When the end draws near - A love story.

We met almost 37 years ago.

We were introduced by an old girl friend.

We have been in contact almost everyday since then.
Sometimes coming together several times a day.

While you are still working, as of yesterday, I know your days are numbered. 
Just a couple of years ago we lost your sister.

I will miss you.

Well, if you can fall in love with an appliance, I did.
When I came back from visiting relatives in England in 1980 I raved about an electric tea kettle my family had in Harrogate, Yorkshire.
My then girl friend took it upon herself to find me an electric tea kettle from England (she's also the one that got me my Scotty dog).  You couldn't just order one from England because an English pluggy thingy does not work in a US pluggy thingy.

Her dad at the time worked for J.C. Penny's and I believe that is how she located one. They weren't cheap, probably at the time around eighty bucks. Once I found them available we ordered one for my mom, we (I) called the two kettles sisters;)
While the girl friend (who is still a friend) did not end up being true love, her gift to me was. A relationship that has lasted all this time.
The one from her to me died about two years ago, after being used 6-10 times a day since I got it.
The electric parts still worked. The welds on the neck started failing. I tried to come up with all sorts of ideas to keep using it for something else, but nothing seemed suitable.

Moms started leaking around the neck also a couple of years ago, so we got her a new tea kettle.

I still use hers out at the cabin and am just careful when I pour from it.

Here it is yesterday after being used several times.

This is a relationship I will miss when the time comes.

No, I never did name it.

Sepia Saturday contribution for this week - Nope, dad never needed a wheelbarrow.

Let's see; factory, fish, wheelbarrow? Which could we have that may contain one of those?

Sepia Saturday for April 14th.

My dad never needed a wheelbarrow for his catches.

Never caught more than you see here at one time.

This was probably one of his better days with the fishing pole.

Oh, he tried real hard. Got up early. Tried all the baits all the others were using.

Had the proper attire.

But he just never really ever caught that many.

He didn't care. It was all about being out there and trying.

And being with family.

He loved getting the camper ready, and cooking over the fire or on the camp stove.

This photo my actually be from the last time he went to his favorite river to trout fish.

I really love this picture.

Now my brother on the other hand ( he is on the left ), he had no trouble bringing them in.

Matter of fact, once he got his limit he would usually then work on mine. That was okay, I didn't like to fish anyway.

After mine, he would then work on moms limit.

And then, near the end of the weekend if dad hadn't caught all he was allowed by Sunday afternoon, my brother would finish his limit.

Here he is teaching his kids the art of filling limits.

Both these young gentlemen now have kids of their own.

But so far my brothers knack of catching fish seems to be skipping a couple of generations.

Yes, I was 'over there' before we were 'over here'.

The one time my family makes the headlines and I am no where to be seen.

These memories came flooding back with this weeks Sepia Saturday prompt.

My tale of woe goes all the way back to 1956, Friday, November 9th to be exact.

(But who's counting.)

Yea, I was around back then. Had been for a little over 13 months.

Not only did my family make the headlines, we (they) had a rather large photo placed on the front page under that headline. (This one to the left without me in it.)

But I am no where to be seen.

I have always been proud of the fact that we came ‘over here’ from ‘over there’ ( a lady in a grocery store once asked my dad if we had driven all the way ‘here’ from ‘over there’).

I like having that connection to a far away place, “We’re from over there.”

As much as I can, I celebrate my ‘over there’ heritage. (At least as much as one can without having to relive that famous revolution of the late 1700’s with my neighbors.) 

You know the kind of thing; president of the local Sherlock Holmes club, the Stars and Strips and the Union Jack stickers on my trucks bumper. A “Brown Betty” on my desk at work (you would be surprised how many pens you can get in a “Brown Betty”). I even named two of my dogs after that earlier dynamic duo, Sherlock and Watson. Teaching my daughter to eat beans on toast and kippers. That sort of thing.

Do you think I have an unhealthy need to prove that “yes, I too was born ‘over there’”?

Now I realize my brother is a couple of years older than me, and that that fact alone allows for more time to have had more pictures taken of him ‘over there’ before we came ‘over here’.

But it seems I have been left with this need to prove that I existed before ‘over here’, you know, 'over there'.

There are far fewer photos of me ‘over there’. Lots of my brother ( and did I mention, he does not have this need to prove he was ‘over there’ before we were ‘over here’). He hardly ever even brings up ‘over there’.

There are lots of pictures of him with uncles and aunts, at the sea side, in prams.

On grandmas knee.

Any photos of me seem a little blurred in comparison. Almost like an after thought; “Oh yea! Let’s get one of ‘what’s his name’”.

