How much is that doggie in the window?

Dad... and if you look closely, you will see a small puppy tucked at his side.

My father had a dog when he married my mother. I believe the dog's name was Ferdie, but that may be another dog and another time. On the snippet of video that I have from 1940, you can see the dog, just an ordinary mutt, but clearly loved by my father. It is my understanding that the dog did not get along well with my brother, as there are no pictures of it from shortly after my brother's birth. Sometimes, growing up, I thought that we should have kept the dog (grin)...

This loss apparently weighed heavily on my father, although I never heard anyone EVER mention it. I say this because we never had a dog. We had everything else under the sun, heaven knows, but no dog. We got a cat when I was 2 and a half. Smokey. A huge persian/alleycat mix who was as sweet as a cat could be. My sister used to be able to wrap her in a towel and feed her with a doll bottle when the cat was fairly middle aged. She lived until I was 21... all of my life up to that point.

We had hamsters. We had guinea pigs of all sorts, colors and sizes (one rather memorable one used to squeal excitedly when my father pulled in the driveway... it LOVED my father). They were REAL guinea pigs... from some lab up near UCLA I believe. We had rats and reptiles and birds, but never ever had a dog.

My brother went off to college, and their dorm adopted a mixed breed dog named, aptly, Pooch. Pooch was a Corgi/Dachshund mix. When my brother came home after college, Pooch came with him. When he went to Europe for the summer, Pooch stayed with my Mom and Dad, who reluctantly agreed, just for the summer. Of course, Pooch never went back to live with my brother. Dad warmed to the idea of a dog and,having denied himself for so long, adored Pooch way beyond reason. He mourned the loss of another dog in time, and they were dogless once again. When we all mentioned getting another dog, he was dead set against it. Period. The end. My father, in case I haven't mentioned it before, was ' a little friend to all the world'. He was empathetic to a fault, and sensitive. No more dogs... nope.. none!

My sister came up with the solution. One Christmas they gave Mom and Dad a card that said a puppy was going to be born that spring, offspring of their dog. Dad fumed and fussed , but the deed was all but done. I think, even then, that we knew that this dog would outlast my father, and that my mother would need a companion...

And along came Katie... a small bundle of Golden Retriever who so completely stole my father's heart that it was a joy to watch. The picture is evidence of his capitulation. The puppy spent much of her time in his chair, his lap, on his shoulders... they were inseparable.

And, in the long run, she was great consolation and joy to my mother, too...

I don't want to walk without you, baby...

My parents, at some Rotary function, probably in the 50's?

My parents were very loving. Now I don't remember then as being 'sexy', but I don't suppose that would have factored in to my view of them when I was a child. I DO remember some locked doors after we moved to a house in which their bedroom wasn't in the pathway to our playroom and my brother's bedroom. We lived in a really small house until I was 13! As I've mentioned, my father told us once that he thought no one would be able to look at him physically and love him. My Mom never gave it a thought, and their relationship was founded on something pretty darned good.

My Dad rarely raised his voice. My mother was more prone to ... well... she was immature at times, and it showed occasionally. Wow! lightning didn't just strike me dead!! (grin). Wherever they went, they went together, when Dad was home. He worked too much, and made it all look too easy for us. I think we thought we were rich, and in all the ways that counted, we were. If there was a more textbook 50's family, I never saw it... well, that's not true, actually, I saw a lot of them. We lived in the Westwood Village area of Los Angeles.. not exactly a 'suburb', but an enclave maybe. Small families, good neighbors, safe places to be as a kid. Mom didn't drive until after my sister was born. She said that the first day she got her license, she drove all over all by herself! What freedom!

My father was block warden during the war. I have little memories of that time, of course, but I do remember the blackout curtains, as we had them in the house forever. To this day I can't sleep with any light showing.

So I had it good growing up. I had a sister and a brother ( I was the classic middle child... still am), a mother who didn't work, and a father who worked too hard. We had parents who loved us.

and they loved each other

maybe more...

me!

They went upon their abba dabba Honeymoon!

Catalina, 1938... aren't they just the cutest? I love the clothes of the time, those long, loose pants.

But back to the honeymoon...

