First off, I am thankful to all of you who took the time to leave comments. It was definitely a hard time, these past few days, with the passing of my little dog.
As it happened, as it often does with pets, our little Gilbert carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. We very often, with our loved pets, place upon them the cares and woes we sometimes just can’t face. They are the unquestioning friend who let’s you cry on their shoulder, never asks why and never judges you. So much weight on the shoulders of that little dog. The leaving of my parents. My mother’s horrid disease. The final days of my youth. All of that and more tied into 12 pounds of furry smiles and tail wags.
I am, truly, glad to be in the midst of this project when it happened. And in many ways the projects lessons of maturity and ACTION have helped me to come to terms with these things. The passing of my little dog allowed me to final open up and cry. I saw the importance of a grave. A marker to what once was. A place I could toss the dirt, shed my tear and say goodbye to my youth, my mother, my little friend and a life that had gone.
Yet, here I am with flowers for the grave. Apple trees to grow and make food for my family. Work to be done. Projects to undertake. Letters to write. Posts to do. A life has formed up around me when I really felt I was hiding from an old one. I am thankful and relish the maturity and ACTION of my new days. Again, thank you. I shall not dwell. As, the world awaits and there is so much to do. So many things to create and enjoy and bake! Onward, we march, we homemakers. We are a tough lot.
I thought something light and visual would be good to follow yesterday’s blog. I just had to post this photo as it is so sweet and funny. How lucky these young men are, considering had they been born 10 years earlier they may have already contracted the dreadful disease.
Credit: Image donated by Corbis-Bettmann
Leo Casey watches aghast as Charles Buzine, 6, receives a shot of polio vaccine. Leo's up next. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, April 29, 1955.
I found this image on a blog who posts found photos. Isn’t it fun?
Here is the TV Guide for this week: 
I found some nice photos on a genealogical site for Arkansas, so I hope they don’t mind that I am displaying them, but I found it rather interesting to see average people in the mid 1950’s and what they would have worn.
This young mother looks quite comfortable. 
This one feels so ‘me’ while doing my shopping (though sometimes I wear heels) 
Well, Happy May Day. I am not sure how any of you or if any of you celebrate this holiday anymore, but in the 1950s there were parades and queens and maypoles etc. Here are some pics
I vaguely recall a story my mother once told me that when she was a little girl, they would gather posy’s of forget-me-nots and pansies and violets and hang them secretly on the doors of the older people in her town. It sounded lovely. I don’t know if anyone celebrates it anymore, does your town?
These past two days have been hard. Our dog has had to be put down. He is old, 17 years to be exact, and we came about him in an odd way. It actually is rather fitting that I should be with him, now, at the end of his life. We have only taken him in for the past three months, but he came into my family by my own hand.
I was young and just back from Europe and not yet done with school. Being young and impetuous, I thought I needed a dog. I had moved out of dorms, so had my own place. An impetuous afternoon lead to a young college student with a full schedule and a strapping young Jack Russell.
He was everything a young dog should be. Rambunctious. Playful, of course always wetting the floor when he shouldn’t. I often carried him around in a shoulder bag. He’d poke his little head out, sniff the air and breathe in life. He was white with red spots. One spot covered his eye and ear, making me recall old Little Rascals episodes on Saturday mornings as a child. I even have a newspaper clipping of me and my little guy when I visited a local antique show. The person asked if they could get a shot of us for the local paper. I didn’t know until it came out, why they wanted it. “Antique enthusiast follows ‘no dogs allowed’ rule at this year’s antiques fair” we laughed about it, hung it on the fridge and went on into the summer.
That fall, returning to university, Gilbert stayed behind. I hadn’t time for him, really. He had become accustomed to my parents and our family dog. He enjoyed the yard to romp in and the constant attention my mother could lavish on him. I kissed his head, waved good bye and somehow the rigors of life speed by.
I graduated. Moved to Boston then the Cape and life just sort of lumbered along. I would hear of the dogs occasionally, but new dogs, a husband and a life had replaced the part in my heart he once filled.
Flash forward to two years ago. My parents, being quite old ( I was born when my mother was in her 40’s) plan to move out to the Cape. I am excited, but it is short lived. I had heard less and less form my mother over the years and really thought little of it. We were always close but we had such full lives, separately, that many times a few years would go by with only occasional calls. Now, I knew why. My mother had Alzheimers and my Father had kept it from me. I was floored to say the least. That, however, is another story.
They moved out here, with Gilbert, the family dog having passed just before. 15 years had gone by, but Gilbert was holding on. We have a house we own that we used to rent out and so my parents moved in. It is a wonderful old Cape built in 1718. Finally, I thought, it will be filled with family and laughter and of course, the patter of dogs feet.
Gilbert. Here he was. So old he was unrecognizable. His playful red spots had faded to all white. His rambuncious prance, replaced by careful steps. His bottom row of teeth, what was left of them, now protruded and he looked oddly comical when he would peer up at you, teeth jutting out, ears alert. He played, as best he could, with my younger dogs when we would visit and have our family get togethers. Finally we were all close to one another.