We came over on the Queen Elizabeth in Nov. of 1956. I was always told I was the only one that didn’t get sea sick. Apparently the sea can be kinda rough in November. So maybe during my best photographic moments everyone else was too sick to hold and use a camera. 

(Dad, however, never did mention missing many meals while mom was in the cabin sick with us kids.)

And there are several pictures of my brother on that great ship. Standing on deck. Seated with a life ring that says ‘Queen Elizabeth’ around his neck. One of dad holding him up as we passed that great lady in New York harbor.

But only one, yes one, of me. “Oh yea! Lets get one with ‘What’s his name’”. (Did I mention I hold onto that trunk my brother is sitting in to prove I was ‘over there’ also.)

So this weeks Sepia Saturday prompt again brought this sad longing in my life once more to the surface.

“Did I exist ‘over there’ before we had ‘over here’?

Some where buried within that now browned newspaper article I am indeed mentioned.

I comfort myself thinking that mom always said, and it says so in the newspaper, that we were only going (coming over) for a short time, “12 months, maybe three years.” So maybe they thought we would be back in plenty of time to take more pictures of me, while I was still young,  ‘over there’ after we got back from ‘over here’.

Maybe I had fallen asleep while the photographer took so long to set up the shot.

Maybe I had fallen down inside the trunk and the line for other people to have pictures taken was just too long to reset the shot.

As it turned out I had to wait 15 years to have another picture taken of me ‘over there’.

But I hold no grudge.

Sepia Saturday - Feb 16th = Wet or Tall?

This is the prompt for this weeks Sepia Saturday post.
Lots to chose from here.

Something tall, something wet, playing, water sports, hanging out (thanks Alan), the list could go on.

I was hoping to find something similar but could not combine something watery and something tall.
So I had to make a choice.

  I thought about going with something tall. . .
. . . like this monkey bridge our Boy Scout troop built in the early 60's.
(and a tall signal tower in the background).

But this just wasn't enough.

While these are fun, I just couldn't come up with enough of a story.
















So I went with the 'wet' theme, The Sea Side.

One of the pleasures my mom speaks of the most from childhood is the once a year trip to the 'Sea Side'.
She never said, vacation or beach, or even where. It was just going to the 'Sea Side'.

It usually meant a bus ride with her dads company holiday.

And she loved to 'paddle' in the water.
Not a strong swimmer by any means, 'paddling' probably meant going in up to about her knees.

In this picture is mom and three sisters and an unknown boy.
Mom is kneeling on the left.
Probably early 1930's.

 Here is my mom and brother 'paddling' on some 'Sea Side' trip.

Here my dad, never a big man, but strong, is lifting one of my moms sisters on his shoulders. My mom, on the left, and my cousin, on the right, seem to be the only ones really enjoying this experiment.

Here is a very early photo of mom and dad at the 'Sea Side'. It is either right before they were married or soon after.
Just after the war.











As children, my brother and I never had holidays to the 'Sea Side'. When we got a little older we did go to Florida. While Florida has all the same components it could never be called 'going to the Sea Side'. It is after all Florida.

Another interesting thing about the Sepia Saturday prompt is the dock on which the kids are gathered.


While we never had anything so elaborate here in Missouri (at least where we went), we did have something just as memorable.

 We had floating wooden docks and in the lake slimy wooden swimming pools.

These two photos show my brother and cousin diving or jumping off of one of these docks.

Like moms trips once a week with her mom and dad, for many years our ritual was one week a year at the Lake of the Ozarks, staying at the same place each year.

While mom staying in the wooden pool with the slimy bottom in the lake the whole time, my brother and I soon found we had more fun using the diving board into the lake.
Avoiding completely the slimy pool bottom.

A little closer to home we had a place called 'Suntan Beach'.
This was Missouri River water that was held in a shallow slough.

They had a picnic area, beach and a playground.

 Here is mom and the sister we followed to America getting some rays.

Early 1960's

When all else failed we always had the little inflatable.

We do not appear to be dressed to actually get wet.

While we never had a swim dock quite like the one in the prompt, I do remember we were very happy with what we had.

Although I would be 15 before I got to 'paddle at the sea side'.

I know there is a name for the condition. . . . .

  My parents never threw anything away. Since my dad passed away, now that can only be said about my mom.
  
  In this day of disposable everything, I am rather proud of that fact. Even if it does mean that the responsibility of going through that stuff now falls mostly on me.
  
  We check on mom by phone everyday, and usually make a visit a couple of times a week.
During each visit we collect recycling, and if we can, go through some of her stuff to make sorting at a later date easier.
  
Part of that has to do with getting rid of, and part has to do with finding and labeling family “heirlooms” while mom can still identify them.