As I've said, my parents met at a dance at my mother's boarding school. She was very young, and first thought Dad to be 'too old'. He was a persistent person, however, and wooed and won her easily. After the Honeymoon and several trips to the hospital, they set up housekeeping in West Los Angeles, close to the place I was raised. My father was a hard working gentle-man. My mother was a smart, inexperienced woman. They fit well together.

The things I remember from my childhood are myriad. I am occasionally subdued when I talk about it, because I have met so many people for whom childhood was a terrible time. Mine was pretty golden. We were on the west coast during the war. My father had to quit his job and joined the War Manpower Commission, training people to train people. He was unfit for service physically. My brother was born in 1941 and I was born in 1943. My sister is a baby boomer, born in 1947 (and cute as a bug she was)... We lived in a typical house on a typical neighborhood in a typical 'bedroom' community in an atypical city. ZZZZZZ wait.. I'm putting ME to sleep....

See.. I told you I couldn't talk about it, it was way to ordinary! Or so it seemed to us. My father quit his job shortly after my sister was born because he couldn't stand working for someone else. He worked out of his car for a while and then re opened the factory he had before the war... He made venetian blinds. One of my fondest memories was being allowed to go to work with him on a Saturday. I would play with the venetian blind tailings and we would go to the corner store for a baloney sandwich and a Nephi... sigh. That corner, by the way, is now the Design Center, and that little market was a hold out property that sat FOREVER, it seemed, in front and in the way of that huge building. I don't remember when they finally sold out.

me!

I was waltzing with my darling...

My father. I just love this picture, 'specially the yellow shirt and blue tie.. WTG Dad!

My father loved to dance. Not the organized kind of dancing, but his own rather delightful style. My father taught me to dance and in doing so, taught me to dance with anyone. If you could follow my dancing father, you could dance with the finest. His favorite song, as I've mentioned earlier, was "The Tennessee Waltz". Les Paul and Mary Ford... sigh....

My father's life was difficult. Although the stories of HOW seemed to change through the years, the fact that he had a broken back at a very young age remains intact. It was variously attributed to having tuberculosis, which his father had, and a fall, which my grandmother told us, probably because she didn't want to admit the T.B. He was in a body cast from the age of 2 until 8. Six years of changing this cast time and time again. His mother was a good, sweet woman, and apparently very patient. He had the classic T.B. spine, and the cast probably prevented him from being crippled any more than he was. My father was shorter than he should have been because of all this (and scoliosis, he had his spine fused in his teens). This wasn't the worst of all possible things (the short part), as my mother was just under 5 feet tall. They fit together. He thought that no one would ever be able to love him because of the condition of his back, but Mom could have cared less. She wrote this wonderful letter to her parents, not asking for permission to marry him, but telling them that she was going to drop out of school and marry him and that, as they say, was that! She was 18. They met at a dance held at her boarding school when she was 16 and he was 24. He decided right there and then that she was his "it" girl. My father could be very persuasive. Very...

and he loved to dance.....

I've seen fire and I've seen rain...

sigh... my second fire of the season. I don't have much of a fireplace, but it's not the size of a fireplace that counts, you know... no.... honest!

Someday, when I have moved to the mountains... or the ocean... or both, I will have a wonderful fireplace. My fireplace is a sometimes thing. Let's move back a step. Many of the houses where I live were not intended to last for a long time. This was a vacation spot... a sometimes place. If you add to that the dampness and cooler weather, well... my house is beginning to rot. ewwww... Ok, that's an exaggeration... or not. Several years ago I noticed a stream of ants coming from the cat's bedroom to the closet in the hall. I checked the windows, as they can get in there, but no ants... I checked around the room and found that the guest bed had, indeed, fallen through the floor! The upper right bedpost was firmly imbedded in the soft wood that USED to keep me from the things that live under the house . I had it repaired. I had it repaired again. I had it repaired a third time and that seems to have done the trick. But this is NOT a solid house. The fireplace has no mantle. It's a box on a wall. It's mine and I love it, but it's like that awkward child... I'm the only one.