Alzheimer's is a horrid disease. I have since often thought it is the closest thing to living with a real ghost. You see the image of your loved one walking about, only you cannot communicate with them and they often look right through you; perhaps she smiles at you, or holds your hand, only she cannot tell you what she wants. Words elude her. She wants to communicate with you, like a ghost, but having left earthly things behind, she cannot be made to understand who she is or who you are. You smile best you can and hold her hand. It is a sad place for all.
Being the youngest and born to such old parents has often left me to face things many people do not encounter until they have older children of their own. I have no children but I do have old parents. It is as if I have lived with those sights and knowledge of old age since I was a child. They have been my companion in my youth and were gone for a bit, but with my parents return to me and Gilbert they returned. Perhaps my love of vintage things was due to my being brought up on it. I often lived in the photographs of my parents when they were young, with my other siblings. It was a life that had been real, they spoke of it, I could see the participants, but I was never there. Maybe, in some way, my trip back to 1955 now is, in some part, my trying to go there. A chance to visit that shinning Camelot I viewed as a child, alone on the sofa in books of black and white photographs. Alice trying to get through the looking glass.
Now, a few months ago, for reasons too long to explain my mother, now in a nursing home, and my father have had to move back home, many states away from me. My father, burdened with so much, could not take Gilbert. He was too old, wouldn’t survive the trip. “Perhaps he should be put down”, he said. “No, I will take him. After all, really, he is my dog”.
Though Gilbert was technically my dog, he had become my father’s dog years back. My mother would often be followed by our family dog, but Gilbert was dad’s reluctantly. My father would often play the ‘I don’t care about that old dog’ trick, but we’d see the food slipped quietly under the table for him, or the fresh chicken he would cook for him daily. When Gilbert was still young and my father more mobile, you would often see the pair of them tottering about the yard and if my father went somewhere in the car, Gilbert was the first in the front seat, his place of honor.
Now, those days are gone. My parents, too, are gone. My mother installed in her new nursing home being visited by my siblings. My father, installed with family, free of the ‘burden’ of Gilbert.
Since we have had Gilbert he has loved us, best he could. He, for some reason, took a shine to Gussie. He would follow her around and wait for her to appear from her bedroom. Though I was with Gilbert all day, and he would kiss me and eat the food I gave him, he would sometimes give me a look: as if, some where some how, he recalled me. Days in bags and eating muffins hidden in class rooms. Maybe, just maybe, he never really forgave me for walking away from him years earlier. Now, with circumstances beyond either of our control, we found ourselves back together. Fate, perhaps? Whatever it was, here we were. Dog and Girl, having shared various years and holidays, back together.
Now, Gilbert is an old dog, but we have dubbed him the ‘energizer bunny’ as he just never quits. But, unfortunately that is not the case now.
This past Sunday Gilbert seemed stiffer than usual. His hind leg wouldn’t cooperate. He shuffled along, but still made it out the door and into the yard, to stare disdainfully at the antics of my younger dogs or to wag his tail at the site of Gussie. By Monday he could barely move, so off to the vet we go.
“Lyme disease,” says the vet. “We don’t have to put him down?” we respond? “No, give him these twice a day” responds the vet and off we go.
Here we are today and Gilbert is on his last legs. He cannot move to go to the bathroom. We found him this morning, slumped under the kitchen table near the door, knowing he should not go in his bed, but his body not following his command. We called the vet and today he must go.
I have been racked with emotion today. Is it best and right to let him be put down. Certainly, it must be, as he cannot stand. He is not crying out in pain, but certainly there is no hope of healing. I spent the morning holding him in his favorite blanket, an old one of Gussies, and every so often he would look up at me. I know, through his poor eyesight, he hoped I was my mother or father. I too, in a way, wished he were my mother, one last hug and all. So, I figured, here we are, we odd pair both hoping we were someone else, but only having each other. I hugged him a little tighter and he fell asleep for awhile.
It is sunny and warm. The birds are singing. The rooster just let out that he is around. I figure, Gilbert is entitled to enjoy some of his last day outside in the warm air. I found a soft patch of grass, laid him down with Gussie’s blanket and sat with him for awhile, stroking his head. Once he drifted off to sleep, for I could see the blanket rising and falling, telling of his breath, that he only slept, I grabbed the shovel and headed for my new little orchard.
Perhaps it was destiny that I took a break from the finishing touches on my dining room yesterday to plant up my little orchard. I was so proud all the little apple, plum and pear trees, erect and freshly mulched. Hubby and I had cleared the area the previous Sunday on that unseasonably hot day. I daydreamed the future little path and the fence I’ll put in. Over there, I thought, will go the stone wall and maybe some day a little fountain and some chairs to enjoy it all. Now, here I was, digging a hole under one of my favorite apple trees, knowing it was not destined for another tree. This, I thought, will be will Gilbert will lie.
