtaking him,

Does he travel to distant lands
where, in a past life,
he rambled freely, the green meadow?

In his two-by-four wired cubicle
he cuddles himself with nothing
and waits.
Will the rain ever stop?

Or, was the sunlight only a dream?
He dozes.

The big woman arrives,
places fresh greens through the slot.

Dandelion
Radish
Plantain

all torn from the earth, screaming,
rinsed of their soil
by a spray nozzle hose,
to be fed, alive, to the voracious rodent.

Sleeping bunny,
wriggling nose, sensitive to the pungeant herbs
awakens.

Bunny thoughtfully chews
his breakfast of weeds,
lop-eared gaze intent and distant,
remembering the dreams.

Elizabeth Munroz
Friday, May 25, 1990

Eternal Change

Inner pain, outer pain,

it all exists for the benefit of change,

Thoughts are only shells of ideas,

hopes are soft feather-down 

from angel's wings.

and rain is the tears

from every heart ever bled.

Death embraces all things
in one final ecstatic love.

Fear gives rise 
to the quest for answers,

and truth sheds light 
throughout the shadows of shame.

Laughing dolphins have more intellect

than stars shining from the darkness.

Yet darkness holds the key to deepest joy.

Whispering trees haunt the living forests
while fallen leaves dance on rock faces 
just to tease the sky.

And little children without legs 

are forced to watch their fathers murder.

Hearts break for all the wrong reasons.

Nothing can be grasped with closed fingers.

Swirling coldness dries up the ground before putting it to sleep.

Remember... Eternity is just a breath away.

In praise of a friend

I love your ever-present, overflowing tidbits of knowledge.
Your ability to speak eloquently
Your many faceted interests
Your capacity to listen kindly to a woman’s woes

Your beautiful brown eyes,
Especially when they smile .
The glow of your skin

The soft way your hair falls across your forehead
The quickness of your mind

The extemporaneous witticisms you create.
Your warm smile
The melodic tonal quality of your voice


Your capacity to put to memory
A thousand lines of poetry (Awesome!)

Your eccentric taste in clothing
Your level-headed rationality
Your thriftiness

Your capacity to maintain protection over your deep feelings
Your ability to keep a modicum of controlled fairness,
when opinions are flung far and wide around you.

Your cool reserve
The way you carry yourself.

Elizabeth Munroz - 1989
Dedicated to George Dunn
 

Grimalkin

A grimalkin is an old or evil-looking female cat. The term stems from "gray" (the color) plus "malkin", an obsolete term for a cat, derived from the hypocoristic form of the female name Maud.^[1] Scottish legend makes reference to the grimalkin as a faery cat which dwells in the highlands.

The term/name may first come from Beware the Cat (published 1570) by William Baldwin ^[2], who relates the story of Grimalkin's death. According to its editors, the story, and thus the name, originates with Baldwin. It is also spelled Grimmalkin or Grimolochin.
During the early modern period, the name grimalkin - and cats in general - became associated with the devil and witchcraft. Women tried as witches in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries were often accused of having a familiar, frequently a grimalkin.
Grimalkin was the name of the cat of Nostradamus^[3], and later the witches' cat "Gray-Malkin" in Macbeth^[4] by William Shakespeare.

In Tom Jones, Henry Fielding relates a story from a 17th-century collection of fables in which Grimalkin is a cat whose owner falls passionately in love with her. He prays to Venus, who changes the cat into a woman. Lying in bed, however, she spots a mouse and leaps up after it, "Puss, even when she's a Madam, will be a mouser still."

In Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, Mr. Lockwood shares a set of two benches in the back kitchen of Healthcliff's manor with a Grimalkin described as a "brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and sluted me with a querulous mew."
Nathaniel Hawthorne, in The House of Seven Gables, Ch. XVI, mentions "...a strange grimalkin... was seen by Hepzibah while she was looking into the back-yard garden for Clifford." In the next sentence he gives definition to grimalkin as "...this cat seemed to have more than ordinary mischief in his thoughts,..."

The Godolphin Arabian, one of the stallions that helped found the line of Thoroughbred racing horses, was very close to a companion cat called Grimalkin. (Racehorses tend to be very high-strung and nervous animals, and often form a close bond with a companion animal; the tactic of trying to sabotage a race by abducting a racehorse's companion animal the night before the race is thought to have given rise to the term "getting someone's goat.")

In the television show "Batman", and later "The New Adventures of Batman", Catwoman (played by Eartha Kitt) operated the Grimalkin Novelty Company, at the corner of Cattail Lane and Nine Lives Alley.