So, someday when I have moved to the mountains, or the ocean, I will have a wonderful fireplace. As I hope to live on the lake someday, I want one that has no chimney. No traditional chimney at least. I want, instead of some picture over the fireplace, to have a window that looks over the lake... or the ocean... or the river. I've seen this done. I want a fireplace that is deep enough to make a fire at the back of it so the smoke NEVER comes out the front and fills the house.. .. I want one that has a real draft, so I can have a fire in the worst of all weathers, something I can't do in this house. I want a fireplace make of stone or wood or natural stuff... I don't know. I just want a wonderful fireplace..

maybe some running water....

me!

He said, "Stand back, I'm gonna make it rain!"

After the rain. This picture was taken at my Mom's house, after a rain several years ago. I've always liked it.

Have you noticed all the songs I've been using as titles? WHAT? OH... good thing I reminded you...

I love a rainy night.

It rained this weekend. It's the first good rain of the season, and it was a dilly... a gully washer... and I enjoyed it as much as I could buried in my bed with my kitty. I hate not feeling well on a sunny day, but a rainy day doesn't make me feel guilty about not being 'productive'.

The first rain in Southern California typically sends this otherwise serious sensible sedate city into a tailspin. No one knows how to drive in the rain. Accidents balloon to an incredible rate, meetings are missed, cell phones are dropped, lunches are delayed and the world spins backwards on it's axis. All while I sit, contentedly oblivious, in the warmth of my cozy house.

sigh....

I had a fire in the fireplace last night, also the first of the season. Kitty and I settled in and watched the dancing flames and were happy that fall is coming, even as poor a season as fall is in Southern California.

It will be OK as long as it rains once in a while...

Fever... in the morning, fever all through the night

My kitty...
more about her later.

I hate having a fever....

OK... i recognize that there are a MILLION things that I could be experiencing that are a BILLION times worse than being sick, but I don’t like being sick.

Let me rephrase that. I don’t mind a good cold. In fact, as long as I was sick enough not to have to go to school/work, and not so sick that 911 had to be called, a good cold could be something to be enjoyed. In the winter. Cold outside, warm and snugly inside. Hot chocolate, hot soup, lots of kleenex, naps at will, bad TV, and I’m a happy camper. When I was a child, it was all of the above and some GOOD radio (no daytime TV)..

But back to the theme at hand. I don’t like being sick if it involves fever or pain, and I’m having both. The short version is an attack of diverticulitis. I won’t go into details, but, in the words of Shakespeare on a very bad day, it SUCKS! I have been sleeping most of the time, which my cat just loves (hence the picture). She feels it is her duty to make me feel better all by herself, and takes great pride in any small step I take in the direction of better health. If I lie on my back, in my cocoon of pillows and down blankets and comforters, she is right on my chest, purring me to feeling better. If I lie on my right side, she sleeps in front of me, on a pillow I use for my arms... If I lie on my left side, however, she curls up ON my right side, starting at my armpit and stretching to my hip, making me use the same pillow to rest my useless right arm (well, it's useless to HER since it's difficult for me to pet her when she's there)... Go figure... She watches me like a hawk during the day, and no matter when I go to take a nap, she is in there on the bed in an instant... she even, occasionally, yells at me that I would feel better if I would just go and lie down and let her minister to me!

So, when I get better, we know who we have to thank....

oops... she's calling me now...

me!

By the Sea... By the Sea....

My pier.. this morning... there is supposed to be rain today, but it's not evident so far. Nice surf, tho'... The mountains behind are the Santa Monica mountains, and are quite a distance away.

More family stuff later...One of my favorite weekend things to do is go out to breakfast on the ocean. There is a place in the beach city next to mine that is right on the 'strand' (the walkway next to the sand). I meet old friends and we talk about just about anything. The weather is changing today, but this morning it is crisp and clear (because all that Santa Ana smog has blown back to Collegemom's house, where it lives. I'm trying to work up to taking walks on the strand, where I get to see the ocean and some incredibly over priced homes (that would be cool to have except in the summer). Usually, this time of year, you can see dolphin swimming up and down the coast, but I saw none today. It's Ok, they'll be out tomorrow.. or the next day. It's somehow always awesome to see them surfing.

And so, surfeited for the day, I am off to see Mom...

me!

Baby face...

My mother and my brother... 1941. I always said they were exactly alike!