It seemed odd, almost macabre to be digging his grave as he lay quietly snoozing in the fresh grass. It made me reflect on my own life and my own mortality, which death always does. We always feel the pain of a loss the fact that for us, we shall never see them again in our lifetime. But, there is a selfishness to grief, I think. Perhaps we don’t want to know it, but it is there. You see, how can we not see ourselves a little in death. It is there for all of us, certainly. We grieve for those who are going and reflect on their life. But, what about our life? Are we living it?
Perhaps, this project could not have come at a better time for me. It has taught me to grow up in many ways, and to have responsibility. It has also taught me the joy and importance of living happily in the moment. I used to think I lived in the moment, but really I just wasted my time. Diversion, entertainment, what ever I thought was making me ‘happy’ because we don’t ‘live forever’. But, now my living in the moment has a sort of timelessness about it. I can feel a joy in planting up trees that I hope to see grow and age and provide food for our table. The happiness at the moment I place the roots in the ground, the watering of them in the morning and dreaming of the tomorrows they will bring, all the while knowing how happy I am and can be at that moment. Maybe, just maybe, these past few years of illness and facing death will help me to make a life I will be sad to let go, but will enjoy along the way. Even the silly things I talk about like wasting time on tv and not really trying to take ACTION, they, today, seem to have even more importance to me. They seem a road I am glad to struck out upon.
Today I am sad. I have held my dog, the puppy I once ran with and left behind. He has come back and here we are the pair of us, alone in our grief. But, we have had times, oh we have had times!
Now, as I dig the hole, I think of his little body in there, covered in the earth. The roots will grow over his remains some day. He will enrich the soil. The tree will grow and bear fruit and will become pies and jelly and fill our bellies. He will be gone and will one day be forgot, but now, here in my new little orchard, he will be remembered. I too, one day, will be gone and forgot. But, for awhile, perhaps, I will be someone's happy memory. Maybe there will be someone to walk in my orchard, now overgrown or perhaps well cared for with large gnarled old trees and they will stand where my puppy was once buried and not know he was there. But he was. And I was.
I only hope, for any of you who read this, that you can walk away today and think “I am alive!”. Maybe you will suddenly feel the need to take that trip you have been putting off or maybe you will walk into your home and sit with your cup of tea and think, “I am happy right now. There is the picture I have hung, the clothes I have folded. There is the pie I have baked. Who will care in 100 years, but right now, I care and am happy and alive.”
All of this because today a little dog has died. I suppose it doesn’t really matter if I am in 1955 of 2009, I am glad I have struck off on the road I am now on. There are rewards amongst the loss, and really that is what life really is: Finding the happiness and love amongst the sadness and misfortune. I am glad that this year of taking away things, such as some modern conveniences and ideals, has lead to a new kind of happiness, self-worth, and knowledge. And, how much that is like life. We have to give up things and people we love, but sometimes, from it, comes a new happiness and a new way of living. I am going to live the best way I can, and realize sometimes that best is simply sitting in my orchard with my family and friends resting my foot upon the grave of dear old Gilbert.
R.I.P. Gilbert (1992-1955)
From Time Magazine:
Patients are "alarmed by the confusion and the cost of a system in which the doctor competes with the hospital for the patient's pocketbook," Dr. Basil C. MacLean, New York City Commissioner of Hospitals, told the New England Hospital Assembly in Boston. Furthermore, said MacLean, some hospitals seem "to be designed on the pattern of a clip-joint nightclub," charging as much as 60¢ for a couple of aspirin tablets that they buy at 60¢ per 1,000. "If the voluntary hospital system is to continue," warned MacLean, "shock therapy is needed to cure it of its schizophrenia." [I just assumed the overpriced hospital fees were always there. Apparently, the practice to gouge and therefore require insurance to cover 100 dollar Tylenol was just starting out in 1955. Look out world, it’s going to get worse.]
This bit about insurance was also surprising to me:
A major extension of insurance to cover long-term illnesses now excluded was approved at a joint Chicago meeting of Blue Cross (hospitalization) and Blue Shield (medical care) representatives. By year's end, most of the autonomous local plans are expected to offer combination policies (for extra premiums of about $1 a month for an individual, $2 to $3 for a family) to provide up to two years of care for long-lasting disorders now excluded, e.g., mental illness, tuberculosis, incurable cancer, alcoholism. Most plans now exclude these illnesses, and limit protection to about 70 days' care for acute conditions. Policyholders will still have to pay 20% of the costs out of their own pockets.
That means, this sort of coverage would only cost us today around 7 dollars a month. I become so disillusioned when I look at how the insurance industry has lead to the current overpriced medical system. I am really numb with anger at how it has left our country in it’s current state with health care. The insurance lobbyists are the most powerful and plentiful in Washington.