  But back to the never throwing away of things.

  I am sure most of it has to do with the times in which she grew up; late 1920’s England. Also the fact the she had a rather large family; 2 brothers and 4 sisters.

  While her dad always worked, as a blacksmith, they were never well off. Although a happy family, making do was just that, making do.

  Then throw in a World War, when everything was in short supply, and , well you get the picture.

  My parents held on to anything that could in some way be repurposed again. Used bits of string and twine would be rerolled for a later use.

Moms old nylons would be cut into narrow strips and reused to tie up the tomato plants.

My dad would spend hours taking apart old things and sort the screws, nuts and bolts for reuse.
  
  Recycling was not in vogue when they grew up, it was called reuse and repurpose.
Bits of garden hose would find a new use.

  Jars and cans were cleaned and used to store the above mentioned hardware, along with many other uses.

  They did not grow up in a time when you had to have the latest before the current model wore out. You maintained, repaired, reused, repurposed many times over before you replaced.

  Shortly after my dad died in 2010 we decided mom needed a new refrigerator. She didn’t decide, we did. She would have kept on using the one she had and probably would have had it buried with her. But its seals were gone. Many shelves were cracked or missing. And much that was there was held together by tape. The freezer was small and formed ice quicker than the South Pole. If you were lucky you could make two ice trays fit and about six tv dinners.

  When we had a newer one delivered (yes we bought a used one. It’s in the blood) we asked the man if he could tell us how old the old Frigidair was.
He said it was 1957. 1957!

  That means it was probably the first refrigerator they bought after coming to America in 1956. They probably bought it used in 1962 when they bought their first house, where mom still lives.

  That means, since it was still working, it had worked, before being hauled away, for about fifty-four years. (Now I wished I had kept it!)

  Just think how many iPhones you will go through in fifty-four years.

  Well, this past week I was doing some cleaning around moms house and had a reason to use a few ‘rags’. That can mean that at one time these pieces of cloth could have been anything; old towels, socks, sheets, shirts, underwear (well maybe not underwear) or just about anything that could somewhat clean a surface.

  Today while sorting and folding said rags one very old one still had a printed impression on it. Barely discernible, but I could still make it out. At one time its purpose had been that of one of those dish towels that you hung on your wall with a calendar printed on it. I guess after its assigned year was up you were suppose to use it as a dish towel. ( I never have figured that one out.)

  Like I was saying, while folding one up today to put back with the other rags I noticed the imprint and its purpose. While most of the printing and images were faded the date was still clear.

It was 1962.
  
  I was only seven in 1962.
  John F Kennedy was President (and we didn’t have to worry about Trump for many years to come).

We had not yet landed on the moon.

And most of the parents of my daughters friends were not born yet ( boy does that make me feel old).

Dad was still installing airplane seat belts in ours cars, because the cars they had back then still did not come with them installed.

  I am not sure if there is an award out there for reusing and repurposing things for the longest out, but if there is, my mom would surely be in the running.

  And we have only just broken the surface of what 'heirlooms' may yet be discovered. ( I am saving all the old Tupperware for a museum.)


 We're probably going to use some of the old things we find to test kids on their use, you know, like asking a young kid how to use an old rotary phone or play music with a cassette tape.

  I know I have inherited this gene, and I am proud of it, while my wife, not so much.
But, someday, mark my word, when something I got for 10 cents becomes worth 3 dollars, she will be happy I held on to it.

  If you doubt my moms ability to hold on to things, I have included a photo of the towel.

What is it about American eating establishments and Tea? A rant.

I do not drink coffee. Never have. Love the smell of it, but can't stand the taste.

Tea, however, is a must. We were brought up with it. My aunt use to make it for us kids with lots of milk and lots of sugar and not too hot.

Now I usually drink it black with sugar. But milk, or cream, does occasionally make an appearance.

I almost (99% of the time) always start my day with a cuppa, usually putting the kettle on as I turn on lights in the kitchen.

A cup always leaves the house with me as I go to work (or for that matter, anywhere), all four seasons.

During cold weather tea is a staple all day. In summer, drinking hot tea ends after a couple cups, with me trading off for ice tea or diet soda later in the day.

My go to tea is PG Tips. Decaf most of the time (it is the only decaf I have found that I can call tea).
Many a morning I trade off a PG Tips for an English or Irish Breakfast tea. Twining's usually.
I have also started using a 'Builder's' tea in the mornings when I am out at the cabin.

Famous naturalist John Muir many times went hiking with nothing put a thermos of tea and bread. Perfect!