One of my projects recently has been putting old VHS tapes of trips and such on DVD. I think that, given how quickly I'm aging, they SHOULD last my lifetime (ha!). One of the VHS tapes I have is of old Super 8 movies that were put on VHS and now will be moved to DVD. They have no sound, and, since this is the third transfer, not a lot of good viewing. They DO have history, however, which makes them priceless. My father is on these tapes. There was video taken of my father with VHS before he died, but no one seems to be able to come up with it (another reason I'm transferring these tapes). There is something about watching the people you love MOVE, as opposed to still photos. You see so little in a snapshot...

Which brings me to this picture. One of the parts of the Super 8 movie tape is an old 8mm (?) taken by my father in 1940 and 1941. He couldn't afford to have a motion picture camera, but he either rented or borrowed one just before my father was born, and just after. The tape is incredible. Blurry, out of focus, worn by age and choppy, it shows my mother... my tiny precious mother pregnant with my brother. She is a ball of energy, smiling, laughing, bouncing around as only she HAD to. She was a tiny thing.. not quite 5 ft tall. After my brother was born, there are several incidences that were filmed: Mom handing him to her mother, Mom coming down the steps with that old HUGE baby carriage, and Mom playing on the blanket with my brother. She does and doesn't look like this picture. MOVING, she has an entirely different look.. alive and interested and happy and proud. Only part of that shows in this picture, taken , it would seem, at the same time as the 'video'. Curious...

The other great thing about this little snippet of film is that my mother's sister and her husband are there, newly married and so visibly in love. My grandparents are there; Poggy in his ever present suit, Bonnie in her coat (fur?) and HATS hats HATS. They were 64... not much older than I am, and they seem so OLD. It's the fashions, but in the film you can see that she's NOT as old as those still photos make her out to be... in spite of the hats! My mother's mother is there, 20 years younger than they are, but looking older somehow. She's 45 years old!! I just calculated that and I can't believe it! OMG! What a find is this small piece of film...

So keep those cameras rolling folks, you never know who might be watching 60 years from now... or how much they might care.

me!

26 miles across the sea...

I've never been to Catalina. Nearly 62 years spent just 26 miles away from it and I've never been there. It has something to do with my aversion to boats and small airplanes... now if I could DRIVE there... Notice, if you will, how the coastline of Catalina looked in those days. Reminds me of Hawaii at about the same time.

My mother was married in 1938. She was 18 and my father was (shockingly) 26. He met her at a party at the boarding school her mother put her into because the new husband really didn't want children. Mom was with her sister, though, and at least they had that friendship and family. I never liked my mother's mother very much. She wasn't a BAD person, she just wasn't a very good one... Anyway, Dad fell head over teakettle for Mom, and adored her forever, and she just loved him right back. They honeymooned in Catalina. The picture shows Mom on some dock. She looks adorable if a bit gaunt, and apparently she was, as she spent the next few months in and out of the hospital here with Diphtheria, or so we've been told. I found a bunch of bills that Dad paid over those months, and he never seemed to think he'd gotten a raw deal... a REALLY sick wife, or at least there are no signs that he tried to turn her in for a healthier model...

There were hospital bills for July ($9 a day, .25 cents for juice, .35 cents for a tube of cold cream, nembutal, .50 cents) August, for a couple of days, and then the capper; 6 days in the hospital in August. The total bill for that was $68.76. My father had to pay it off in installments. The doctor bills were for things like office calls ($3) Hospital calls ($5) and HOUSE CALLS ($5)... imagine. He also got a very POLITE letter from the county of Los Angeles reminding him that Mom had spent some time in the County Hospital in the 'communicable diseases ward', and he would, of course, want to repay the taxpayers of the county "as soon as circumstances permit'.. whoooaaaa!. It was a hell of a start to the marriage, that's for sure. There had been a huge diphtheria outbreak not too long before that, and they kept mom in the 'communicable diseases ward' in hopes that she wouldn't start another... poor Mom. Dad was a charmer, all of his life, and he snuck in to see her whenever he could.

but I don't think they ever went to Catalina again... (grin)

Santa Catalina is a'waitin for me...

There she is, only 26 miles away...

Stjulien's in love...

This Coatimundi is older and larger than Stj's new love (grin).