I have been going through the 1955 Diet book and it seems full of nothing but good sense. I found this bit rather good:
“Another reason why no specific time limit is placed on the diets is that reducers who slim down on short-term diets are prone to feel that the battle of overweight is won, once and for all. It never is or hardly ever. Fat will come right back again if eating is unrestrained and daily meals pile up a calorie surplus. Permanent weight control depends upon reeducating one’s appetite and eating habits. Foods provided in this book are meal plans that are common to average American diets. That way the transition to higher calorie diets, after weight is reduced, will be easy and natural. Diet containing exotic ‘health foods’ or strange and unusual things to ear are all too likely to make the reducer feel that there is some wonderful short term magic in them. There is no such magic, and the road to lifetime weight control lies in intelligent eating and a wide variety of common and delicious foods of the familiar kinds provided by the following meals.”
Again, accountability. You can eat normal easy inexpensive foods. You don’t have to eat odd bars or weird flax covered tofu wads (unless you like that). But, really, these meals are simply plain meals you would serve for you family and they would be on a ‘diet’ with you, as you would want everyone to have a healthy weight and you control that up or down with the PORTIONS of the meal.
The book gives this list of “Eat-all-you-want foods”. They are 3-percent-carbohydrate vegetables which give a very large amount of satisfying bulk but surprisingly few calories.
Here they are:
Asparagus, Beans (green or wax), Broccoli, Cabbage, Cauliflower, Celery, Chard, Chicory, Cucumbers, Endive, Escarole, Greens (beet dandelion mustard turnip), Kale. Lettuce, Mushrooms, Parsley, Radishes, Rhubarb, Romaine, Sauerkraut, Spinach, Summer squash, Tomatoes, and Water Cress.
So, eat up gals!
I thought this was good advice for those who like to snack or need to eat at night (I know Jitterbug mentioned having that feeling):
“Save a serving for a snack. If you just must eat something before you go to bed or in the middle of an afternoon, let the snack be a serving from lunch or dinner (not breakfast) of the day’s diet. You overdraw your diet, make repayment by not eating the ‘borrowed’ food at regular mealtime.” [Don’t you love it! It is just good common sense and also applies to saving money! So many people do say, “don’t eat after 8” which is true, but if you are taking a certain amount of calories and you save some of them to eat after 8 you are still eating that same amount in the day and your body doesn’t know if it is 8 at night or 12 in the afternoon. I asked my friend who is a doctor and he said, that if you are eating say 1200 calories a day then it doesn’t matter what time during the day that you eat it as long as it is restricted to that amount between the morning and evening. So, for any late night snacker, just reserve some of your lunch for that late night ‘ice box raid’.
So, here are the spring meal plans with the various daily caloric intakes. I will post the various recipes in my next post.
Since I have begun some correspondence with various followers, I have of late really begun to think of the art of letter writing. According to my book on Etiquette from 1952 under the correspondence chapter,
“Letter writing, like conversation, is often spoken of today as a lost art.”
Even then, with more frequent travel, automobiles, and the telephone, the letter was beginning to be viewed as fleeting. However, the letters of 1955 certainly outnumber those of today and even in their casual manner, certainly have more info in them to peruse and study. The etiquette book states,
“Though few of us today are writing the sorts of letters that will be studied and collected by historians in the future, we all do a certain amount of letter writing.” Yet, how we today, find the simplest letter home from a young bride interesting and often, between the lines, are volumes spoken.
I found some old letters I had mailed home from my time in Paris and England in the early 1990’s. Even then the concept of email was far away. I found that the post cards I wrote home were more detailed than many emails I wrote in 2008 and certainly more so than a text. Here is what I wrote on a post card home on my return to Paris from England:
29 July
“I am back in Paris. It is so bloody hot! England was wonderful and where I was staying in Hampstead was a lovely little swimming hole in the middle of the Heath. It was fenced only for women (so, men couldn’t peek) and had to be reached through a curving tunnel of foliage. It was so Victorian, I utterly loved it. All of those English women, young and old, just bobbing around without a splash. The water was green like pea soup and ducks shared our pleasure. It is good to be back in Paris, besides the heat. Having a wonderful time, will write later.
P.S. This is a wonderful park where I eat my morning bread. The old people sat in the green metal chairs are as solid and beautiful as the ancient stonework.
Love.
Certainly, in 2009 on such a trip, one might toss off a few emails: It’s hot. Liked England and swimming was fun :) So hot here, but nice park ';)
Somehow, down the road if one were even to have copies of old emails, would they ever bring back the images of those lost times? That calls up another issue, will we have copies of all our old emails to one another? Will they be left in boxes for others to find and love? I know I never print my emails out. They are fleeting, like a quick “Hi, how are you?” to a stranger.
I am not saying they are bad, but we really have sort of lost a form of communication. Are we heading back to a series of grunts and hieroglyphs to communicate? Are single letters and punctuation standing in for facial expressions the new form of letter writing? It does make one think.