In the 2008 series "Power Rangers: Jungle Fury", the pizza parlor Jungle Karma Pizza, which serves as a social hangout for the show's main cast, houses a pinball machine going by the name Grimalkin Gauntlet.

The governess/witch in the novel The Midnight Folk by John Masefield has two familiars named Greymalkin and Blackmalkin.

A grimalkin is briefly mentioned in The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath by H.P. Lovecraft, in which sentient cats play a major role.
In the Wardstone Chronicles, written by Joseph Delaney, Grimalkin is the name given to the assassin witch of the Malkin family.
In Jim Butcher's novel Small Favor, a large cat named Grimalkin appears with Mab, Winter Queen of the Faeries.

Grimalkin is used by Mab as a surrogate voice for an unknown reason. It is suggested that he belongs to a species of such cats known as malk.

In the video game BlazBlue: Calamity Trigger when Hakumen is defeated as the sub-boss of the game for all default characters (not counting Jin, the aforementioned Hakumen himself, and v -13-), he is suddenly warped out of the battlefield, all the while angrily yelling, "How dare you interrupt me, Grimalkin!" When he says that, he is referring to his mistress, Kokonoe. The Grimalkin in BlazBlue is a species of cat-like people, with three known Grimalkins being Taokaka, the aforementioned Kokonoe, and the original Grimalkin, Jubei.

In Gregory Maguire's novel A Lion Among Men, the cowardly lion, Brrr, has a "glass cat" companion who is later discovered to be named Grimalkin.

Thank you wikipedia

Photo Friday - Favorite Recent Photo

I couldn't choose a single favorite photo out of these pictures I took of my neighbor. So, I chose them all and put them in this slide show. Her name is Liz Valencia. I wanna be her when I grow up!

I'm not sure exactly her age, but somewhere around 79 if I recall correctly. She's been telling me this for quite sometime. You would think I could figure it out. But alas, the facts have eluded me.

I've asked Liz to drop by whenever she has a dance performance and I will take her picture. She is more than happy to comply. I know she practices at the Senior Center, but performs where ever she and her troop are needed. This woman is full of youthful energy and it is obvious she could dance circles around me.

The dances she performs are done in authentic costume for the area of Mexico the dance originated. So, she has several different costumes, and she looks like a million bucks in each one. The traditional dances of Mexico are called Ballet Folklórico

To Cayuga Creek and Niagara River

Once, there was a dream, never-ending,

flowing greatly within my heart’s happiness.

Capturing the last remnants of summers' heat,

the multi-hued pages of flame,

drifted lightly in the hands of the wind.

I ran alongside the swift stream bed

wondrously chasing the buoyant colors.

And my heart could fly

when it reached land’s end.

No barriers to my joy

I followed the merry journey onward,

through the singing waters.

Until the river opened wide

quickly rushing beneath that grand island bridge.

Leaves excitedly danced,

and took little leaps through the rapids

until they jumped off the crest of the waterfall

to be carried,

once again, by the wind.

Elizabeth Munroz

Stop Searching

Blind Seeker

Somewhere out in the night
A lonely one calls
Seeking that which was never lost.

In it's sad head
It cannot comprehend
What is all around.

The deep indigo night
surrounds it's soul
Yet it will not see
The twinkling starlight.

Open eyes do not see
What the heart requires.
Resignation brings on the search.
Padding across the earth

The lonely one travels far,
Far from home,
Always wondering.

What is the purpose in all this?

All around, in every branch,
And drop of water lies the answer.

Elizabeth Munroz
June 1990

From Last Friday's Post

This is BooBoo, about age 7. She was my mother's cat. 

When Mom and Dad went to a nursing home both their cats came to live with me. 

I put this picture of BooBoo into photoshop and played with it for a while and came up with the picture I posted on Friday.

BooBoo has found another home.

Come join me for some C8H10N4O2

C₈H₁₀N₄O₂, better known as caffeine, is the most wonderful chemical compound known to humankind. 

If the field of chemistry had never identified or produced a single other useful compound, caffeine alone would be justification enough for its existence.

A quote from GeekDad

Heart Wide Open

 

Live each day with

heart wide open, 

take the pain

and the beauty

as it comes.

Life will be easier in the long run.

~Elizabeth Munroz

What to Name It?

When you become aware
you are faced with death,
you begin to live
every moment of your life
to the fullest extent
of your capabilities.

All the troublesome behaviors
others would aim at you
no longer have meaning.
They are not worth
your precious moments.

You take no guff from anyone
and you allow yourself to be free
in order to live out
whatever life you have left
as happily as possible.

Why can't everyone live that free in the first place?

~~~Elizabeth Munroz