I got a phone call from St Julien tonight. She had to go to North Carolina to visit her Mom, who was having some medication difficulties (we hope). Just before we hung up, she told me that, as she sat in the Greensboro Airport, waiting for her MAYBE lost luggage, she became aware of an animal carrier that was offloaded from the next plane. She glanced up, thinking to see a cat or dog when it became quite apparent that the occupant of the cage was neither. Having never seen an animal like this before (a sheltered life?), she inquired of it's owner, who promptly took it out of the cage and handed it to her! It was, of course, a Coatimundi... a young one at that. It chattered at her, patted her face and honked her nose. She figures the worry and wait over the luggage was well worth it for the experience...

OH.. and she got her luggage...

and the Coatimundi's name is Hank...

me!

Gossip...

My mother at a much better time. I love this picture, as it shows her spirit and warmth and kick ass smile.

Since taking Mom anywhere has become such a difficult thing to manage, I try to limit driving Miss Lynne to fun things, such as lunch or scenic drives and an ice cream cone. My sister will take her to get her nails done, but I sort of like doing them in her room. Now take into account the fact that she always had them done regularly, and they were 'fake' (built up) so they always looked nice. I, on the other hand, haven't done my own nails since before most of you were born, so doing Mom's requires skills I simply do not possess. I am getting better though, and only snip off the end of her finger once in a great while... (ouch!).

What we DO while I do her nails is gossip. Well, I gossip, since Mom can't talk, and she listens and makes the appropriately shocked or pleased noises as she can. Sometimes even when they're warranted!

I adopt the "getting your nails done girls night out dish the dirt" kind of gossipy tone and start talking about whatever has happened recently: The Brad/Jennifer/Angelina play, the bennifers, all kinds of ripely exaggerated gossip until we both laugh, each for a different reason.... and it's a good day even if I HAVE nipped the edge of her finger with the clippers, and her manicure looks rather as if it's been done by a giraffe... a good day...

I miss my mother a great deal...

me

Back where it all began...

Instead of Mom, you get my sister and my niece (sister center, niece on the left) taken during the race at the Hometown Fair.


I'm at the Galleria, the place I first tried WiFi. Now, normally I'm not a 'hang around with the same guy more than once" kind of gal, but this was SUCH a great experience that I just had to give it another go. I just saw a movie, and am having a bite of lunch before I go to see Mom. I was going to put a picture of Mom on this post that I took with my camera, but can't seem to get it OUT of the e-mail I sent to myself. I'm using the Adelphia on line service rather than my home, of course, and must be missing something. I can't seem to save the attachment that I sent, although I have been able to save others... hmm... yet another conundrum.

The movie was so so.. It was Gospel, and I somehow expected more gospel music, or at least gospel music as I knew it, but maybe gospel music has kept up with the times and this kind of 'hip hop' stuff IS gospel music now. It wasn't bad, as almost all music is good, it just wasn't what I expected. I didn't come out of there singing anything, and that's such a given for me that I'm surprised...

Ok.. I'm off to see Mom.

later....

me

i Think that I shall never see, a poem lovely as a ... a... ACHOO!

A picture of my Mom’s house in a cooler, calmer time... fog, lovely fog, glorious fog.oops.. can’t find it, so here’s her garden room... Not foggy... dang... I'll take pictures when I go to watch them trim the trees...

I’ll get to the title in a minute. It’s hot again here. It’s too hot and dry and the city is on fire yet again. It amazes me how many times it can burn and yet burn again the following year... Smarter heads than mine kept the fireguys sitting around after the last fires so that they would be ready just in case. T’was a clever idea... It’s after 9 and it’s about 80 or more in this house.... Beam me up Scottie...

This morning, in spite of the heat, I went up to my Mom’s house to meet with the tree trimmer leader. There are huge trees around her house, and they need to be trimmed every year. It’s too hot to think about it, much less think about the poor guys who have to actually DO it... that comes some other time, hopefully soon. Hence the achoo remark, as the dryness has everyone sneezing and sniffling.