Here is a sample ‘bread and butter letter’ as it is called in the book:
I don’t want to say one is good or one is bad, but what we have now is the ability to have BOTH! They did not have the convenience of email and texting in 1955, but we have that and the ability to send letters, why not use them in tandem? An email and a quick call is nice to make sure one is arrived safe or for urgent information, but the ability to express oneself in letter form, and the joy of reading of one’s experience through their words is slipping away. I do think that language is an important part of being a human being. I wonder, will letter writing ever disappear altogether? What do you think? Do you like getting and or writing letters? When was the last letter you actually received. Do you know more about each other because you CAN communicate more easily, or do you actually know each other less as you have no need to delve into your own thoughts and feelings at length, but can just sit for hours on the cell or im-ing talking about nothing and making ;0 :) all day? Could it be the easier communication becomes the less we have to say to one another? As we have less time to think and consider what we would like to say and therefore discover ourselves who we are and what makes us happy or sad? And in our constant calling and talking on cell phones, do we need to create drama in order to have something to say to one another?
I promised photos of my dining room and they are coming, believe me, but I did give myself until the first of May to complete my project. Sometimes things come up and I am glad for my new scheduling lifestyle.
Yesterday, was laundry day, but I had to take all three dogs to the vet. I also had to go pick up the last of my new chicks. This resulted in a lot of driving about and I did not get as much done on my room as planned, and to top it all off, my drill broke! Yet, I am learning to take it all in stride, because at the end of the day, I still had clean sheets on the bed, a nice meal on the table and had time to whip up a batch of brownies from scratch. I really do find now when I have a ‘busy day’ that throws more things in my path, having now got to a certain level of things that I will make sure get done, it makes the chaos of unexpected things more bearable and I can still enjoy the day. Gussie spent most of the day with me, running errands and holding dogs at the vet, and though we had a day full of ‘to-doing’ it was all done with fun and laughter. A smile and understanding friends certainly makes the day go by nicely.
We also, the three of us Gussie, Hubby, and I, have a new nightly ritual that I look forward too and it really does help to wind down the day. After we eat dinner together, Gussie gets tea on while I serve up whatever is going for dessert (last night blonde brownies and ice cream). Then, I take out Pockets ( my darling little parakeet, another purchase for this project) who sits on my shoulder. We sip our tea, eat our dessert surrounding by the dogs and the bird, and talk. It is so nice to just talk. With no tv to watch ( I have really even stopped watching my vintage tv, as I just forget about it and have little time for it) we have time to talk. Even if it is about nothing, we always find things we have been thinking about to discuss. Much like the joy of reading a blog, the conversation is a great way to catch up and also express our thoughts which might lead to new ideas we can work on the next day. Conversation, really, is so important (to me at least). I also find it is nice to expect a certain routine, it gives a nice structure to even a hectic day. Looking forward to time together to relax and making sure it is as important to get done as making dinner, really does make for a better quality of life.
I used to try not to be too critical of things like watching TV, but honestly I have to say now, in my current frame of mind, I find almost no reason for it. I enjoy watching movies occasionally with my friends, but is my life less full because I don’t have ‘my shows’ to watch anymore? No. I have to say that for my household, we enjoy the time together much more and have so much more quality time to share with one another without it. I began to think in 2008 that my mind was not as sharp as when I was younger, as I was always reading and considering things and contemplating life. Now, I realize, I was just becoming mentally lazy. How can I expect my mind to work better if I don’t use it! But, I didn’t have to. The TV and computer did it for me. It told me what to do and eat and buy. It told me what I should wear whom I should like or hate.
I certainly could write a letter expressing everything we did yesterday and find it rather interesting to share. Were I too have come home, ate dinner while we watched TV, and then continued to watch it, we would have said few words to one another and really not get to know one another. Sometimes the people we live with we begin to know so little of, as we waste our time together with the TV. I am sure there are couples who say few words together ,who eat together and sleep in the same house, but spend most of their time together in front of the distraction of television. I really do think if anyone watches a lot of TV, they should just try one night a week where there is no TV and you have tea/coffee/cocktails and just talk about your day or what you want to do or what you think or what book you read or blog or interesting article or what you want to read or do. I know it sounds simple or obvious, but I didn’t realize how much time I didn’t spend with those in my home until the TV went quiet. Just something to think about.
Well, I have ironing today and more dining room finishing touches and planting some trees in my little orchard. What a glorious beautiful day. I hope all of you enjoy yourself, no matter where you are or what you are doing and why not look forward to the evenings end with a cup of tea with your family/friends and a great conversation.
Happy Homemaking.
Eleven months after its historic proclamation that "separate educational facilities are inherently unequal," the U.S. Supreme Court last week heard a parade of lawyers suggest ways to enforce its ban on racially segregated schools. The simplest proposal came from the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Its representatives wanted the court to set a firm deadline for complete integration, not later than September 1956.
After listening to 13 hours and 40 minutes of argument (spread over four days), the court began wrestling privately with one of the most difficult decisions it has ever confronted. It is almost certain to hand down a decision before recessing in mid-June. [This is why I am beginning to see that the 1950’s were NOT the time of repression and inequality, it WAS the time of the change away from that frame of mind. It is amazing to have come in 50 odd years to a country that can elect an African-American. It makes me proud of our ability to change and evolve. Perhaps, being a young country with no set ancient rules allows the ability to go forward.]