I have accepted an Earl Grey as drinkable and will sometimes still have one after having it be the only tea that was brought along on an 18 day Grand Canyon kayak/raft trip.
( I had told the man planning the trip that I did not drink coffee, a staple for outdoor trips, and that I was pretty picky about my tea, I offered to get my own so as not to make it hard on him, but he said no, it was okay and not a problem and that he would get a good tea. He proceeded to buy a big mix of different Earl Grey's thinking that Earl Grey was the brand and not the type. When I want to think about the Grand Canyon trip I make myself a cuppa Earl Grey.)

I like my tea strong, dark and with some sugar. And like I said earlier, sometimes with cream or milk.

I don't like "flavored'" teas; raspberry, Jasmine or any of her cousins.
Oolong is okay if I am having Chinese for dinner, but I still check to see if they have something darker.

A perfect afternoon for me is to sit in the one tea room St Louis has and have a scone, a pot of tea and read a book. (It doesn't happen often enough).

You could, and I am okay with it, call me a tea snob. I am after all a beer and bread snob already, so an accusation of another form of snobbery is okay.

With all that said, it probably is not hard for you to imagine that when we go out for breakfast, while my table mates are ordering coffee, I am the lone tea drinker.

I get it, coffee is a morning ritual for if not most, many Americans. And I also get it that there is different coffees and that everyone has their own preferences.

But at most breakfast type places the coffee making is habit, and the pots are emptied so quickly that most pots are served hot, fresh and often.

But if you order tea you are many times treated like a second class citizen.

Most times I have to send the water back to have it 'nuked' to make, I was going to say hotter, but instead I will say make it hot in the first place.

Although not a coffee drinker, as has been stated, I would assume the best coffee is made with real hot, boiling water.

But many, most?, restaurants don't understand that about tea. The water has to boil. (Most friends are surprised at how hot I can drink my tea, not that I try to prove anything by that fact. Just sayin')

 

We tea drinkers are not treated like the coffee drinkers.

Neither in quality or temperature.
And definitely not in quantity.

Most tea served over here in restaurants is Lipton's, or something real close to a 'Lipton' type tea.
Now, don't get me wrong, if Lipton's is served HOT and allowed to steep the whole time you drink it, it is very drinkable, and much better than some off brands. (Okay, till I found a better, it was my go to tea.)

Occasionally you will get a better tea, but in those cases the water is so tepid that the quality of the tea is lost. It doesn't matter how good your tea is if I can't steep properly.

There are some restaurant chains over here that I won't even bother ordering hot tea in because the chain is universally bad at making hot water (Denny's).

Their are some chains where I know the water will be good and hot but the brand of tea they carry is pretty bad. So in those cases I always bring in a couple bags I always keep stored in my truck. I am okay with supplying my own tea after my Grand Canyon experience and I appreciate the fact that their water is hot.


Another thing. While with most restaurants the coffee cup is bottomless, every time the server passes by they either fill your cup automatically or at least ask if you would like more.

With tea drinkers, at best you will be asked if you would like more tepid water poured on top of your already used tea bag.

Most times you have to ask for more water (nuke it please) and another tea bag.
And you really feel bad if you are enjoying sitting and talking to your wife over a late breakfast and she is on her eighth cup of coffee and you have to ask for a third tea bag.

Supply and demand I guess.

But occasionally you will be surprised.

Having an eleven year old child, over the last couple of years we have gone to a Disney theme park a few times. And once you do that, at least for a little while, you get all kind of mailings from Disney. Being big fans of anything Disney we are for the most part okay with that.

In every issue of one of their bigger magazines they usually talk to someone who helps make the park special. In one issue they talked to one of their head chef's. And he made a very fine point about treating tea drinks as well as drinkers of other beverages. Even going into the best way he believes it should be served. Another reason to love things Disney.

Another surprise I have found is that on rare occasions you will find a good tea in surprising places (it doesn't happen often).

Case in point, Waffle House. Breakfast is my favorite meal to eat out, especially if you have a favorite place to get it. While Waffle House does not fit that bill, I do enjoy their biscuits and gravy, and omelets. So once every couple of weeks, or when I head out early to the cabin, I will stop in at one of three Waffle Houses I have to pass on the way to the cabin (or work).
99% of the time their water is good and hot. And I am also surprised that they use a pretty good brand of tea. At least the ones near me use a brand called Royal Cup, and I have come to look forward to it when I visit a Waffle House near me.

Rare indeed is finding a place with hot water and a good tea.

I will always keep tea bags in my truck. I will order something else at the places that just can't get it right. And I will savor the places that do get it right (The London Tea Room, St Louis and Waffle House).

But please, you may not love us tea drinkers as much, but try to treat us the same.

There . . . . I got that out of my system.