But let me delve further into this heat thing. You see, children, (settling back in her rocking chair and drawing the young'un's around her), in Southern California we have this phenomenon called Santa Ana's. Normally, the flow of air is from west to east, making my little beach house a cool and breezy place to live, and pushing all the smoggy, stale air out to San Bernardino, where it lives (Sorry, Collegemom, but you know it's true )... Once in a great while the air flow reverses, and the air comes out of the desert, through the passes east of us where it is superheated by the friction of moving amongst the rocks and things and takes with it all the smog and sh*tuff and throws them into the western part of the city. It hurts to breathe on those days, and it's too hot and too dry. Along with this delightful phenom comes fire danger of the first order, which news broadcasters repeat and repeat in my ear "Don't you know little fool, you never can win... " .. oops.. sorry, that's another repeat repeat thing. ANYWAYS, the news fools keep talking about how dangerous it is for fire until they awaken some stoopid pyro who goes out and proves their case....

I hate the Santa Ana's... and the heat... and the dryness.. and fires... and news broadcasters in general.


I really am going to write more about traveling, but it is too hot to think, as this blog clearly proves.

Maybe in a couple of days.

If there’s anything left around here...

me!

The Hometown Fair

The Fair, in early regalia .. more pictures after blog!

Ok.. I'm recovered enough to blog, but not get into some of the trip stuff... maybe later. My hands are still achy from driving. I think I need an attitude adjustment!

This is the Hometown fair weekend. It's not that I don't like the fair, it's just that I'm RIGHT in the middle of it... I mean SERIOUSLY in the middle of it, and right this minute there is a band at the right end of it with someone singing "Popsicle Toes" (I kid you not!) and a folk music band at the other end sing "Wack fol the daddio"... of course, they can't hear each OTHER, but I get them both.. equally loud, playing at once. In the middle is the fair itself, and the sounds of that truly are delightful... something about children and happy conversations. In front of my house there are several ... um... venues, for lack of a better word: the reptile show, the bird show and some VERY cheap circus kind of shouting act... all vying for space in my ears along with the two stages... The good news is that this fair has made some attempt to keep 'real people' arts and crafts, which makes that part of it enjoyable, especially watching the new booths each year and seeing how they do. I had to buy a little fish thingy this year.... you see.. I have a .. well... I'll put a picture up later


Years ago, when I first moved here and started with the fair every year, there was no fence on the 'right of way" (read RAIL ROAD TRACKS) in front of my house, so people would park in my driveway and 'run across to the fair"... since use of said driveway was a yearly bonus for friends and family members, I was, needless to say, quite... um... miffed! So, one year I put up a huge sign, on endless old printer paper that said "If you are not MY mother, do not park here" and added, the second year "not even 'just for a minute". The runners in the race that happens the first day loved the break, and eventually looked for the sign every year, offering to either adopt me or call me Mom (I just figured those poor folks were unclear on the concept, so I smiled and waved to one and all). Several years ago, when the old sign became unwieldy and tattered, I made one on poster paper from school. This year I couldn't find it, so I quickly took an old poster and wrote on the back of it... adding the codicil "Oh, how the mighty have fallen", which no one got but my sister... sigh... It was always interesting, every year, to see which new person I met during the year would say "OH... say, don't you live across from the fair? Could I park in your driveway?" to which I would politely reply.. "Of course.. I'll just tell my mother and my sister and my best friends to go to HELL this year"... !!! doh...

Things have quieted down now, only a very loud and occasionally very poor band is playing some sort of ... oh... 60's music . Everyone is heading home. The sun never came out, which I find a blessing, but it will be interesting to see if my new 'good' booth this year did well. I'll check with her tomorrow... it was my opinion she didn't have enough stuff, because what she had was well priced and kind of unique!

Ok..
later,
me!

More fair stuff..

The pictures (in no rememberable order ) .. the race, very early in the morning, the pre fair.. foggy and cool (thanks in part to Alucard) and the sign...

The fish from the fair...

Ok.. this needs some 'splaining, Lucy... I've had the top fish for quite a while. The color is occasionally off putting, specially in my house, but there is something about the line of the thing that I just love... I may paint it some day... the bottom fish is the one I got today. I'm holding it because it won't stand up on it's own (big sissy)... I'm figuring on hanging it underneath the other one, as a sort of bizarre 'inner self' montage... They are, in truth, closer to the same color than the picture implies... as if that counts !