I thought this was a cute story from today’s (1955) Time magazine:
It was springtime in Sheepshead Bay and the rubber plants were stretching themselves. On this perfect morning, Frank Biondo Jr. decided to pay a call on his grandmother. So he hopped into the family's brand-new, two-toned green Pontiac and started off.
A few blocks from home, Frank's eccentric driving caught the attention of Patrolman Albert Leone, who yelled at him to stop. Frank paid no attention. Officer Leone commandeered a plumber's truck and, followed by a motorcade of honking automobiles, gave chase. When he ordered Frank to pull over, Frank merely increased his speed to 35 m.p.h. The chase continued through Brooklyn's crowded streets, and Frank sailed through six red lights, sideswiped a taxi and an automobile, kept right on going. Finally, after two miles, Frank pulled up in front of Granny's and parked neatly alongside the curb. He was still doggedly pursued by Leone and eight cars.
When Frank stepped out of the car, Patrolman Leone took him in tow on the reasonable ground that no boy of eight should go driving alone. [can’t you just see the little boy, short pants and determination, off to grannies!]
One of my readers was kind enough to send me this book.
I have actually lost some weight since I started this project and really I cook all the time and always have desserts around. Yet, I don’t eat chips and drink soda all day and I am so busy in between meals that I think I am probably eating less. I also no longer order large coffee drinks as I used to.
It struck me funny how we sometimes laugh at the 1950s patron at a diner eating a burger and having a piece of pie, yet we guzzle huge Starbucks drinks that are more calories than a piece of pie! Even the image of the family eating the red meat and potatoes. There is nothing wrong with that. It is healthy protein and starch and better to use real butter made form milk than some odd spread produced by the petroleum company. It just became apparent how here we have another way in which advertising got us to slowly mistrust eating good healthy home-made food and to need to buy specialty things and second guess just making a steak and eating pie.
Even though I do eat my fair share of bacon and dessert, I am not overeating it. So, now I have an actual plan in my hands and I would like to try the meals for a few weeks and see how they work out. I like that the meals in this book are very realistic, much like I now serve. So, hubby won’t even notice. He will be happy, though, as he said yesterday at breakfast, “I am getting a little pot belly”, so perhaps a slab of homemade cake for lunch everyday is catching up with him!
Here is a sample meal plan:
I feel bad to have not blogged yesterday, but I am really plugging away at my dining room. I am determined to have it done enough to use this weekend. It is also suppose to be in the 70s and 80s here this weekend, so I want to get out and do more yard work and garden.
Here is a shot of the progression of the mantle I built for the dinning room. I just finished the final coats of paint yesterday. 
So, it may not look like much right now, but it will be nice with some of my dishes in and the walls with the mural. The bricks on the floor will be the base for the firebox to sit on. These are actually antique bricks. I am trying to add as much ‘history’ and ‘quirkiness’ to my design as possible. I am far from a fine carpenter and there are odd angles and something's don’t quite meet and even my painting is a bit heavy handed in parts, but really it all adds to the spirit of age. It gives everything a look as if it has been settling for a few decades and paint has gone over older paint. In my imaginings of the history for this room, I envisioned it being an old cape and perhaps a quirky pair of unmarried sisters did it over in the teens in the rage of Craftsman style and then, come the 1920s, painted it out white and added the seashell motif.Though neither could agree on a color, there were many subsequent layers of paint until they settled on matching the china. This sort of ‘storytelling’ one can do while redesigning a room or decorating is both entertaining and can really help to guide you in design choices.
This week I will show more pics of the room with furniture rugs and dishes in.
I started to ponder ‘purpose’ the other day. I thought about it. Wondered, “what is the ‘point’?” Not in an angst-ridden way or a ‘woe is me’ way. I merely sat down with my cup of tea after finishing a task and thought, “Hmmm, I seemed to have found a POINT.” Then, I followed that thought further and I’ll explain what I mean.
Not everyone may find happiness in homemaking (though I think for many the skills are important) but THAT is not the point. The point is to find your own PURPOSE. Someone may want to be an astronaut, their point, though not easy, has a formula to it. You go to school, do engineering, etc there is a course you must follow. The same if you are to be a doctor or a nurse. But, for many of us the point is often lost or vague. Or, if it doesn’t follow a specific accepted pattern laid out for us we think, for us, there is none.
I was really thinking how harmful this can be to an individual. This sort of thinking could be dangerous to your happiness and fulfillment. One might think, “ I don’t know what I want to do or how to do it, so there is no point” and then they just fill their days with distraction. When, really, anything can be your POINT. Perhaps you really like cutting out magazine photos and scrapbooking. You collect them. Look and see what it is that you are drawn to and make it your point. Then, find out what MORE there is to that POINT. Don’t just be happy with cutting out the magazine pictures, get a camera and take some of your own, or read the article and write down your own take on what you read, or maybe you are drawn to the clothes, get a sewing machine and teach yourself to use it (or take a class). Or, you might find your real happiness is the simple task of sitting and cutting out and pasting images, then celebrate your POINT and go for it. I guess, I just feel that I sort of started this project with one little idea, “what was 1955 like to live in?” and from that it became my POINT and through discovery and further ACTION I have found myself quite happy learning and doing new things. By following this POINT or line of ACTION I am really finding many skills and very fulfilling moments.
I have said before that jumping out of planes is certainly exciting and is someone's POINT, but not everyone is out for adrenalin. There is as much joy in sitting and admiring your ironed sheets or digging in your garden, setting in that first seedling you coaxed on your windowsill in the cold dark days of January. I have just discovered, that even though many people don’t know what they want to do or what is their POINT, if they take the ACTION to follow one of their likes or joys, they may find it along the way.
I am not sure if any of that made any sense, but it was something I had sort of discovered over a pondered cup of tea and thought I would share.
Now, I have to get outside and enjoy this wonderful day. Gussie and Hubby have agreed to help me work on my little ‘orchard’. There are leaves to rake, holes to dig, and trees to plant.
Until tomorrow, happy homemaking.
On the cooking a baking front I found this interesting. Whenever I peruse my Boston Cooking School book from 1951, I am always amazed. I feel sometimes to have unearthed a great tome from some long forgotten wizard. It has an alchemy about it, this book, where you will innocently look something up, as I did with this recipe for Napoleons ( which I love, but have never attempted)
Speaking of the dining room, it is still in progress, but I am not too sad about the pace I am going. Here you can see that I now have the primer on the trim. 
Now, in the gardening front, I have done more on my little veg garden. I will show pics of the progression from it’s being a neglected leave strewn corner of my yard to the delight I hope it will be. But, the plants cannot wait for my to put up my decorative fences or cute little hand made gate, so some things were put in the other day. I have my snow peas, cabbage, lettuce, beets in. I also put in my tomatoes even though it is really too early, but I put little hats on them to protect them and they have been fine. They will be stronger for it, I think, I am also going to try and train my zucchini to climb part of the fence, rather than take up precious room spreading out on the ground. Here they are in their little box I just built them. That way I can control the weeds and nutrients more than directly in the soil.
We also have some new animals in our little menagerie. Unlike the wild bunnies, though, these were planned. Six new little chicks. They are so adorable. I will show pictures in my next blog. I have four full size hens now and honestly they give me just enough eggs, I really need more, so these 6 little darlings will be joined by two more fancy chicks next week and come fall I will have a full chicken house of 12 laying hens. I am hoping to sell what I won’t use to our local store to make enough money to pay for the chicken feed, that way I get to enjoy the chickens, have fresh eggs and no cost, and I get to meet more local people as I bring in my eggs for sale. I think this is a very 1940’s thing to do that I would have held onto in the 1950’s after having gone through the war. They are adorable, and as usual, my dogs love them. Monty, my little chi, loves birds. Here he is with our parakeet Pockets. 
I was thinking this morning about something one of my wonderful commenter's, Jeanne, said:
“I got up and did personal care make up and all. I put hose on and a nice skirt with a casual top nice shoes too. I walked taller all day and felt better about myself. I almost always cook from scratch but today I felt special while doing it. I have always kept a nice home but let myself be thought of last or not at all.”
It really made me think. It sort of cemented my ideas of the labels we use today on ourselves. It seems we, today, feel that either you are glamorous and stylish which means that you MUST forgo such trivial things as housework and cooking, or you care about cooking and cleaning and don’t have time for that fancy stuff. To care about fashion you must be a Paris Hilton who can’t open a can or won’t break a nail. Really, that might be due to the idea that fashion and style is about the designer. About it being a high priced thing only the rich can enjoy.
Somewhere along the way, the designer became more important than the clothes. I know that great designers and big design houses such as Worth were always known, but really to have style and fashion used to be more in the hand of the individual. Look at these photos from an article about embellishing simple pieces to make your own look. 
Really, the casual style of jeans did away with the personal expression of self-sewers making their own fashion statement. I know there are sewers out there, but that is not the norm. Even teens and tweens aren’t really allowed to have a cute style that has a fun innocence. 
I always laugh now when I hear people say how the 1950s was when everyone had to look the same. All I have to do is go to the mall and there is the uniform. Jeans and t-shirt with an ironic saying, skin tight low rise velour sweat pants with writing on the bum. That’s pretty much it. Now, how is that not uber conformity?
Another interesting point, I was looking at the article about embellishing your new tops with Gussie and she said, “Oh, who is that model”. A perfectly valid question today when the model is celebrated for herself, but then it was a job. IF you had the right body shape you showed clothes in magazines. It was about the clothes or the article. Now, it has to be about how wonderful a superstar the model has become. Super models. In some way, it is sort of bad. In stead of glorifying the clothes so a girl can think, “Oh I would look nice in that” it glorifies the body which is hard to have if you are not born with it. Young girls want to have the body not the darling outfits they are wearing. Those are the subtle ways I see harming women and young girls. Another layer of today peeled back through simply looking at fashion in one of my magazines.
For example, yesterday I changed out of my work dungarees to go do my errands, one of which was stopping at the lumber yard for more wood and the local grain elevator to pick up my new chicks. I had on a nice cotton dress, petticoat, neck scarf, cardigan, gloves etc. It didn’t feel to me as if I was ‘dressed up’ but, boy did I get the service. I KNOW I can saw and build wood, so with the gentleman at the lumber yard see the ‘delicate’ lady getting some lumber, they are only pleased to help. I am not saying I was ‘playing weak’, but I did load some myself and then I was GLAD and appreciative of the help of the gentleman. Did it make me less independent or less a modern woman because I let a man help me? I don’t think so. But, clothes used a certain way do help you to feel special. And it illicit responses I find nice from others. Even if I get an odd stare or snigger about what I might be wearing, I honestly don’t care anymore. It is as if the clothes give me a confidence and power to ignore it.
Another example, after working last night again on my project and getting dinner ready and setting the table, I took 20 minutes to go upstairs and put on my nice outfit from earlier in the day and reapply my lipstick. Then, my husband gets to see me looking nice. Some would be appalled at this, thinking, “I’m not going to get dressed up for my man, if he doesn’t like me the way I am that’s his problem” but really, I did it as much for me. I take the time to make a nice dinner, set a nice table and want to sit down and feel this is MY time too. I don’t want to feel like I am the rushed servant sitting down in my tussled hair and dungarees. It is so SIMPLE to just dress for dinner, and it makes such a difference. I actually don’t even think about going out as much, because I like dressing and eating my nicely prepared meals with my husband at home, nice wine, discussions and my dogs.
Again, labels. I think a gal can be into nature, like hiking, organic farming and still wear nice dresses and take time with her appearance. I know, it seems as if it is just a matter of personal taste, but honestly you really do feel ‘good’ about yourself. We don’t mind indulging in the pleasure of tv or video games or eating junk food, but the pleasure of looking good we disdain. Even those of you who think, “Oh, it’s not my style to look pretty in a dress” you might be surprised the power of such clothes. It couldn’t hurt, right?
Now, that we have the freedom to dress as we see fit, obviously I am not saying that I want to take that away. I don’t want to be a clothes Nazi telling people what they should or should not wear. But, for those of us interested in vintage and in changing our life in a way that I think a lot of the readers of this blog do, I can tell you first hand that clothes DEFINITELY affect your well being and even, on some level, your ACTON.
To know that I wear a certain outfit, almost a uniform if you will, when I am cleaning and then change into ‘marketing attire’ means I need to budget that time. Honestly, it really isn’t as much time as you think and then when I am getting ready to switch from one task to another, instead of the old me, who may think, “Oh, well, I’ll just sit down first for a minute, or I’ll look at the TV first” and then never do it. When you are in that mind set that you have to go get dressed to go to the store, you are focused on it, you get your clothes on, check your hair, etc and you are ready and prepared and then you go out and do it. So, just from my own experience I really do find that ‘dressing for the occasion’ helps me to be on time and to actually DO the thing I am dressing for. Why not try, the next time you are going shopping, to put on what you think of as ‘nice clothes’. A nice skirt and sweater or top. Nice shoes (they can be dressy flats or darling sandals) a bag, maybe a hat or scarf, put on some lipstick and fix your hair and then don’t be surprised how tall you walk and how helpful sales people are.
I guess, again, I am just finding the things I began to do BECAUSE of the project are really becoming more a part of who I want to be and who I am becoming. When it is no longer 1955, I am fairly certain my dressing will continue, as it really motivates me, makes me feel good, and helps me to organize my clothes and to have fewer, but well cared for garments. It is funny how many clothes I have from before 1955, yet so many of them are ‘casual’ clothes or so many piles of various styled tops and bottoms etc that you often feel confused about what to wear. Now, I have a determination when I open that closet door. Gardening today? Dungarees, men’s shirt tied at waist and sensible shoes. Marketing and going to town today? Nice dress or skirt and sweater set, hose, pumps gloves and hat. Dinner with my family, nice skirt clean top freshly styled hair. It almost seems that I spend less time thinking about the clothes all the time but look better and am more organized by knowing what is ‘appropriate’.
Again, I don’t want to play the “Oh, it was better then than it is now” game, I am merely stating what I am finding to be true. I honestly believe it really can be applied to the modern world. And, in so doing, would and could really change how you feel about yourself and your life.
Well, I have many things on my plate today, so I am off.
Happy Homemaking everyone!
Oh, I almost forgot: Kay, if you are out there, I wrote you a letter today and lost your address. If you email it to me I can get your letter off to you! Thanks.
